#his existence attacks my brain every waking moment

[bigtreefest]

Jimmy Dobyne? More like Jimmy Do-bane of my existence

[domain-expand-me]

Just got my T shots the other day so I'm feeling extra feral, so.

Imagine

Banging and dominating Kenjaku until he forgets all about his plans

gn amab reader

Tw: dub-con? (Kenny is into it, cuz he's a freak). gross body horror stuff. Straight up skull fucking/brain fucking, like, appendages in kenjaku type of stuff. Read at your own risk.

Imagine being a curse user, with some ability that lets you hide even from the user of the six eyes. Maybe even an ability that has let you reincarnate every second generation or so. You've never been too involved with everything going on, enjoying your privacy and relaxing much more than running around causing problems. But you are aware enough to know about Sukuna and Kenjaku.

You are lazy, there's no way to go around that. You are powering, sure. But that doesn't mean you like punching on people for dominance. You have always just enjoyed laying back on expensive pillows and sheets and sleeping, you're cursed ability doing all the work for you. Even in death you are lazy, unable to be summoned forth by others unless you actively want too.

This was why you were annoyed about Kenjaku's plans to release Sukuna and force the evolution of every human. If more people gained the ability to use cursed energy, then more problems would crop up and get in the way of your relaxed lazy lifestyle. That's why you knew you had to do something about it, and it seemed easiest to just change Kenjaku's mind.

Much to your annoyance you had to drag yourself out of bed, your beloved Alaskan king-sized bed, with the most comfortable sheets and pillows. You didn't look like much in your baggy clothes, but there was no reason to dress up for this. Sweatpants, flipflops and an old hoodie would have to do.

It wasn't hard to find Kenjaku, not when you knew exactly what to look for. His cult being as loud as they were, to you at least, didn't help his case.

Imagine how easy it must be to sneak into wherever his cult was staying, your cursed abilities easily letting you stay hidden and silent. The scoff that left you was soundless as you watched this group of idiots, didn't they know the guy that followed was only using them? But when you saw his newest vessel you could kinda get it. He was quite pretty, with long black hair, earrings and a fox-like smile. He still seemed like a prick to you though, but maybe that was experience speaking.

You couldn't help but take a short nap as this cult meeting went on, cursed abilities primed to wake you up or snap out at whatever threat might appear. But of course nothing happens, instead you find yourself woken up to the sheep followers leaving, looking both energized and manipulated by whatever Kenjaku had told them.

Deciding to keep shadowing him, you follow at a lazy pace, until you two get somewhere far enough away from people that sorcerers wouldn't be notified of your shared presence. It was always so easy to attack people who didn't even know to expect you, to hit people who didn't even know you existed until it was too late. You couldn't find it in yourself to outright kill him, killing Kenjaku would just cause more issues, but pinning him down was easy.

He seemed shocked and fear struck when he couldn't use the cursed ability of the body he inhabited, another plus of your own. "Kenny~ always causing problems for me" you sigh, tilting your head, eyes droopy and lazy as he sneered and snapped up at you.

His eyes were wide as he visibly tried to search his memory for who you were, only to end up coming up blank. You weren't the greatest at hiding for nothing, he'd only see you if you allowed it. But now that you were, you weren't just gonna let him leave and run his mouth.

"who the hell are you" he snarled, the body's pretty face scrunched up in anger and murderous intent. His cursed energy flared in anger, but it seemed to go limp the moment he tried to flex and use it. The body was tense, but instead of looking at its eyes, you kept your attention on the deep scar on its forehead, aware that that was there your target truly rested.

"this little plan of yours, it's... Annoying me" you sigh out, body loose limbed and relaxed as you sat back on his body's hips, only for something to catch your attention. Was he? Oh, he was. A lazy cat-like grin stretched across your face. He was hard. But was that Kenjaku, or was it simply the body he was occupying reacting to instinct? What kind of person was this, that they got excited being pinned down by a cocky lazy powerful idiot like you?

Kenjaku's sneer depended, even as the cheeks of his body flushed, his legs kicking and arms pulling against your iron tight grip where you kept them above his head. "You know... I was just gonna lobotomize you with my fingers. Rip that skull open and dig some new pathways in you, but, if you really wanna" you purr, voice still so lazy, like you haven't slept right in months.

Panic and something else seems to flash through Kenjaku's eyes, his eyes going so wide you almost had to laugh. He looked so stupid, like he had never thought anybody would be able to hold him down and leave him so vulnerable. At least, not an unknown being like you.

Using your cursed energy you kept him pinned, even as you sat up and started knee-shuffling up his torso. There was obvious fear and disgust in his eyes, but there was something else, something hungry and shameful that left the body's lips quivering as you settled your knees on either side of his head.

"w-wait" his voice sounded, so meek and shaky compared to his usual tone, as your hands settled on either side of his skull. You dismissively shushed him, like one would a troublemaker they couldn't bother listening to anymore. You debated on just cracking open this body's skull, he could always find a new one, but it was also pretty, and must have some skill for him to keep it, right? So you decided to be nice.

Instead you let your cursed energy gather at the tips of your thumbs, sticking them into the deep scar that went all the way around this body's head, using the cursed energy to slice it open like you are opening up an avocado. You felt your body heat up at the whimpered gasped noises Kenjaku made, his hands squeezing and tightening above his head, like he wasn't sure what to do with this situation.

They were starting to get in the way, and looking down you could see the glassy but hot look on the body's face. Deciding to see what he would do, you released the hold your cursed energy had on his wrists. Instead of pushing you away, Kenjaku's hands immediately grabbed onto your thighs, one of them shakily climbing up to pull at the top of your sweatpants.

"so cute~" you hum, finally letting the top of his head, the scalp, fall to the side, exposing the brain shaped curse inside. His teeth were grinding, what looked like a tongue but was probably more brain mass rubbing against the inner side of them. Fluids spluttered out from the open skull, splashing into the grass as Kenjaku gasped, from both the body's mouth, but also his own, the brain's teeth parting, as your thumbs rubbed against the slick wet surface.

The sound of two different voices whimpering and panting at once was fascinating, but it wasn't the strangest thing you had ever seen. Seeing how the body seemed to arch up, mouth opening as the tongue stuck out, trying to lap at the bulge in your sweats. Who'd have thought that the mighty Kenjaku would buckle so easily under somebody, but maybe he was simply one of those individuals that wanted to be dominated.

"come on, pull me out" you egged him on, that teasing grin on your lips as the body's hands twitched and jolted awkwardly, like Kenjaku was struggling to control it in this situation. Finally, he caught onto the waistband of your swears and boxers, roughly tugging them both down until your cock bounced free, half hard and slowly filling with blood, lazy like the rest of your body.

"nobody's ever done this, huh?" You tease, digging your thumbs into the wet slick ridges of Kenjaku's surface, letting your fingers pet against his soft vulnerable surface. Your pupils were blown wide as you watched the mouth on the brain pant open, wet from brain fluid instead of the usual spit you were used too.

You tsk, reached for your shaft with one of your wet hands, and brought it closer to Kenjaku, lowering your hips to start rubbing it through his ridges and folds. It wasn't hard to sense that he wanted more, from how the body jolted and twitched like an insect under you, hands shaking and squeezing at random intervals, slurred shapeless words spilling out of its mouth.

Your precum leaked into Kenjaku's surface, the brain seeming to shiver under your fingers at the new substance. "Come on Kenny, open up~" you sing-songed, running your tip down to the teeth that worked as the curses mouth. He seemed to growl and resist for a moment, but it was all for show, as the teeth parted, the tongue-like appendage sticking out.

A shiver ran through your entire body as you sank your length into his mass, a puff of air rushing out from between your lips as the wet slimey surface hugged onto your cock. The body gurgled wetly, eyes rolling back, a lewd smile on its face, matching what Kenjaku was feeling. It must have been a strange sight if anybody were to discover you here in the woods, your hips slowly working as you pushed and dragged your length in and out of Kenjaku's mouth, and through his mushy insides, splattering more brain fluid all over the both of you and the grass under you.

"you see Kenjaku... Your plans, they get in the way of my rest, you know? It's really annoying" you huff, sounding bored and mildly bothered as the body he inhabited gave a violent jolt and arch as your tip jabbed into the back of Kenjaku's mouth, or maybe rather, the back of what pocket made up his mouth and into the brain mass behind it.

You couldn't really see the face of the body he possessed, but the noises it made were wet and sloppy, and you could feel all the drool leaking into the fabric of your sweats. With a smirked huff you started working your hips faster, the slick noise of your cursed coupling ringing louder as Kenjaku moaned from both mouths, his hands digging harder into your hips. "Wouldn't it be nice to just... Come relax with me?" You hum, making sure to rub your fingers into the rest of kenjakus surface even as your hips beat against his front.

He couldn't answer, too busy holding onto you with his body, and trying to keep the sensitive soft mass that made up his body together against your cock. Normally you would just have kept going, but your hips slowed down, before you withdrew completely. It was lewd to see how shiny your shaft was as it twitched and throbbed, Kenjaku's mouth hanging open as his insides pulsed.

"Hm?" Was all you said, patting the face of the body to get an answer from him. The body's eyes were almost crossed, the tongue hanging out of its mouth as drool and tears ran down his cheeks and chin. It was truly a hot sight, one you hadn't seen before. "Y...yessshh" Kenjaku slurred after a few more pats, slurring from both mouths once more, in a morbidly hot symphony.

A soft lazy chuckle left you as you pushed your cock into Kenjaku's mass once more, releasing the energy you so rarely touched as you started rowing your hips back and forth with more speed and power than before. His body keened and arched almost right off the ground, shaking in what was a clear orgasm as he panted and sobbed wetly in what could only be pleasure.

The brain seemed to only grow wetter under your thrusts, like some pleasure triggered organ, but it wouldn't surprise you if Kenjaku possessed that ability. "Good boy, so good. Are you ready?" You huffed out, feeling that familiar tingling heat in your body. Kenjakus hands grasped tighter at your hips, a slurred noise leaving the body's lips, one you could only take as an affirmation. So with a deep huff, you buried yourself completely inside his mass, unleashing your load into the cavity you had carved.

Kenjaku and his body shuddered under your touch once more, a second orgasm crashing through the body as Kenjaku himself seemed to experience what was the closest to an orgasm that he could feel. White spurted out through different folds and crevices, joining the large puddle of fluid that had been left from your actions, but Kenjaku's noises and panting made it clear he had enjoyed it probably more than you had.

It was a bit of a struggle to pull out, mainly because his grip on your hips was so tight. Of course, you could have easily just ripped them off you, but his shuddering and whimpering was so cute you couldn't find it on yourself to do so. Instead you slowly withdrew out of Kenjaku, using your cursed energy to fix the worst of the damage you caused and to attach the top of his scalp again, sealing your spend inside not just Kenjaku but also the body he possessed.

Tucking yourself away, you could still see that he was in the throes of what was most likely his first ever true orgasm, that he himself experienced. So with a laugh you got to your feet and picked him up, letting the shivering body rest against your chest as you made your way back to your lair. You wondered if he ate, and if he did, did he like your favourite dessert? You guessed you'd have to see, what he came down from this new mind-blowing experience he was feeling.

[heliads]

higher and higher - annabeth chase x calypso

Annabeth crash lands on Ogygia instead of Leo. It's not great, having to spend that much time with Calypso, especially when Annabeth's breakup with Percy is still fresh in her mind. It's not great, knowing that Calypso is never going to fall in love with Annabeth so she can leave. Right?

masterlist

a/n: almost two months since my last fic and i come back with a rarepair absolutely no one expected. who can explain? certainly not me! anyway i love you all xoxo, will try to post more in the future <3

Annabeth remembers falling.

That’s one of the first thoughts that flickers into her head after the slow rise up from unconsciousness. It is important that Annabeth is not falling, because she had been for a long time. Long enough to kill, maybe. Long enough for it to be startling that she could have been flung on a fall like that and still manage to survive.

Then again, maybe she didn’t. Annabeth cracks open one of her eyes and sees a bright blue sky overhead. Sunny, picturesque. Straight out of an advertisement. Annabeth is suddenly flung back to a memory of when she was seven and going to die after running away from home. She’d been with Luke and Thalia. They’d paused their flighty trip at a rest stop for truckers. There’d been a gas station and accompanying convenience store. Annabeth was in charge of distracting the attendant by being seven years old and cute while Thalia and Luke loaded up their pockets with snacks.

While looking adorable, Annabeth had noticed a carousel of postcards from all over the world– temples, mosques, pyramids, the like. The one that caught her eye was a beach with strawberry striped umbrellas propped on pearly sand. Looping writing in the printed sky wrote, Wish you were here! Seven year old Annabeth had indeed wished to be there, in a cookie cutter world where monsters didn’t exist and fathers believed their daughters every time. She’d walked away from the gas station holding that picture in her mind, wondering if she’d ever find a place that perfect.

Now, blinking incredulously at the tropical warmth around her, Annabeth honestly thinks she might have stumbled upon that place after all. Annabeth’s hands dig into heated sand as she tries to sit up, head pounding. Maybe she has died. Maybe this is Elysium. Maybe she died falling, and this is her reward for years of good work.

No, no. Her soul would have to get judged first, and that, Annabeth would remember. There’s no fast-tracking it to Elysium, even as a hero. The Greeks are sticklers for their rules. There’s no way she could just wake up already in the paradise of the dead. Besides, Annabeth knows for a fact that she would never accept to just go to Elysium. She, Thalia, and Luke made a pact that they would all try for the Isle of the Blest, and Annabeth has never been one to shy away from a promise. Certainly not one made to them.

She’s not dead, then, but how? More memories start piecing themselves together in Annabeth’s brain, jigsaw shapes fitting into place. She had been falling from the sky. Falling from the Argo II, knocked off after Khione attacked. Annabeth remembers the air suddenly turning a frigid cold, then all crumbling into chaos. Leo had been knocked overboard, but she dove for him just in time, knowing that they’d need someone with his fiery spirit to save the ship from freezing. The momentum had been too much for her, though, and she’d only ended up trading her safe place on the ship for Leo’s tumble off the edge.

Annabeth remembers her hands scrambling for purchase, but finding none. She remembers the ship falling away in moments, disappearing into a distant speck in the sky. She had been falling forever, and closed her eyes to pretend the impact would never happen. There should have been nothing but endless, open ocean below her, but Annabeth swears something shifted her course towards wherever she is now. A familiar presence, perhaps. She will do anything to convince herself it was Athena, making up for years of nothing, but in the end, it could have been anything at all.

Dizziness subsided for the most part, Annabeth attempts to stand and makes it on the second go. She has to force her hands to her knees and bend over in shaking, sweating misery for a few moments, but her head clears again and her spine straightens.

The sight before her makes about as much sense as the tumult of colors behind her eyes when she stood up too fast. There is ocean as far as the horizon stretches, endless waves of perfect cerulean blue. The only land in sight is beneath Annabeth’s feet. Glancing around her, Annabeth realizes she’s on what must be an island, but she wasn’t aware places like this existed outside of Photoshop. It looks like a paradise. Annabeth freezes momentarily, reminded of C.C.’s Spa and Resort, white dresses and guinea pigs, but that place burned down when they released the pirates.

Besides, this island is different. Annabeth knows this intuitively, feels the truth of it like breathing. She’s never been here before, but she wishes she had. There’s no sight of anyone around, save for carefully cultivated garden beds. Annabeth detects the faint scent of something beautiful carried to her on the salt breeze. It’s far more poignant than any daisy or rose, but it’s somehow familiar as well. Annabeth can’t imagine how anything here could possibly be back at camp or in the States, but then the wind shifts towards her again, carrying the floral scent more persuasively, and– oh Gods, she knows where she is now. Percy has that plant growing in the fire escape. Moonlace, from where he was trapped all those years ago, where Annabeth must be trapped as well.

This is Ogygia.

She isn’t supposed to be here, that much is obvious. Annabeth can’t remember Calypso ever falling in love with a woman. Always male travelers, always love unrequited. This was never in the myths, which probably means she’ll never get out of here. Maybe Annabeth was wrong about Athena directing her this way after all. Maybe it was Gaea or one of her accomplices, scheming to stick Annabeth the one place she couldn’t escape, tricking her into the one puzzle even a gifted daughter of Athena couldn’t solve. It would be clever, except it makes Annabeth hopeless.

No. No, she won’t lose hope, not yet. Annabeth will find a way out. That’s the whole point of being one of Athena’s supposed favorites. She’s the smart one on the quest, the one with the plan. Even if Annabeth has never had to scheme her way out of a magical island designed to trap her, that’ll just make it more exciting when she does manage it. Talk about a story to add to the books.

Annabeth turns her back on the sparkling water and heads further towards the center of the island. She’ll need fresh water and food to keep her mind alert. The goal is to avoid Calypso for as long as possible, although Annabeth is assuming the Titan’s daughter already knows she’s here and is simply avoiding her.

Fine by Annabeth. She doesn’t want any part of this, either. The sooner she gets out, the better. If she can find fire, maybe Annabeth can sacrifice part of her meal like back at camp and try to get a message through to her mom, or any other god who might be able to help her. She remembers Hermes visited Odysseus on Ogygia in the Odyssey, maybe that would do it. And Hermes owes her, anyway. For Luke. For all of them.

There’s a cluster of buildings about a five minute walk from the beach. The ground under Annabeth’s feet transforms from warm sand to lush grass dotted with wildflowers. The sun still beams happily overhead, but the heat is bearable due to the shade of tall trees curving towards the light above. The shelter from direct sun is a nice break on what is undoubtedly a bad sunburn developing on Annabeth’s shoulders, but enough light gets through to keep it pleasant and give the plants enough sunshine to grow. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect here. It makes her want to retch into a nearby flowerpot.

Annabeth had been hoping that Calypso would stay out of her way for a little longer, but she’s barely reached the threshold of the closest building before a voice behind her calls out haughtily, “Who are you?”

Annabeth, feeling oddly like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, turns around slowly. A girl seemingly around her age is standing on the path right behind her, even though Annabeth swears there hadn’t been a living soul around when she had walked up from the beach. Maybe the fall from the sky hurt her more than she’d thought, or maybe the nymph is using magic against her already.

Instead of answering immediately, Annabeth takes the time to size Calypso up. She thinks she remembers there being servants on this island the last time she brushed up on her myths, but she’s pretty sure they were invisible, and besides, she could tell this girl was the daughter of a Titan even without a formal introduction. Calypso radiates power in a quiet way, so unlike the harsh, obvious aura of the Olympians. The girl before her was alive centuries before Annabeth was even the tiniest notion in Athena’s head, and she will continue to draw breath in the millennia after Annabeth’s thin thread of life winds to a close.

Calypso continues to stare her down, wind tugging gently at her white tunic. “I asked you a question,” Calypso says coldly.

“I’m your latest visitor,” Annabeth says, meeting her gaze steadily. “Calypso, I assume?”

Calypso arches a brow. “You’ve heard of me?”

“I’m familiar with your island,” Annabeth says.

Calypso narrows her eyes. “Impossible, you’ve never been here before. Only male travelers are unfortunate enough to crash upon my shores.”

“Yet I’m here anyway,” Annabeth counters. “Any idea why?”

Calypso folds her arms across her chest. “No, and I’d like you to leave before I find out.”

Annabeth makes a disbelieving sound. “Any ideas for that? I’d welcome anything but swimming.”

“Pity,” Calypso drawls. “My last visitor was a son of Poseidon. Bet he could have done it.”

Annabeth can’t help it but flinch at the mention of Percy. It’s not like she wanted to, she gets the feeling that Calypso would draw blood at any chink in the armor Annabeth let slip. It’s just that the last few weeks have been hard, really hard. As hard as anyone would expect if they were trapped on a trireme in the sky with five other demigods and their ex boyfriend.

It’s been several months since she broke up with Percy, so at least the wound isn’t fresh. Still, Annabeth feels like she’s walking on eggshells whenever they’re within a few feet of each other. Whatever uneasy truce they managed to eke out post-breakup was obliterated when Percy vanished from Camp Half-Blood. In her tumultuous, self-destructive search to find him, Annabeth almost managed to convince herself that she might be able to love him again when he turned up, but when she arrived at Camp Jupiter, all she felt was the same, numbing sort of fine. She didn’t love him. Not like she was supposed to.

That just made it worse, then, stuck on the same boat. They’re trying to pretend everything is normal, but normal is the last word Annabeth would use to describe the current vibe between them. Now is not the time to explore her precise feelings about the breakup, not when a dormant earth goddess is about to wake and destroy the world. Annabeth’s stubborn heart, however, refuses to cooperate, and try as she might, she can’t think of Percy in a neutral light. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

So, hearing Calypso casually reference him, as if Percy were just another boy in her life with absolutely no tie to Annabeth whatsoever, cuts straight to the bone. Annabeth remembers when Percy disappeared on this island. She remembers the flower he brought back with him. She also remembers kissing him right before he vanished, and wondering how the same gesture that made his cheeks turn so pink didn’t even make her heart skip a beat.

Annabeth tries to remain unaffected, but Calypso clearly caught the flinch. The nymph leans forward inquisitively, and then her eyes widen with shock when she realizes. “No. You’re her, aren’t you? The one he left me to find. You’re Annabeth.”

Something sick twists in Annabeth’s gut to think that, even all those years ago, Percy was evidently talking about her enough for Calypso to remember her name. They say he’d been head over heels for Annabeth ever since he started at camp. When they first started dating, it was like a demigod celebrity couple, but Annabeth became the villain after they broke up. It got to the point that even Chiron was asking if Annabeth truly didn’t love Percy, a conversation neither the centaur nor herself really enjoyed. Like anyone wants someone akin to a parent asking about their love life.

The problem was, Annabeth did love Percy. Still does, just not romantically. She loves him like she loves Grover, like she loves Thalia. He’s her family. She couldn’t help the fact that they didn’t work out together in any other sense, even if no one else seems to understand that.

“Yes,” she says at last. “I’m Annabeth.”

Calypso stares a moment longer, then starts to laugh. “I can’t believe this. And here I was starting to think the gods didn’t have a sense of humor. I’m just starting to find my peace, and they send me you?”

“Look,” Annabeth says, feeling oddly irked even though she certainly has enough to say about the gods and their humor, “I didn’t ask for this, alright? I don’t care what you think about me, just get me out of here.”

Calypso’s eyes flash. “I can’t. Surely Percy mentioned that part, right? I have to fall in love. And that only works for male travelers, anyway. With my luck, you may be stuck here forever.”

Annabeth sucks in a breath. The fate of the quest is at hand, the fate of the whole world, and it could all be lost just because she’s stuck on Ogygia? “No. No. I need to leave now. My friends need me. Everything will be lost if I’m trapped on this island.”

Calypso laughs sardonically. “Now you get it, don’t you? Every time, it draws me mad. Some new upstart hero ruining my peace and quiet, then having the audacity to complain about how much they wish they could leave. I’ve been here for centuries. You think I don’t want to go, too? I deserve it more than you, anyway. I’ve been trapped here for thousands of your lifetimes. Trust me, daughter of Athena, you have no right to bemoan your fate.”

Annabeth feels her temper rearing up in the back of her throat, an ugly thing. Calypso stalks closer, taunting her. “But you don’t care about that, do you? You wish I could stay here forever, and not just because of my father. Aren’t you scared that I might leave this place and find Percy again? He talked about you a lot, Annabeth, but I bet he talked about me, too.”

Annabeth swallows back a hot curl of rage. “This little insult game solves nothing. You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Calypso smiles. “He told me all about you. I’ll tell you, though, by the end, he was thinking about staying. They always do. I planted that seed in his mind, the idea that he might remain here and never return. You might be able to break the curse and get out of here, but trust that I will follow, and trust that I will dog your heels until I find him again.”

Annabeth forces out a laugh, but it sounds less certain than Calypso’s. “The gods would cast you back to your pretty little island. They need me for their quests, but they hate the Titans more than they hate their own children. Only one of us is leaving, and surely the centuries have taught you the lesson of who that’ll be. And no, I’m not concerned about Percy, so make all the threats you want.”

Calypso’s proud grin slips a little, stung. “Why is that?”

“I thought you knew,” she says, “I had him the whole time.” Annabeth tosses her hair a little, justs her chin out in spite, and hates herself. 

Annabeth turns crisply on her heels and marches away. It doesn’t matter where she goes, so long as it’s far away. If the path in front of her doesn’t contain any presumptuous daughters of Titans, Annabeth will walk as far as her feet will carry her. 

Eventually, her mind clears of rage enough for Annabeth to start looking around her again. The sun has sunk somewhat in the sky, so it must be approaching evening. It rattles Annabeth that the boat hasn’t come yet; surely, the curse will know she’s not supposed to be here, and take her away. And if not that, they will find her on the Argo II. If there’s still an Argo II, of course. If Khione and the spirits didn’t rip it limb from limb. If those onboard still care enough to track her down.

Of course they will, and of course the ship is fine. They need her. Better yet, they want her. Annabeth will leave this beautiful prison if it’s the last thing she does. Her stomach rumbles, sending pangs of hunger through her. It’s probably been hours since she ate. Reluctantly, Annabeth turns back towards the center of the island, searching for fruit trees or anything edible. Calypso can stand and glare if she likes, but Annabeth isn’t just going to give up and die.

This time, when Annabeth’s feet stall at the threshold of one of Calypso’s buildings, no nymph appears to chase her away. She ducks inside, blinking at the sudden darkness. Lamps flare up on the walls, making her startle, but no one appears to be inside. That doesn’t mean anything, Annabeth reminds herself of how Calypso had surprised her earlier that day.

Even if Calypso is watching, Annabeth forces herself to ignore it. She finds food out on one of the tables, and since no one else appears to be around, helps herself. It’s good, and the dirty plates are gone the moment she’s done, whisked away by invisible hands. Annabeth drinks cold water and wonders what she’s supposed to do with herself.

The first idea is to attempt to contact Hermes. Annabeth snatches a piece of bread before one of the invisible servants can take it away and goes in search of fire. There’s a small cooking fire burning outside, the smoke curling up to the sky where the faintest of stars are just starting to pepper the oncoming night.

Annabeth holds her hand over the fire and lets the bread drop, sending a delicious aroma of char and yeasty goodness up to the heavens. Annabeth closes her eyes, imagining the messenger god in her mind.

“Hermes, if you’re listening, I could really use a way out. I know you’ve brought people out of here before. I’m needed in the quest. Please, I can’t stay here forever. Please.”

Annabeth finishes up her quick prayer, then opens her eyes, casting her head wildly up to the sky. Nothing. Worse, she doesn’t even feel that satisfied tug in her gut she usually gets after a prayer. Maybe Hermes didn’t hear her. Maybe she didn’t offer enough. There’s a fruit tree nearby, but before Annabeth can even think about adding some to the pyre, Calypso speaks out of the dusky darkness.

“He’s not going to come for you.”

“You don’t know that,” Annabeth says, eyeing the fruit tree in earnest now.

Calypso scoffs, emerging from the door opposite Annabeth’s structure. “I do. You really think you’re the first one to try that?”

Annabeth opens her mouth to argue before Calypso has even finished speaking, but she closes it again, because– she had thought she was the first. She had thought that Hermes would rescue her if she needed it, because the gods need her, right? They need her on the quest. They wouldn’t just leave her to this flowery rock and assume the others could handle one less hero with them, but of course they would. The gods have never cared about the semantics of mortals, only the end result of their deathly quests.

Annabeth looks away from Calypso and back at the fire, because it’s easier to stare until the fire casts white tendrils of white on the back of her eyes than face Calypso’s victory. The piece of bread is almost burned to bits by now, and still there is no evidence that her prayer was anything but ignored.

“Who tried?” She asks quietly. “To reach Hermes, I mean.”

Calypso chuckles softly. “Everyone since Odysseus.”

Annabeth closes her eyes in grief. “We all do the same things, then.”

“Of course,” the answer floats across the darkness of Annabeth’s shut lids. “You curse, then you pray. You get ignored. You try to escape but you can’t. Then you give up, and you let me love you. And then you leave.”

Annabeth opens her eyes. Calypso seems brighter than usual compared to how dark it was when she wouldn’t look. “I won’t give up.”

“You will,” Calypso says, but it isn’t cruel, surprisingly. Just tired, like she’s heard this story a hundred times before, every single hero who thought they could break the prophecy and failed.

Annabeth won’t be another number. This, she promises herself, staring up at how the stars unfurl against the darkening sky. It’s beautiful here, truly. Almost enough to convince someone that it would be worthwhile to stay. But Annabeth has a life outside of Ogygia, and she’s coming back for it, no matter who tries to write her out.

The next few days are frustrating, full of dead ends and worthless ventures. Annabeth walks all over the island, trying to find the boat or something she could use to get out of here, but nothing. The raft does not appear. Hermes does not answer her, not even in a dream. It becomes increasingly evident that there will be no Hail Mary, no saving grace, to pull Annabeth out. If she escapes, it will be due to her own ingenuity and nothing else.

For the billionth time since she crash-landed on Ogygia, Annabeth wishes she still had Daedalus’ laptop with her. With that tool on her side, she could have come up with a design in a heartbeat, and probably had the time to play a few rounds of solitaire on the journey out. Maybe even the laptop could figure out the puzzle of why she’s here, who put her here, or the most captivating riddle of all, Calypso herself.

After that first fight, they don’t argue anymore, not really. Annabeth respects her space and Calypso doesn’t try to insult her. The invisible servants bring Annabeth food and drink. She finds fresh clothes in her size. And, on the evening of the third day, Calypso steals out of her house and joins Annabeth on the shore, staring up at the stars and hoping for any prayer of a rescue.

“You haven’t given up yet,” Calypso notes.

“No, but it’s tempting,” Annabeth admits. She’s used to long puzzles, questions without answers. All by herself, though, knowing her friends are out there needing her, the stress only makes her frazzled.

Calypso lifts a graceful shoulder. “This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in a difficult situation. Percy said you were great at it.”

Again, Annabeth flinches at the mention of his name. This time, Calypso doesn’t look triumphant at the reaction, but slightly concerned. “You always look worried when I bring him up,” the nymph mentions. “When he was here, he seemed very happy to say your name.”

Annabeth sighs. Several yards away, the waves crash against the shore, dark with night. “That was a long time ago. A lot has changed.”

Calypso frowns. “Don’t tell me your quest caused an argument. I’ve seen stories like yours, daughter of Athena. One bad turn does not a failed journey make.”

Annabeth fixes her eyes on the horizon. Steady and resolute, the endless line of water seems more forgiving than the rush of blood to her head when she says, “The journey ended before it started. We separated a while back.”

Calypso actually sits bolt upright, genuinely surprised. Annabeth thinks it’s the most unnerved Calypso has looked the entirety of Annabeth’s stay on the island. “No. The way he talked about you– I’ve never seen a man more in love. Except Odysseus, maybe. I knew he was a lost cause and I still fell in love. Was it the quest that split you?”

Calypso seems eager to keep asking questions, but she bites her tongue before long. Still, the unspoken queries seem to pour out into the air, dark as wine against the shining sand:  What makes two demigods stop loving each other? What makes a story like that stop working?

In the end, Annabeth can’t answer. Even she doesn’t know. She has this persistent idea every now and then that she should try again, like tackling a math problem when her solution doesn’t match the answer key, but she gets the feeling Percy would hate their relationship being compared to a piece of calculus homework. She just didn’t love him enough. That was it. Maybe something is wrong with Annabeth. It wouldn’t be a first.

“We were already broken up by the time this quest started,” Annabeth says listlessly. “Before he even went to New Rome, actually. When he first disappeared– I thought it was because he wanted some space, you know? We’d separated a few days before that.”

Calypso frowns. “But from what Percy told me, the two of you weren’t together yet when he was here. Not officially, at least. How short was the relationship?”

“Very,” Annabeth says wryly. “We spent far more time leading up to it than actually committing. The idea was better in theory, I guess. Most things are. We were only dating for a couple of months, and we started fizzling out halfway through. Turns out we were better as friends.”

Calypso hums under her breath. It’s an ancient tune, probably; Annabeth doesn’t recognize it, and the sorrow in the notes seems far older than a tune she could have heard on the radio. “That seems like a waste. All that time of dodging around each other’s feelings, and you couldn’t even make it last.”

Annabeth rushes to her feet, feeling like a snarling wild cat. “It wasn’t a waste. Nothing about the two of us was a waste. We just weren’t as good of a match as everyone thought, that’s all. It doesn’t mean we were bad. We just weren’t built to last as a couple.”

“As a couple?” Calypso asks, arching a brow. “And you’re perfectly fine as battle partners now? There’s no shred of hesitation between you two? Funny, from the way Percy talked, I didn’t think you’d be able to be in the same room together after ending things.”

“You don’t know a thing about us,” Annabeth hisses. “Judge us all you like, but you have no idea what it’s like. Being trapped on this island with boys flung at your feet once every century is a poor excuse for real conversation.”

Calypso’s eyes flash. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. Mortals, always so obsessed with themselves. If you had the benefit of centuries of hindsight, you’d hold onto the good things, even when you grew tired of them. You think every love has to be life-changing, every high everlasting. This is immortality. Nothing is as good as you want it. Grow up, Annabeth Chase, and realize that you have to settle for what you can get.”

Annabeth’s lip curls. “What a way to live. I’d rather die at sixty than have centuries of nothingness.”

Calypso gets to her feet as well, daintily brushing sand off her chiton. The gesture is meant to be elegant, but Annabeth swears her hands are shaking. “Get off this island as soon as you can, and you’ll get the chance. If monsters don’t kill you by thirty, I’ll believe in miracles again.”

Annabeth scoffs and turns back to the water, refusing to look back at Calypso until soft footsteps pad away, leaving her alone on the beach again. All of a sudden, the wind feels cold, and Annabeth has to hug her arms around herself to maintain warmth. She sits back down, but her cozy place on the sand no longer seems half so inviting. She ends up retreating to the structure she’s been using as her quarters, and spends a long and lonely night wishing for sleep that only comes in fitful whispers.

Calypso is cold and distant the next day. Annabeth puts up with it until midday, when she caves and walks over to her. The nymph regards her with wary eyes, but seems to warm up when Annabeth manages an apology for her outburst. Annabeth isn’t sure if Calypso will accept her words, but she seems glad enough that her only other visible companion has some semblance of dignity. When a bowl of freshly cut fruit appears by her side later that day, Annabeth knows she is forgiven.

She’s glad for the snack, too. Annabeth has begun work in earnest on a raft. She remembers Leo’s pointers when he was building the Argo II, and even if she isn’t going to the lengths of a trireme, it’s still a good exercise in mathematics to calculate the length of her lumber pieces, the precise angles of the rope needed to control the sails.

Calypso has taken to dropping by and offering input. Sometimes, it’s useful, and sometimes, it’s just to point out that her woodcutting is sloppy. Annabeth rolls her eyes and Calypso giggles. It’s not mean-spirited, and when Annabeth “accidentally” splashes her with water while trying to get the raft in the water for a test run, Calypso is so incredulous that Annabeth laughs, too. A lot.

After many failed attempts, Annabeth gets the thing in the water for real. She’ll still have to do some tugging on the mast to get it to stay up, but the logs she’s lashed together seem fairly stable. Calypso watches from the shore as Annabeth carefully clambers aboard and sits on her creation.

“That’s the least stable vessel I’ve ever seen,” Calypso comments, shading her eyes from the sun.

Annabeth just laughs. “My competition is Odysseus or a child of Poseidon. I’m proud anyway.” She extends a hand out to Calypso. “Want to see how stable it is?”

Calypso snorts. “I’ll drown.”

“Not a chance,” Annabeth protests. “My calculations are precise. Come on, I need to know if it’ll survive.”

Calypso gives the makeshift raft one last tenuous glance, then gathers up her chiton around her waist and makes a running leap into the water. The raft isn’t far from sand in case the ties broke and sent Annabeth and the logs tumbling into the sea, so Calypso makes the jump, just barely. She does send the raft into a rocking frenzy, and Annabeth has to grab her and pull her to a seat so they’re not both knocked overboard. 

For a moment, they freeze there, Annabeth’s hands on Calypso’s shoulders. She’s unable to do anything but stare at her fingers splayed across the nymph’s skin. She thinks this is the first time they’ve touched beyond accidental brushing of fingers as tools are passed back and forth. Calypso’s skin is warmed by the sun and smells of cinnamon. By contrast, Annabeth, having already ventured into the sea a few times today, feels cold through and through, her stomach a pit of sinking ice. Calypso shivers, and Annabeth has the all-consuming thought that it must be because of her, even though the day is so warm and a human should be warm too, relatively. Still, she doesn’t pull away, not until she remembers too late that they’re not supposed to be doing this.

Annabeth snatches her hands guiltily, suddenly sure that the gods must be watching even though they’ve been steadily ignoring her this whole time. The raft bobs along, carried aimlessly by the tide. Calypso’s eyes are hooked on Annabeth’s face, and it is only with great reluctance that they turn away and towards the open sea again.

Annabeth shifts slightly so they’re sitting side by side, staring the same way towards the horizon. “How far can you go from shore?” She asks.

“Not much farther,” Calypso answers. “A dozen paces, maybe. Then I stop. I’ve tried sailing away with the others, but the raft won’t leave if I’m on it.”

“Mine will,” Annabeth says, suddenly sure of herself. “If you leave with me, we could go together.”

Calypso sighs, her expression wistful. “I can’t. I’ve tried.”

“Try again,” Annabeth says, suddenly insistent. “The gods aren’t looking.”

“They always are,” Calypso spits. “They take when I’m happy and they hate it when I get what I want. Now that you’ve said it, they’ll send you away.” A shadow passes over her face, and Calypso turns abruptly away, refusing to let Annabeth see the truth in her eyes any longer. “Take me back,” she announces. “I’ve been off-shore too long. The servants will get anxious.”

Annabeth wants to protest, but the look on Calypso’s face, screwed up and resolute save for a high point of heat on her cheeks, tells her otherwise. Silently, Annabeth paddles them back to shore. The moment they’re within reach of the sand, Calypso leaps again, her feet catching the water and hurrying out like it was poisonous. Atlas’ daughter is gone by the time Annabeth lands, no more than a distant speck on the horizon when she’s tied the raft to shore to stop it from floating away.

Annabeth spends the rest of the afternoon securing the mast and sails. Her rudder is decent, if rudimentary, and it is with careful hope that she tells Calypso at dinner that night, “I think I can head out tomorrow morning.”

Instantly, Calypso stiffens head to toe. “Impossible,” she says, voice oddly light despite the tense look on her face. “It was hardly more than a pile of sticks today.”

“We floated on it,” Annabeth reminds her. “I got the sail up, I’m sure you saw me. I want to give it a go tomorrow. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me out of your hair?”

Calypso pushes her plate away, even though Annabeth notices she’s hardly eaten a bite. “It’s risky. I don’t want your body washing up on my shores.”

Annabeth, ever prideful, feels a defense of her workmanship rising to her tongue, but Calypso is staring so intently at the table before her that the indignant words deflate before they’re ever spoken. Instead, she reaches over and places her hand lightly on Calypso’s shoulder. Again, her skin feels warm to the touch, even hot. Annabeth has the odd thought that if she kept her hands on Calypso for a long time, she could let that heat filter through her, warming her blood, making her feel alive again.

“It’s going to be alright,” Annabeth assures her. “Have some faith, won’t you? The gods won’t let me drown if they think there’s a chance I could rejoin the quest.”

“I have no faith in the gods,” Calypso spits out.

“How about me?” Annabeth asks.

A pause. “Yes.”

Annabeth breathes out. “They’ll call that blasphemy.”

She isn’t sure why she cares. As if she hasn’t spent enough time wondering why the gods care so little for their children. As if she hasn’t grown up enough to understand why Luke did what he did, and worse, to almost wish he had succeeded. Gods, she misses him all the time. Worse, she misses who she could have been if he had never left her at all.

“I’ll have you forgive me, then,” Calypso says crisply.

She stands suddenly. The invisible hands clear away her plate. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”

Gripped with a sudden fear, Annabeth reaches out, catching at her chiton. “Wait. Don’t.”

Calypso stops at once, like she had been waiting for it. “Why?”

Annabeth lifts a shoulder. “It’s our last day. Come on, you can stand to talk to me for one more night, can’t you?”

The ghost of a smile touches on Calypso’s lips, and she sits back down opposite Annabeth. “Well? What do you want to talk about?”

“You,” Annabeth says. “Tell me about the island. Your favorite parts, what you love, what you hate. The stuff the myths got wrong. I want to know everything.”

“Children of Athena,” Calypso muses teasingly, “You love your information, don’t you?”

Annabeth just laughs. “Give it to me, then, and I’ll stop asking.”

Calypso hums. “You’ve never stopped before.”

Still, she starts to talk, and although she’s a little nervous at first, the stories start to roll off her tongue, one after another. The visitors she’s had. The occasional visits from the gods. The dreams she gets, of her father and what her father sees. Calypso even mentions memories from before the first war with the gods, before she had been sentenced to Ogygia. There is no doubt that Calypso has experienced the highs and lows of immortality, and contains within her far more memories than most mortals, but Annabeth cannot shake the feeling that each story seems tinged with sadness. To be so far from her family, every other living soul– Annabeth wouldn’t want it for the world. Yet Calypso is trapped here regardless.

Calypso urges her to go to bed early that night to be ready for the next morning. Annabeth agrees, but cannot help but cast a final glance over the midnight beach. She’ll be glad to leave, obviously, but she’ll still miss the deep blue waves, and maybe see the pearlescent sands in her dreams in the months from now. She’ll lie fast asleep, dreaming of the closest she’d ever come to peace, walking a perfect paradise with a beautiful girl who laughed at her jokes and let Annabeth sink deep in her own mind when she needed it.

Despite an attempt to get some rest, Annabeth finds herself staying up late that night, not from lack of trying but a simple inability to calm her mind. She’s going to be gone from this place tomorrow, gone forever. That’s how the myth goes, isn’t it? Once a traveler leaves Ogygia, they can never find it again. Calypso has assured her of this many times, yet tonight, Annabeth cannot live with herself thinking it’s true.

It’s not the island she’s worried about missing, Annabeth realizes, it’s the girl. She doesn’t want to leave Calypso behind. It’s not pity for a life in chains, it’s a genuine regret. Calypso will forever be the most enchanting puzzle that Annabeth could never solve, and it will drive her mad her entire life.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. Annabeth is meant to escape and never think of this place again, but she can tell that won’t happen. The guilt and regret will eat her alive. Calypso, a million miles away, and Annabeth, unable to sleep without dreaming of a girl with skin like silk and an irresistible scent of cinnamon, coaxing at Annabeth’s laugh, pulling her under with one smile. This isn’t what she was supposed to do. But it happens anyway. Thus is the way of the demigods. It’s always a mortal, to think themselves beyond a prophecy. Annabeth is no exception. She never has been.

She remembers something Jason had told her once, cooped up on the Argo II waiting for the time to pass. Just because a story is expected to go one way doesn’t mean that’s how you want to tell it. He’d been talking about himself and Piper, how everyone expected them to stay together because they were young and decently attractive yet Jason didn’t want to play along with Hera’s plotline forever, but somehow Annabeth thinks the sentiment rings true for her, too. 

When dawn comes, Annabeth forces herself to get up. Calypso has packed her a bag of fruit, water, and other essentials. They stand on the beach in front of the raft, but neither of them can move a muscle.

“You should go before it gets too hot,” Calypso whispers.

“I should,” Annabeth repeats.

She looks over at Calypso. The girl’s shoulders are firm and resolute, but all Annabeth can think about is a glass sculpture one touch away from shattering. She drops the bag of supplies on the ground and throws her arms around Calypso before she can be chastised for getting sand on the fruit. Calypso freezes one moment, then melts around her, tucking her face into Annabeth’s neck.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Calypso admits, her breath fluttering against Annabeth’s collarbone.

“I can take you with me,” Annabeth says. She’s almost begging now, pleading against her better judgment and the suppressing knowledge that there is nothing she can do. “They can’t stop me. You can come home with me. See the camp. See anything you want.”

Slowly, carefully, Calypso pulls herself away. Annabeth feels cold again. “You know I can’t,” Calypso whispers. Fresh tears begin to course over her cheeks, and even as Annabeth tries to wipe them away, more come anew.

“We can try,” Annabeth implores. “It’s a puzzle, I can solve it.”

“Not this one,” Calypso sighs. “You have to let me go. Now, before it’s too late.”

Annabeth opens her mouth to argue, but the sound of the waves lapping against something distracts her, and she turns to see that another raft has pulled up beside her makeshift one. Annabeth’s workmanship pales in comparison, but she doesn’t even care, because if the real one has come, then that means–

“You love me,” Annabeth says in a broken whisper.

Calypso nods, looking away. “You should go.”

“How can I?” Annabeth asks, voice threatening to crack. “How can I leave you like this?”

Calypso’s eyes latch on hers, suddenly firm. “You will, because they all do. Time will make it better. You’ll forget about this place.”

“I never will,” Annabeth vows. “I promise, I’ll come back for you. I don’t care that travelers can’t come back. The gods said male travelers, didn’t they? I’ve already broken the rules by being here. I’ll break them again. I will come back for you, Calypso. I’ll come back for you and you’ll never see this place again. Not even in your dreams.”

Calypso starts crying again, and Annabeth can’t bear it anymore. To stop it, she leans forward, meaning to wipe away the tears, but she forgets halfway through and kisses her instead, kisses the girl she’s had all to herself in paradise these past few weeks. Calypso tastes like her uncle’s stolen fire, like the burn of her father’s prophecies. Annabeth wants to spend the rest of her life kissing her, but Calypso is taking her by the wrists, pressing kisses to the veins then urging her towards the water. The tide is cold around her ankles. Annabeth wants Calypso to warm her up again. She thinks she’ll be cold her entire life if Calypso isn’t there beside her, hand in hers, eyes soft and careful.

The wind is picking up. “Now,” Calypso pleads. “Before they stop you.”

Annabeth forces herself onto the magical raft. “I’ll find you,” she shouts. “I promise.”

The sail catches at the gusts, snapping full and carrying her away. Calypso is turning into a distant freckle against the beach. She’s saying something, but Annabeth can’t hear over the sound of her own pleading. Just one more moment. Just one more word.

Ogygia is gone. The sea is all Annabeth knows. At some point, perhaps today, perhaps never, she’ll dock at a city in Malta. The others will find her. She’ll be okay, and she will spend every night dreaming of an island no one can find with a young woman no one knows. It will drive her mad, more than any puzzle or question ever has.

And then, on a day very far from now, Annabeth will sail a ship and get lost on purpose, so lost that she ends up at an island that no one can find. Someone will be waiting for her. Someone who isn’t afraid of being jailed anymore, and is more afraid that Annabeth can’t leave fast enough. The world will be saved, the earth goddess vanquished. The sky will be clear, and Calypso will never go back to Ogygia again. That, in the end, is all they’ve ever wanted, and they’ll get it, too. For once, the gods will smile on them. It will be perfect.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver, @anxiety-werewolf, @runawayprincesslily

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[clownfire]

BitB! Prime Defenders AU

The division of character roles isn't straight forward so I'll try to explain as best I can. (warning this au is kinda depressing im not gonna lie)

10 years after the disappearance of their friend Ashe Winters, William Wisp, Dakota Cole, and Vyncent Sol reunite in their sleepy hometown of DeadWood Louisiana.

William never left. Out of a misplaced obligation to find his missing friend or just plain cowardice, he still lives there with his parents.

Dakota never became the sports star he dreamed of being. Instead he teaches high-school PE in California. He's adored there, but it still eats him up inside. Hopefully he can help someone else live up to the greatness that he never could.

Vyncent could say that he was successful. He got his degrees, became an accountant, and earns enough to make his parents proud. He should be happy. But his thoughts still linger in DeadWood, guilt haunting his every waking moment.

The night Ashe would go missing, the four were invited to a Halloween party at Summer's house. As the night went on, many drinks were had and a shouting match broke out between Vyncent and William. It started with William throwing petty insults at Vyncent for dancing with Summer (framing it as 'how dare you dance with my crush?' instead of 'my crush, how dare you dance with someone?'), and escalates when Vyncent accidentally lets slip that he's moving to Chicago as soon as he graduates. William's jealousy turns to fear of abandonment, and Vyncent's confusion and frustration boils over, angrilly calling William immature and naive. William ends the fight by storming out, Ashe finding him and taking out on a walk to cool him down. Dakota stays behind and diffuses the lingering tension at the party.

Ashe and William end up wandering deep into the bayou where they are attacked by the newly emerged elder-brain. They both die that night. Ashe is subsumed by the hive and becomes the host for the queen, William is replaced and spat out as its first 'worker ant'.

Vyncent is ultimately the one who finds Will after a week of the two being declared missing, washed ashore by their favourite tree. Ashe is never found.

Dakota blames himself for not being there to protect them. Vyncent blames himself for not looking hard enough. Will believes deep down that when he begged the bayou to spare him, it listened.

================================

Miscellaneous

For the most part, William = Rand, Vyncent = Rolan, Dakota = Kian, and Ashe = Rachel. The major deviation being that William was the first to be bugged, as Rolan was in canon. Another is that Dakota is the one coming to DeadWood for his parent's funeral (in this AU Dakota doesn't become an orphan until his thirties, yay!).

Mark fill's Mr Dickman's role. He heavily resents Will, placing the responsibility squarely on him, but he is the only person left who hasn't given up on finding his son, so they exist in a tense alliance based on this mutual goal.

Bookworm fills Rat's role. After Dakota and Vyncent leave, he befriends Will and helps him research.

GhostKnife exists in this AU, with all the 80's repression and pent up guilt of KeepersChampion.

Haven't decided yet if anything resembling the Becky encounter happens. If you have any ideas of how to integrate it / something to replace it with, let me know.

[incandescentflower]

I end up coming back to tumblr when I have too much in my brain from the Teddy Bear drama. I am 3/4 through now and all the big things are happening and I am very stressed.

Things I am sitting with:

Nut's father was as terrible as was previously indicated, even more so, really. They were all in a serious domestic violence situation and Nut's mother was a victim too, but she never stood up for her son. I'm not comfortable with the story pushing the narrative that she hurt Nut to protect him. I know Thai dramas often want us to understand parents in these situations and I do actually sympathize with Na quite a bit, but she was the parent and she hasn't done right by her son. Nut has every reason to feel the rage he feels, but obviously it doesn't serve him in order to finally move forward and live a happy life. So any forgiveness of his mother feels to me like it should be *for him.*

I'm not keen on Nut and Na never really talking directly to each other. Tofu serves as this go between and although yes, Nut hears his mother's regrets, it would have been more meaningful to me if she actually told her son directly.

Speaking of lack of direct communication, Tofu knowing about Tarn and not telling Nut stressed me from the moment he discovered it until he finally brought Nut to see him. I'm glad that Nut expressed his feelings about Tofu not telling him before. Tofu brought him without warning because he couldn't deal with his own feelings about it, despite the fact that it was clearly going to be more of a shock for Nut.

Which brings me to the fact that Tofu is becoming more and more a person. He is not a blank slate that is only doing what he thinks is best for Nut. He is scared of his situation, scared things are going to change, scared of losing Nut and it's getting really painful to watch. I feel for him greatly. He is now able to essentially struggle with his own mortality and he is pretty certain, as we the viewer are as well, that he has a *very* limited time left.

It looks like Na also has Alzheimer's Disease which I have to admit my first reaction was really show? do we really need more problems? then I did a quick search and discovered almost 1/3 of people with Alzheimer's experiences psychosis, which I did not know, so I guess that's what this has been all along. I'm just waiting for that all to be wrenched open since Nut and Na still aren't really talking, see number 2 above.

I am so desperately sad about Tarn's situation. He clearly got attacked for trying to do the right thing. He has tried to do right by Nut from the moment they met. I was wrong that Nut had never been loved the way Tofu loves him, because Tarn clearly did. Every moment of their backstory is so compelling. No matter how this goes, I want Tarn to get to wake up, which I understand is not good for Tofu, although it does seem that if Tarn died, Tofu would also cease to exist, although that is just my speculation. Also, did Tarn lose both his parents and his best friend within a very short time frame? This guy's situation seems just as tragic as Nut's, we just don't see all of his story.

Still ravenous to find out if the connection between Tarn and Tofu will be explained. I think besides Tofu saying the words that Tarn said when he and Nut first kissed, we are getting little pieces of Tofu remembering things from Tarn. They are clearly very different "people" so I hope the show gives us some meaningful answer to this.

[daes0]

Ending One

Rafayel and all the ways he says he l̶̯̞̱̬̘̜̗̏͒̂̐̈͋̍̓ô̶̡͙̤̻̐̓͑̚͝v̴͕͖̙̦̩͚͓̠̌̄͂͒͜ȇ̵̪̆͐̒̈́͠s̶̬̬̼͆͛̚ you.

Pairing: {Rafayel x Reader}

Rating: {Mature}

Word Count: {2.3k words, 24.6k for entire work}

liar liar lover

You wake up in a hospital room. Rafayel is asleep next to you, but he stirs when he hears you moving.

"_____?" his voice is etched in worry. "Oh my god, _____!"

Rafayel envelops you in a hug, careful not to accidentally hurt you but so desperate to have you in his arms.

He lets go begrudgingly. "You've been asleep for four days," he tells you, his brows furrowed together. "You can't just leave me like that!"

"Not like I did it on purpose," you say, and your voice is scratchy and rough.

Rafayel hugs you again. "I thought you were going to die, _____," he mumbles against your hair. "So much… so much happened."

"Tell me what happened," you say.

So he does.

Rafayel tells you about how he had gone into the bathroom inside the exhibit when all of a sudden he heard screaming. He tried to get out, but the door wouldn't budge. He managed to escape the brunt of the arson attack because of it.

You don't question it. How could you? It's Rafayel, the love of your life, and you feel so tired to think anything more of it. You can't help the brain fog, but even if you didn't have that you still would refuse to question him. It's Rafayel. Rafayel is safe. Rafayel is yours.

He wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't hurt anyone.

~

Xavier comes to visit you. He informs you that the hunters are sure that this was an arsonist's work and are investigating everything they possibly can. He tells you that all the paintings were destroyed, but it was confirmed that one of them went missing.

~

More time passes.

You've mostly recovered now. It's been two months since the attack. You've been living in Rafayel's place since you were discharged from the hospital. You didn't want to be alone, and Rafayel needed to recover from the exhibit, so you two just ended up living in his art studio.

You've gone through a lot together.

~ 

“It’s a promise.”

You're surprised at the gift. A lovescale- a fish scale fossil that's in the shape of a heart. "If it's our anniversary, I literally forgot to keep track of it-"

"It's not because of that," he says with a small chuckle. "It's because I love you."

You realize that he hasn't said it outside of the fogged up mirror. And you're surprised, because it feels like he's said it. Then you realize that he's said it in a myriad of ways that mean I love you, but just not worded as "I love you." He's loved you for a long time now. Rafayel loves you.

"What do you promise?" you ask as you accept the gift.

"That I'll love you forever. Through all our lifetimes, through all the universes, through every existence. I'll love you an eternity's worth."

You feel your heart melt at his words. "I love you too, Rafayel."

You kiss him, softly at first, gentle, then with more force, more passion.

He pulls back for breath. "Wait, wait, I had something else planned."

You tilt your head, curious, and wait for him to continue.

Rafayel goes to the closet and pulls out a small painting.

You recognize it immediately as one of the one's from the exhibit.

"Did you remake it?" you ask, a little nervous but you're not sure why.

"No," he shakes his head, "It's from the last Flux Arts exhibit."

You're confused for a moment, but then remember what Xavier said. About a painting being missing. About how the hunters thought the arsonist had stolen it.

Your heart beats faster.

"Rafayel," your mouth feels dry, "Why do you have this?"

He smiles, as if it means nothing, as if it means absolutely fucking nothing. "I'm the killer, my love."

You don't know how to react, but a shudder of fear goes through your body. As a hunter, you've been taught to act, to avoid the instinct to freeze. But you can't help it. You can't move. It's Rafayel, and because of that you can't move. You hesitate. You fucking hesitate.

You can barely talk, but one question comes out of your lips anyway. "Why?"

Rafayel takes a step closer. "Humans have persecuted my people for generations. I managed to track down the reincarnations that almost made my people extinct, and, well… I wanted vengeance."

He says it so nonchalantly, like he's explaining why he likes seafood.

"Rafayel," you say in a low voice. "Raf… What- what do you mean?" You're so confused. "You- you're… No, no…" you start laughing under your breath. "Raf, this is a sick joke, this is a disgusting joke."

"It's not a joke," he says with a tilt of his head.

"No, fuck, stop it, Raf." You're mad. You're so mad. You went through hell as a hunter on this case and now he's making fun of it? You hate it. For a moment, you hate him.

"I'm not joking."

He takes another step closer. 

"I'm not joking," he repeats, the same old smile on his face.

Suddenly there's a knife to your throat.

The smile is gone now. "I'm not joking."

"Raf-"

The knife digs into the skin of your neck, and you feel warm blood pool on its edge.

You don't know what to do. You don't know how to move.

"What are you going to do, _____?" Rafayel asks you.

You try to remember your training, but nothing comes to mind. So, instead of acting as a hunter, you act as yourself. "Put the knife down."

Rafayel breathes in a laugh, but then he lowers the blade. "What are you going to do now?"

"Why are you doing this?" you can't help but ask. "I didn't know it was you. I didn't know. Why did you tell me? Why did you want me to know?"

"Because I love you. Because I want you to love me for everything I am. Because this- this vengeance, is part of who I am."

"No," you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of this nightmare. "No, no, you're Rafayel, you're not… you're not a killer."

"I've lived a long life, _____. You don't live as an immortal without killing a few people."

"Then why- why kill without reason?" You're so confused. Your eyes well up with tears. You want this nightmare to desperately be over.

"It's not without reason." He lifts the knife and brings it up to his lips. He's about to lick it, taste your blood, but something in him makes him stop. He lowers the knife. "It's vengeance."

"For what?!" you beg.

"For my people," he explains calmly.

"It's been centuries-"

"And they keep coming back." His eyes darken. "You humans. You always reincarnate. You always come back. And you always hurt my people, you always kill or maim us for our blood. You've spent lifetimes with our blood on your hands!"

"I haven't!" Your scream echoes across his art studio. Then, in a quieter, broken voice, you repeat it. "I haven't."

He thinks about this for a moment. "You're right. Your lifetimes may be complacent, but you've never hurt us. If anything, you've helped us survive many times. But that's why I didn't kill you. That's why I killed them instead."

You're quiet.

"Speak," he asks. "I need you to talk. Need to know what you're thinking. Need to know what you're planning on doing."

"Are you going to kill me?" you ask just above a whisper.

"No." He flips the knife from one hand to the other. "I don't want to."

"What if I tell the hunters-"

"You won't." He smiles that bastard smile. "I know you won't."

You feel your knees give out and you find yourself on the ground.

He kneels down in front of you.

"So, _____. What are you going to do?"

He takes your hand and puts the knife on your palm.

"Do you want to kill me?"

You grip the knife, but your hand shakes. 

(Why do you hesitate?)

The knife drops to the floor.

He hums in approval. "It's okay if you change your mind, you know. I won't stop until I'm forced to."

You stare at the knife on the floor. Your vision spins. Black dots form at the edges, and you feel like you're fading.

"I love you, _____."

Rafayel suddenly hugs you, holding you in his strong arms. And in the moment, you find yourself wanting the comfort. You accept the hug. Your tears fall on his shoulder.

"Do you still love me?" he asks.

And you're not sure. You're not sure.

"It's okay," he coos. "You don't have to say anything right now."

You're not sure.

"I love you," he reminds you, kissing you on the forehead. "We'll be okay."

You're not sure.

~

Rafayel carries you to the bed before tucking you in. "I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight," he tells you. "Let me know if you need anything."

And so you sleep.

You dream of a different life, one where Rafayel is gentler, where he's the person you fell in love with and there are no secrets. And in that dream, you're still not sure, so you choose yourself. It's an okay choice to make. You live your life, and you find that you can survive just fine without him. You have your family- your grandmother and your stepbrother, both of which love you to the ends of the world. You have your friends- Zayne, who's a bit cold but has gotten warmer and cares so much about you, and Xavier, who's kind and always there to help you when you need it the most. A part of you wishes that Rafayel was there too, but it's okay that he's not. It's okay.

You wake up.

The knife is next to you on the nightstand. This time, you're determined. You take it and walk out of the room. Rafayel sleeps quietly on the couch.

His sleeping face, the gentle movement of his chest, the soft curls of his hair falling over his eyelids.

You promised yourself you wouldn't hesitate, that you wanted to kill the person who threatened your beloved. But it's Rafayel, your one and only. Your soulmate.

Rafayel had once told you that some soulmates are destined for tragedy. Is that what you are?

Your hands shake. For some reason, you don't want to drop it again, don't want him to awake with the sound of a knife. So you place the knife next to him on the table, giving it back.

You rub at your neck, feel the nicked wound, further confirmation that last night happened. There's a bit of dried blood on you, brittle against your fingertips. You head to the bathroom.

You open the faucet. Let the cool water rush in, covering your hands. It's striking, how cold it is, how frigid you feel. You bring a damp hand to your neck, shaking against the blood. You rub off the majority, but you still feel a bit of it stuck to your skin.

You grab a hand towel and bring it to the water. It's cold touch seeps in, and finally you bring it up to your neck. The cut stings against the roughness of the towel, but it works. You make sure not to break it back open.

The hand towel falls off your hands. You're shaking so much. You reach down and grab it. Your reflection on the mirror catches your eye as you straighten back up.

Your eyes are dark, swollen and tear-stained. You're crying. You clench your jaw and unclench, trying to focus.

Your reflection stares back at you. Why are you here?

"It's a promise," Rafayel had said.

The lovescale is in your hands. You don't remember when you pulled it out of your pocket. You just know that you've been staring at it for a while. Did you lose yourself again?

It's so heavy in your hands. You turn it around, letting the limited light of the bathroom shimmer against the scale's brilliant colors, somehow still bright against the darkness.

A laugh rumbles against your chest. You're laughing. You don't know why. 

"_____?" Rafayel calls out.

You put the lovescale back in your pockets. You exit the bathroom. "I'm here," you call out.

He gets up to stretch his muscles. You sit down on the couch and wait for him.

Finally, he sits back down. "Want to watch TV?" he suggests.

You hear the roar of a storm overhead. "Sure."

"Seems like it's gonna rain again today," Rafayel mentions off-hand.

"Yeah," you agree. "I kinda want to watch a romcom."

"Ooh, that sounds nice," he responds, then searches for a good romcom movie to watch.

You two end up cuddling next to each other on the couch. You feel the uneasiness on your chest, but for now you remain calm. You try to pay attention to the movie, you really do, but each word leaves your mind as soon as it comes. You try hard to hold onto the words that the main actress says, something about a four-leaf clover. Then you're distracted again, thinking about how only a few months ago, Rafayel had given you a clover. It was pressed in between the pages of a leather-bound journal. You don't remember where that journal is.

Now you can't help but think about it. This bit of flora, springing out of the ground, and taken. A destiny to be stuck in the pages of the dead flesh of a tree, kept as a memento.

The movie ends. Rafayel is smiling and laughing and you feel a pit in your stomach.

Memento mori, you think.

"Hmm?" he tilts his head in confusion. A sick part of you sees that and thinks it's cute.

"It's nothing. I guess I'm just distracted, is all."

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck. You breathe in his scent, let it overwhelm your senses, let it infiltrate all your thoughts.

He kisses your forehead. "It's okay."

END OF ENDING ONE

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Familiar Faces - Calm before the storm Part 1

Summary: Elijah Gilbert has been haunted by dreams of other lives as long as he remembers, but now with the appearance of the Salvatore brother he may finally get some answers.

For some reason my brain didn't want to finish this part, I started three sewing projects instead of it.

-----

Elijah had woken the next morning for a second day in a row well rested despite a brief memory of waking up last night to the cats snarling, he got dressed being reminded of the fight by a flash of pain when he caught his hand shutting the drawer. 

He sent a text off to Tyler before he left his room, the last thing he needed was Tyler holding a grudge when he was already starting things with Jeremy, and the more he thought about it the more he realised Tyler couldn’t have done anything grabbed by Stefan.

To Tyler Sorry about the punch last night, I wasn't thinking.

It wasn’t until Aunt Jenna came down that he learned about Mr. Tanner, he tried not to think too much on his complete lack of concern about it, sure he didn’t like the man but shouldn’t he feel something more than a faint sense of disappointment.

Before he could worry anymore about that his aunt noticed the bandage around his wrist and he found out no one had thought to tell her about it.

So he was left to explain it was she carefully unwrapped the cloth, both of them wincing as she pulled the last of it from the wound.

Any hope that seeing it would calm her down vanished as it was revealed to daylight, jagged and sore, across his palm and down his wrist, it was going to be quite the scar.

Elijah sat through her concerned lecture and promised her that Jeremy hadn’t done it on purpose, when she worried that she had been part of the cause instead it was because Jeremy resented him for going with him in the morning. When she looked away to bring him the toast, it gave him a chance to look at Tyler’s reply.

I'll let it go, how's the arm? From Tyler

He sent another back.

To Tyler Sore, likely going to leave a nasty scar.

It wasn’t until Elena joined them that he remember the necklace, remembered chasing down Stefan to demand answers and then-

He had gone to find Stefan about the necklace, then things got concerning, the black spots he remembered being a sign of incoming unconsciousness, yet instead of sitting down he had run towards Stefan.

He didn’t remember how he got home, didn’t remember Stefan actually answering him.

He did however remember Tanner’s voice from somewhere close, the pain in his hand as he grabbed Stefan and for a moment before it went back he had turned to another voice and looked up to find eye he knew where blue despite the dim light and a face from his dreams, Dam.

He decided to leave it as Jeremy and Elena joined them in the kitchen, Jeremy sending him guilty glances and Elena looking between them.

If Stefan confronted him about how he was acting last night, he would ask him how he got home.

Last time he had been found that he had gotten the real world and his dreams confused he-EJ had ended up spending the last ten years of that life in white rooms and medicated.

He could ignore the necklace.

—-

He couldn't ignore the necklace.

Over a week had passed and those two nights of dreamless sleep were a faint memory, every night since he had started trying to ignore it he was getting dreams of the strange timeless self that existed before his faint dreams from the ‘Uncle’. 

The same faces, people he loved even if he didn’t know them, despite the clear passage of time, a woman with that necklace that he knew as mother or a younger girl he wanted to protect even if half the dreams had him wiping blood from her face with fond exasperation.

Perhaps that was also the reason he was glaring at the news report that morning.

Now he was very sure what had attacked Vicki and killed the others, including Mr. Tanner.

Stefan’s, the girl’s, eyes and veins dark, fangs sharp, Vampire.

Mountain lion, it claimed, had been behind the attacks, one that was dealt with now. 

‘No’ he had seen Vicki’s wound, it was too small especially for a mountain lion as big as they reported. ‘A poor cover up’

Humans are willing to believe anything.

He froze as the thought, where had that come from, he was human.

In the dreams they were his family, he was one of them.

He was saved from thinking anymore of that, as aunt Jenna recognized the guy, and started throwing insults under her breath and Elena joined them and asked before he needed to.

He tuned out the following conversation until his name was called.

He looked up to see Jeremy staring at him

“Sorry-” he started 

“It’s nothing.” Elena shook her head.

“It’s mom and dad’s stuff,” Jeremy explained looking at him with pleading eyes, “she can’t just give it away.”

“Mom loaned it to the founder’s council, for the party.” Elena told him, “Mrs Lockwood asked me to go thought it”

“Elijah!” Jeremy called,

“They’ll return everything,” he promised Jermey, “we’ll make sure of it, okay.”

It didn’t reassure him as he watched him storm out.

—

He watches as Elena pulls Stefan after her up the stairs, wondering why she was so against Jeremy and Vic doing what she was also doing, yes Jeremy was two years younger than them but at least they had known Vicki for their entire lives.

Elena had known Stefan for at most three weeks.

Elijah might know him better but if that was true then he was hiding a rather large secret.

But if he ignored that, which he had experience in doing at least then he was happy for her.

That also left him with the founder’s party.

And the fact last night for the first time since he had seen the necklace he had gotten a new dream from ‘sick child’s’ life.

Giddy excitement as he went to the first founder’s party with big brother Dam.

Giddy excitement as he went to the first founder’s party with big brother Dam.

Which was why he froze when he got Caroline’s text, as he knew where it was going. 

Still looking for a plus one?

From Caroline.

He had laughed, at the last founders event, said he’d bring a guy so he wouldn’t be stuck surrounded by the three of them or standing with Tyler and she had been complaining that her mom wouldn’t approve of Damon which meant her bringing him wasn’t really acceptable for her.

He had however managed to avoid meeting Damon Savlatore so far but his main cause of doing that was to avoid anymore dreams and the necklace had caused them.

So really he didn’t have any more reason to avoid him.

The nine year version of him had believed Dam could fix everything, and part of Elijah wants to believe that still.

He took a breath and replied.

To Caroline

I’ll take Damon, you take Bonnie.

Elena wasn’t going to be pleased.

-----

Damon had behaved, covered up his tracks, cut down on killing anyone since that night, even left Elijah alone.

Yes he had listened to him sleep but that was to check if he did still have his dreams, which he did, and it also let him discover he couldn’t get inside his head, whether that was because of whatever was causing him to remember or that fact he was a witch.

Which was new and highly useful to Damon's future plans.

He hadn’t even approached him to see how much he remembered of them, instead he had watched as Stefan avoided him.

It was impressive considering Stef was dating his twin, but it was also helped by the fact Elijah was somewhat avoiding Stefan, something he wouldn’t have known if not for his luck at picking his pawn. 

Caroline was quite frankly a stroke of good fortune, the fact the girl he had picked was apparently the closest to his littlest brother besides Elena herself. She had told him nearly everything there was to know about Elijah in this life from their earliest years.

The only things he was missing was what went on in that head of his and Elijah was just as skilled at holding a mask if not better than he had been a hundred years ago.

And unlike before Damon couldn’t just ask and have Elijah spill everything with wide brown eyes as he looked up at him.

Complete trust was lost but it was likely better this way.

“I went through a lot of trouble to make sure this party wasn't cancelled. It's very important I be there.” he told her to compel her when she spoke, saying something he hadn’t expected at all.

“I can’t take you but Elijah can.”

“What?” he asked, sitting up on her bed suddenly.

“I asked him this morning.” she told him, passing him the phone, the last text from Elijah read

Just don’t tell Elena or Bonnie.

It was perfect, and beautifully ironic, like a copy of the first, this time Elijah was taking him instead of him taking the tiny nine year old that wanted to go to a grown up party, he had only needed to go to retrieve what he had placed there now he could also test how much Elijah remembered.

How much he was hiding. And it wasn’t even him who had arranged it, Stefan was going to fume.

“He’s the only one you haven’t met yet and this is perfect, right?” Caroline beamed as she asked.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked later as he looked down at her, he hummed as he pretended to think about it.

“Probably not” he told her, noting the slight surprise that appeared in her eyes, he wasn’t lying she and Elijah were close, killing her would upset him and likely cause him to side with Stefan if it ever came to that.

Messing with Elena and Stefan was likely to upset Elijah enough already when he realised.

He didn’t need both his brothers, teaming up to be a pain.

“Besides you have been exceedingly helpful, but there's something more I need you to do for me.”

“Anything.” she smiled.

Now he just needed to sew a little discord between Stefan and Elena to keep his little brother distracted while he could retrieve what he had left there last time and measure how much his littlest brother remembered.

It was going to be a busy party.

[nezumithewriter]

i need to work on my big bang fic but my brain is disastrous and came up with a different au

basically uhhhh humanity fucks up in some way and plants start overtaking the world, mainly by beginning to take over human bodies kinda. The gist of it is that a very large majority of people start growing different types of flora from their body and their mind goes blank (like a plant)

basically just flower zombies but they don't attack people

Unlike my other ideas, this au would be focused on the SQUIP, who becomes active after Jeremy is incapable of mentally fighting him off cause whoops jeremy has flowers blooming from his flesh

(line idea: "The SQUIP was used to the constant din of Jeremy's thoughts, which filled its processor every hour of every day. Even in Jeremy's sleep, since humans never stopped thinking. When that noise faded, the SQUIP knew something had gone horribly wrong.")

the SQUIP is able to get Jeremy to wake up a little after learning about what happened, and Jere is basically a zombie. despite this, the SQUIP can barely parse a goal of sorts in jeremy's plant-infested brain: "Find Michael."

The SQUIP, being a program designed to accomplish a host's goal, makes it his mission to help this very much lethargic and kind of braindead Jeremy Heere find Michael, despite the fact that, from the few memories that SQUIP can find, Michael has definitely succumbed to the same fate as Jeremy and the rest of the world

TLDR; Jeremy turns into a flower zombie and SQUIP has to help him find Michael

Really, I only had this idea because of this idea for a scene (under the cut)

"The SQUIP made Jeremy walk for a couple hours more, walking past dilapidated buildings and overgrown gardens (and people, the SQUIP noted.) Eventually, however, it begun to rain. The SQUIP had known it was going to rain, (despite any weather channel that could've existed to assist him now being defunct,) but didn't know if it would affect his host. He had made a couple of predictions, most of them not warranting any concern. It would just make Jeremy stop for a little bit.

rain

The SQUIP was blessed with a small thought from its shell of a host. "Yes, Jeremy, that's rain." It replied, crossing its holographic arms as the din of light rain began to fill their audio processors.

It was quiet for a moment.

rain nice

"If you think it is, then it is," it replied, "We can sit here for a bit."

And then, it was quiet between them again."

(doodle i made of this idea in class)

[clone-medic-patch]

Patch Fic Snippet!

This is a snippet from my fic, “A Series of Hard Knocks” featuring my OC Patch.

Warnings for panic attacks, PTSD and mild self-injurious behavior.

For context: Patch was stationed with the 501st on a temp basis after Umbara, but still has a lot of trauma from the Malevolence attack, which is the main focus of this fic snippet. Also, Dogma was semi-pardoned for killing Krell in this fic, and has been doing community service in medbay since then.

Enjoy!

Patch always heard klaxons in his dreams. Wailing sirens, flashing lights, and shuddering ships were familiar to his subconscious mind. Maybe that’s why he didn’t wake up to the Resolute’s evacuation drill until Tup was shaking his shoulder, shouting, “Come on, Patch. We’ve gotta go!” 

Reality crashed into Patch like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under. Before his mind could process his surroundings, he was already standing, following the other troopers as they exited the barracks. Brain jolting in horror, his breath caught in his throat, and he could feel himself tremble with every blaring siren.

The flashing lights in the hallway were what brought him to a stuttering halt. Letting out a choked whimper, he leaned against a wall. His knees gave out underneath him, breaths coming in quick and shallow. Patch squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his empty forearms hard enough to hurt, entire body shaking. 

Part of him knew he needed to get moving, that he couldn’t get left behind, but his armor was back in the barracks, along with every one of his favorite coping strategies, and his shaking limbs refused to support his weight. Hyperventilating, he could practically hear the escape pod groaning as the life-support systems broke down.

Meanwhile, Dogma was passing through the hallway near the barracks. It was his first week back in his own bunk, and it still felt wrong to be safely nestled above Tup, listening to the quiet snores of his brothers, so he’d been wandering the halls waiting for sleep to come when the drill started. Rounding the corner, he nearly tripped over Patch before he caught himself.

“What the– Patch?”

Shaking his head frantically, Patch sat crumpled on the hallway floor, lost in a flashback and muttering to himself, “No no no no no–!” 

Dogma gave the medic a look of confusion, closely followed by a jolt of alarm, remembering his quiet admissions during group sessions about destroyed Venators and dying escape pods. Even now, he could see the older trooper hyperventilating, nails digging into his forearms hard enough to draw blood.

“H-Hey, don’t do that.” He exclaimed, trying to get Patch to stop gripping his arms so tightly, but Patch didn’t even acknowledge his existence, still shuddering in panic.

Dogma shook his head, trying to think of a new approach. At this rate, Patch’s tight grip was definitely going to leave a mark. “Stop that– uh, here!” 

With a grunt of realization, he crouched next to the medic, unclipping his own bracers before starting to attach them to Patch’s arms to give him at least a little bit of protection. Thankfully, this seemed to jolt Patch back to reality, just a little, and he loosened his grip just long enough for Dogma to finish. 

For a moment, this seemed to help, and Patch’s breathing slowed a little bit as he ran a hand along the armor pieces. But then, to Dogma’s alarm, his breath hitched and a few tears started to fall.

“Hey, d-don’t cry!” Dogma’s hands froze as he watched, but this only made him cry harder, just barely audible over the warning klaxons. Dogma’s breath caught in his throat; he was incredibly out of his depth. 

Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his comlink from his belt and tried to comm Tup. Tup would know what to do. He listened to it beep a few times, but the call refused to connect. ‘He must’ve left his comm in the barracks,’ Dogma thought with dismay. 

But Patch was still shaking, eyes filled with unshed tears, so he tried again, this time calling Hardcase. Hopefully medbay hadn’t been dragged into the evacuation drill. When the comlink chirped, Dogma gave an audible sigh of relief.

“What is it, Dogma? It’s 0200.” Hardcase groaned, still sounding half-asleep.

“Patch is crying.” Dogma’s voice was tense with nerves as he watched the medic. 

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know! Probably something to do with the evac drill. How— W-What do I do?”

“He’s crying right now? Like, in front of you?” Hardcase was sounding increasingly concerned, and not nearly awake enough for this. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” 

“Then give him a hug or something! Don’t just stand there watching him!” 

“A hug?”

He could practically hear Hardcase’s facepalm. “Yes, with your arms! Hang the kriff up and comfort him!”

Dogma’s eyes widened in trepidation. “Uh, I’ll try, but–”

“And get someone to turn the kriffing alarms off!” He heard Hardcase say something else, presumably to a medic in medbay, and then the comm call cut off, leaving him alone again. 

In the short time it had taken to call Hardcase, it looked like Patch had calmed down a little more, but his hands still shook visibly as he sat curled up around his knees, letting out a quiet hiccup every now and then. Dogma took a deep breath, bracing himself before wrapping a stiff arm around Patch’s shoulders.

Patch flinched slightly before leaning into the touch, so Dogma offered him a hand, which he gripped tightly. Hardcase must’ve called someone, because the lights stopped flashing and the alarms petered off, and finally Patch could breathe again. 

The medic opened his eyes, finally starting to register his surroundings. With an exhale of relief, he slumped into Dogma’s side. He looked up, blinking in surprise as he began to realize what happened.

“...H-Hey kid. Sorry about that.” His voice was hoarse, and his ears burned with embarrassment as he gave Dogma a sheepish look. He took a few grounding breaths, trying to look a bit less like he was falling apart at the seams. 

“It’s okay… a-are you alright?” Dogma asked, stiffening slightly.

Patch quirked his head to one side, mentally scanning himself before answering honestly. “No, but I will be… c-can we head back to the barracks? I’d like to grab the rest of my armor before Kix or Coric drags me off to medical.” He could already feel his forearms burning, but he made a noise of surprise when he noticed that the bracers on his arms weren’t his own. 

Dogma nodded, fumbling for a moment before standing up, giving Patch a hand. “Sure, uh– can you stand?”

Giving a grunt of affirmation, Patch took Dogma’s hand gratefully. He sniffled, trying to avoid getting any more tears and snot on Dogma’s loaned armor, if he could help it. “Yeah, ‘m good.”

With slow steps, the duo made it back to the barracks. Dogma was quick to help Patch locate his armor, awkwardly offering him a tissue when he sniffled for the 3rd time. “Ugh, thanks vod’ika.” 

Dogma nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. “What is it, kid?” Patch asked, still feeling a little guilty at putting him in that situation. Even now, he was reliant on Dogma helping him put his armor back on. He let out a sigh of relief when he could breathe again, safe in its familiar weight.

Biting his lip in frustration, Dogma looked away, breath trembling. “I-I can’t – Is there… I’m not good at this! How do I help you?” 

Patch blinked in surprise before letting out a huff of amusement. “You already have, vod’ika. You stayed, you found what worked, and you called someone who removed the triggers. Thanks for these, by the way.” He handed back the loaned armor bracers before reaching and grabbing his weighted blanket from his bunk to wrap around his shoulders.

“Oh…” Dogma blinked, realizing he had indeed done those things. He watched as Patch reached into his utility belt to grab a metal tin, helping him open it when his shaking hands gave him trouble.

Giving him a nod of thanks, Patch grabbed a mint before offering one to Dogma, which he hesitantly accepted. “Sorry for putting you in that situation, Dogma, but you did good.” 

Dogma shook his head in refusal. “Y-You don’t need to apologize. I just– I’m not good at this…” He repeated himself, looking down at his hands. This whole medic assistant thing was pretty daunting, especially for an early-graduated trooper like himself. If it had been the start of the war, there’s a good chance he would still be on Kamino.

“Heh, nobody is, at first. The first time I helped someone with a blaster wound, I thought I was going to throw up.” Patch cracked a grin, relieved when Dogma returned it. 

“Come ‘ere, kid.” He lifted one arm, raising the corner of his weighted blanket for Dogma to join him if he wanted. Dogma hesitated for a second before scooting closer to the medic, mirroring their earlier positions, if a bit less awkwardly. 

A few minutes later, Coric came into the barracks with a couple bacta patches and a look of concern, followed by a wave of troopers more than ready to get back to their bunks. The next day, Captain Rex came by and set up a system for Patch to be alerted before drills, to give him time to put on his armor and use his coping strategies beforehand. They briefly discussed having a designated evacuation partner, in the case of an actual emergency, but settled on simply alerting the other medics (and his closest bunkmates) to be ready to assist Patch in the case of an evacuation. 

Kix gave him another once-over after firstmeal, changing his bacta patches with an unnecessary level of concern before returning the favor and taking him off of duty for the next 24 hours. He still didn’t take off his armor, probably wouldn’t for the next couple days. But as he sat in his bunk, curled up under his weighted blanket playing sabaac with Fives, Tup, Dogma, and Jesse, he couldn’t say he regretted it. It was nice to be the patient, the one being taken care of, for once.

Full Fic:

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

(TW) Panic Attacks Masterlist

warning: some of these fics may have trigger warnings so please be careful when clicking on some of the fic links!

but dreams are only dreams (ao3) - jbhmalum michael/calum T, 2k

Summary: Calum gives a more genuine smile, though it still doesn’t reach his eyes, which are stuck on Michael. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Cal, it’s–” Michael glances at the clock in the living room. “It’s eight a.m., and it's a Thursday, you should be on your way to class right now. So, what’s wrong?”

*

OR Calum goes to Michael's after waking up from a bad dream

but then i hear u calling (there u are) (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke N/R, 933

Summary: michael and luke have always been the closest. friendly kisses lasting no longer than 3 seconds are shared frequently between the duo- calum and ashton watching from a distance, almost admiring their friendship. until it wasn't a friendship anymore.

don't let me drown in my mind (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember luke/calum T, 3k

Summary: Soon the piece of his mind that could offer any sort of help was blocked out. There was nothing but the raging train of self-hatred and a hum of terror swirling in its wake. Luke could barely tell that he was still crying, could barely tell there was any part of him that wasn’t the sea of thoughts in his head. The only physical sensation that he could focus on was the feeling of immense pressure on his forehead. He wanted out of his brain more than he could ever remember wanting anything.

I can't find my breath, can we just say the rest with no sound? (ao3) - booksteaandcake michael/ashton T, 2k

Summary: Michael is scared to admit he is in love, but that's all Ashton wants to hear.

That's a rubbish summary. They love each other but both are too afraid to admit it, and they almost have sex.

I love to love you, for god sake (ao3) - lightsinthefloors michael/calum G, 4k

Summary: 5 times Calum knew Michael better than he knew himself, and 1 time he didn’t

i'm just a reader; you're every chapter (ao3) - diets0dasociety michael/calum G, 10k

Summary: Calum thinks he might be in love with Michael, in a more than platonic but less than romantic way, if that exists. He’s almost certain it does, though, because there’s no other way to describe the way they both seem to get lost in each other so much.

or, Michael keeps having panic attacks, but Calum's always there to calm him down.

It's An Explosion (ao3) - LahraTeigh ot4 G, 1k

Summary: Ashton keeps ignoring him. Luke is annoyed at him, and Calum keeps trying to suck up to him. But Micheal keeps trying to give his boyfriends space.

Love Is To Die, Love Is To Not Die (ao3) - mymusings michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: "I fucking hate you!"

Michael's lips parted slightly, eyes flew even wider and hurt flashed on his face. "What? No you don't. I... I can get you clean underwear, Luke."

It was a bit hilarious how he thought this was still about the underwear. Luke scoffed.

---

Or, Luke's been bottling up his feelings for too long and one cannot do that without eventually letting them burst free.

now i'm missing your smile (hear me out) (ao3) - deserteyes michael/luke, background calum/ashton T, 3k

Summary: By opening the group chat, Luke saw the message that Michael was coming back to California for the holidays.

He just didn't know if it was good or bad that he was only returning temporarily.

Stargazing (ao3) - Zoe13 michael/luke, calum/ashton N/R, 11k

Summary: Michael likes to look at the night sky after shows from the rooftops of hotels, but he's not just enjoying the view. Sometimes he thinks about what it would be like to fly through the air for just a moment, soar with the stars and spread his wings. Of course, he wouldn't actually fly, but he doesn't think he'd mind that either. Anything to stop this feeling.

Tattoo Roulette with 5 Seconds of Summer (ao3) - Directioner_Jcats_5sosfam michael/luke N/R, 1k

Summary: Luke was the only member of his band with no tattoos. He wanted to get one, but he wanted it to mean something. And he also wanted to be alone with his boyfriend, Michael, when he would get it.

Or; Instead of One Direction, it's 5 Seconds of Summer that play Tattoo Roulette with James Corden, and Luke is Niall... kind of.

the situation is like a mountain that's been weighing on my conscience - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton T, 2k

Summary: Luke is closeted and nobody outside of the band, and close family, knows that he has a secret husband. During promo for Youngblood, Luke suffers a panic attack when the interviewer asks a personal question. Cute, Ashton to the rescue and comfort.

this is everything i didn't say (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) T, 6k

Summary: Luke's home life has never been great, with an abusive and homophobic father. Calum is the only good consistent thing in his life, with Calum being Luke's best friend. One day, Calum suggests that Luke meets some new people to hang out with. Luke is hesitant, but then he meets a red head named Michael Clifford, and everything changes.

we'll let the light peer through//i'll be there in a heartbeat (ao3) - neonnailvarnish michael/luke, calum/ashton G, 29k

Summary: Some angsty Michael/Luke and Calum/Ashton stuff, yano.

You're All I Think About (ao3) - mukedayparade michael/luke N/R, 3k

Summary: the one where Michael has been in love with Luke since sophomore year of high school, but he can't tell anyone, and it's killing him

you're everything I love about the things I hate in me (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/ashton T, 13k

Summary: “We’re going to steal a street sign?” Luke asked incredulously, eyebrows shooting up at the statement.

“Well, yeah.”

Or, the one where Ashton wants to steal a street sign for the man he is infatuated with and enlists Luke to help him.

[weerd1]

ENT Rewatch Starlog, 27 April, 2024, supplemental: Episode 3.23 “Countdown”

Hoshi Sato wakes up on the Xindi Reptilian vessel where they begin to manipulate her mind. It seems the weapon will only activate with three Xindi species codes; they have their own and the Insectoids, but will use Hoshi to crack the Aquatic’s code. 

Archer realizes their ploy and with the other Xindi approach the Aquatics. Knowing the Reptilians plan to hack their code doesn’t phase them, but Archer points out their “Guardians” have never offered to remove the Spheres that keep the Expanse dangerous, driving home his point that the Xindi Guardians ARE the Sphere Builders. With the data T’Pol gleaned from the Sphere memory core, Archer offers to disable the network. The Aquatics agree to deliberate. 

Trip and T’Pol have some tension as they work the Sphere problem, with T’Pol finally admitting to Trip she may need his help in dealing with her emotions. He agrees to help when they are done.

The Sphere Builders themselves are nervous, watching different timelines play out and assert themselves. They agree they will only intervene if absolutely necessary. 

Hoshi continues to resist the Reptilians, actually ADDING a layer of encryption to the code, but Dolim the Xindi uses more of his parasites to control her brain. The Aquatics agree to help Archer in exchange for disabling the spheres. The combines fleet enters a vortex to pursue.  They catch up as the code has been unlocked, and the Reptilians begin arming the weapon. The fleet gets closer when the Sphere Builders step in, creating fields of anomalies around the weapon to protect it. Archer does beam Major Hayes and some MACOs over to the Reptile ship to rescue Hoshi, but Hayes takes a sever hit as he’s beaming back out. The Weapon and its escorts enter a vortex, 10 hours from Earth. 

Hayes dies, leaving Reed in charge of the MACOs as Archer puts together an assault team to use Degra’s ship to catch the weapon and attack it from the inside. Against Phlox’s wishes, he chooses to take Hoshi, as she has actually BEEN inside the weapon.

As he prepares, Trip and T’Pol take the NX-01 toward the nearest Sphere to honor their agreement with the Aquatics and wipe out the network. 

I won’t lie: I am sad they killed of Major Hayes because I really wanted him and Malcolm to settle down together after the war and spend the rest of their days hand making weapons and “sparring” together in their home gym. I think we could have indicated the assimilation of the MACOs into the crew without killing Hayes, but I suppose it gives some gravitas to the entire situation, and they (luckily) weren’t going to kill Hoshi. Interesting though that almost every time this season remembers Hoshi exists, she gets kidnapped.

The Tri’Pol moments here are nice, to include the small diner in the Captain’s mess scene where she mentions possibly formalizing her entrance into Starfleet. Trip really wants to see Soval’s face when T’Pol puts on a Starfleet uniform, which I can only assume is the same face Rick Berman made anytime someone suggested it to him. Kiss my ass, Berman.

I’m a little curious why the Sphere Builders don’t decide to intervene earlier. Is it a Temporal War protocol? Are they trying to minimize their actions so they are not detected? Interesting in these last couple of episodes the Builders seem to take on some of the Founders role on DS9- worshipped by some, annoyed with the races they are manipulating. Can we assume the future Daniels showed Archer was actually the timeline BEFORE they intervened, or should we be expecting they will mount a Sphere based attack, creating another Expanse sometime in the future? Maybe DISCO can clear that up for us.

NEXT VOYAGE: The Weapon makes it to Earth and the humans experience “Zero Hour.”

(Images taken from the main website for @trekcore; I am happy to remove the images if asked.)

[casspurrjoybell-19]

CLAIMED - Chapter 31

*Warning: Adult Content*   

The space between the Head Warrior of the Crescent Moon Pack, Corey Cahill’s eyelids burned and everything was heavy, an invisible force compelling his limbs into immobility. 

'Why can't I move?'

On second thought, were they even attached to his body? 

He couldn't tell.

No, this wasn't right.

He was too open, too exposed, too defenseless to hold his own if someone were to attack. 

Any Warrior would know that. 

He needed to get to safety and fast.

'I just need to figure out how to use my hands, first.'

A shrill beeping echoed to the back of his skull, growing more rapid by the second as it taunted him. 

The sound reverberated endlessly, the void of his brain warping any sense of time to the point where he wondered if it would ever stop.

‘Was I dead?’

Certain religions dictated that his preferences for men would eventually lead to his descent into hell and the ache in his forehead coupled with the state of defenselessness that he currently found himself in quickly led to the beginning stages of entertaining such a horrid concept.

Luckily, before his mind could take that evil thought and run wildly with it, something interrupted his outlandish flight of ideas.

A sensation. 

In the form of a barely detectable pressure on his phantom arm.

Someone was here.

"Hey, it's okay," that someone soothed. "Don't worry. I've got you."

Corey knew that voice. That voice was unmistakable. That voice was home.

The soft, slightly husky drawl rushed over Corey’s rigid nerves like the warm, rising tide of a beach and instantly lowered his guard in some raw, indefinable way.

The sensation increased as whatever was touching him stroked a gentle caress up and over his body to finally rest on his forehead. 

And just as quickly as it started, that echoed beeping began to slow and the knife behind his forehead dulled it’s assault to the whisper of an ache, leaving nothing but exhaustion in it’s wake. 

‘How did he do that? Maybe this person was magical, too.’

The world wobbled behind closed eyelids as enervation became him.

He needed to sleep. 

"Go back to sleep, my love. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

The Voice spoke as if he had managed to extract just what Corey needed directly from the jumbled confines of his mind and his skin buzzed with contentment and something much stronger than joy when something plump and indescribably soft pressed against his lips.

Corey’s immediate instinct was to lean into the touch, to press back with a force so bruising that the owner of The Voice wouldn't be able to escape his claim even if they tried.

But seeing as to how his brain and body were still more than delighted with existing on completely different planets at the moment, acting on said desire was not a current member of his exceedingly slim arsenal of options.

Maybe once he got all stitched back together, whoever owned The Voice would let him take them on a date. 

Yeah, he could settle for that.

Maybe.

Why was everything so heavy?

He needed to sleep.

                                                      *****

The sun was just a small sliver of light over the horizon when Corey’s mind finally caught up with his body and decided that it was a good time to bring everything back online.

Mostly everything.

His head still felt like it had been stuffed so full of cotton that it was bursting at the seams and his left arm was tingly, like a swarm of bees had used it as a pincushion. 

But at least now, he could feel it.

It took every ounce of strength that he possessed to drag his eyelids open, the feat somehow proving more difficult than even the most strenuous days of Warrior Training. 

But it didn't matter if he needed to tear his soul apart to achieve it, he would do whatever it took. 

‘This was more important than me, more important than anything. Because more than anything else, I needed him.’

Crescent Moon Beta, Jaxson Ortiz. 

‘My Jax. Was he safe? Was he happy? Where was he?’

After peeling his eyes open with the force of a thousand Goddesses, a glance to his left answered all of Corey’s questions.

A familiar shock of black curls greeted him, adorning the crown of the only man who held the key to the kingdom of his heart. 

Jaxson was more than a vision as he lay curled up in the slim amount of extra space in the infirmary bed, freckled arms and thighs clamped tight around Corey’s bicep and forearm like a human koala.

Even in the depths of slumber the Beta was unyielding in his grip and although it was likely that Corey’s arm would require medical attention after blood flow was restored, it was without a moment of hesitation that the Head Warrior decided he would much rather risk an amputation than deny his Mate anything.

His love for his Mate was a boundless thing, so ingrained into the basis of his will to exist that it physically hurt sometimes. 

It weaved an everlasting web of Jaxson throughout every ounce of Corey’s being, one that he would voluntarily tangle himself up in for all of eternity.

‘My Jax. My gift. My mate. I would give him everything.’

Corey did not realize what he was doing until he felt movement stir underneath his palm. 

He tried to salvage the situation by staying as still as he could manage but a quick tap into their Mating Link revealed that it was already too late. 

Jaxson was awake.

Luckily Corey’s guilt was short-lived, far surpassed by the way his chest swelled at the sight of Jaxson yawning, leaning his cheek into his Mate’s palm, and fluttering open sleepy lids to reveal the emerald beacons that blazed beneath them.

‘If he got any more beautiful throughout our lifetime together, I certainly would not be able to stand it. Nor would I be able to let him leave our home without an army of trained bodyguards by his side.’

Now that Corey thought about it, that actually was a very good idea. 

But now was not the time to be an Overbearing Mate, so the Head Warrior forced himself to add the bodyguard plan to a mental to-do list with the intention to revisit it at a later, or sooner, date.

Corey managed to wrangle his drifting thoughts back to the present, albeit with much more resistance than expected, only to be met with wide eyes staring back up at him, their verdant depths a sea of shock and stupefaction and he bristled with concern.

"Who hurt you?" Corey demanded, more so than asked, skipping the pleasantries in favor of getting straight to the issue at hand. 

His voice crackled like a fire, the quiet sound uncharacteristically rough around the edges as it escaped his throat.

His beloved blinked at him wordlessly for a long moment, something peculiarly introspective swimming around in his sleepy expression. 

Then, after an eternity and a half of torture, Jaxson leaned up, replying to Corey’s worried inquiry by pressing those impeccably soft lips against his Mate’s own, currently chapped ones.

‘Oh. I suppose that's the sensation that had happened earlier. Jax had kissed me.’

A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupted within Corey and he certainly would have gotten lost in Jaxson like limbs to quicksand if it hadn't been for his Mate assuming the responsibility of the reasonable one and dragging their faces apart at the last moment.

"I'm totally fine, you earthworm," Jaxson whispered playfully, although Corey could tell that his Mate was using the jest to conceal a monumental volume of relief. 

The Beta’s eyes held the Head Warrior’s eyes with an intensity that would have sent Corey to his knees if he were standing, so he instead released the urge by crushing Jaxson against his chest.

"Hmm," Corey grunted, yanking his right arm extra hard when his IV resisted the distance at which he was stretching it in order to wrap his arm completely around his Mate's lean body.

Jaxson giggled at Corey’s brashness but the Warrior ignored it, instead opting to satisfy the unavoidable need to bury his face into the Beta’s neck and nip at the Claiming Bond Mark that decorated his skin.

‘What had we been talking about, again?’

A stifled moan rattled a growl out of Corey as he pressed his canines down firmly but not hard enough to puncture and his fingertips dug into the skin of Jaxson’s lower back with enough pressure to turn them white.

The Beta’s Bond Mark was a lot more healed than Corey remembered it being the last time that he saw his Mate. 

That didn't make sense, as did many things at the moment but remedying this situation was much more important of a task than figuring out why.

‘I need to Bond Mark him again, to sear my Mate’s insides with the proof of my claim. If I could just Bond Mark him again, it would fix everything. Because Jax is mine. Mine... mine... mine.’

"As much as I love it when you hump me like a rabid wolf, I'm going to have to ask for a rain check this time. I'm too damn worried about you to get slick right now, anyway," Jaxson said, pressing his palms flat against Corey’s chest, pushing as if to ask for an unacceptable amount of distance to be put between them. 

Corey could have easily resisted, his impressive Beta strength bearing a laughable challenge to his own. 

But naturally, the Pack Warrior’s instant surrender to his Mate’s desires was a testament to Corey’s weakness for Jaxson.

"Worried?" Corey tilted his head, confused "About me?"

Jaxson's brow furrowed in an adorable display of puzzlement and a slim hand slid up to brush through Corey’s hair as they locked eyes once more.

"It's okay. You don't have to always be strong around me," Jaxson whispered, leaning in to rest his forehead against Corey’ own. 

The Beta’s lips were so close that the Head Warrior almost had another out-of-body experience in his attempt to resist them. 

"You can't just ignore the pain. Trust me I've tried it and we all know where that got me."

Corey blinked, the gears in his head freezing over as he tried to piece together what in the hell Jaxson was referring to.

"Pain?" he questioned, attempting to coax out any additional information that could possibly key him into what was going on. 

Maybe if Corey figured it out, he could then find a way to entice Jaxson towards their bedroom and complete his very good, very genius plan of mauling him. 

"I am not in pain."

Jaxson was the one who blinked this time, long lashes bouncing against star-freckled cheeks as he gazed deep. 

His mouth opened, closed and then opened again before he finally spoke and Corey found his eyes obediently following behind the movements of Jaxson’s lips.

"Wait..." Jaxson began, shuffling back and pushing up to sit on the bed instead of lying next to Corey. "Can you... can you tell me what happened yesterday?"

Inside of Corey’s head, he frowned. 

What was the point of this route of questioning?

"Jax. Are you feeling alright?" Corey counter-questioned while moving to sit up, only to be immediately met by a searing headache that forced him to flop back down into his previous position with a barely-concealed wince.

"Don't try to sit up too fast yet, you'll hurt yourself," Jaxson instructed, pressing down on Corey’s shoulders to make a point. 

The Head Warrior relented with an unhappy grunt but even that couldn't stop him from reaching over to wrestle his Mate’s hips into straddling his thighs. 

Corey needed Jaxson as close as he could get him right now.

"I need you to tell me what you remember about yesterday. Please, just humor me," Jaxson pressed on, hands resting palm-down against Corey’s stomach and the patient sighed in defeat not even half a heartbeat later.

Corey didn't know why Jaxson desired so desperately for him to recount such a mundane thing for him but quite honestly, he would sell his left kidney if it would help ease whatever anxiety had grabbed a hold of his Mate so tightly.

"Well..." Corey started, looking up toward the ceiling with concentration. "We went to Suzy's Restaurant, you apologized to everyone and then you sat on my face and I fucked you with my tongue until..."

"Okay, okay. That's good enough," Jaxson clamped a hand over Corey’s mouth to halt the very obvious direction in which his saucy recollection was going, cheeks red as a fire hydrant though his expression was unexpectedly dire. 

Corey couldn't help himself as he stuck out his tongue to lick his Mate’s palm in an attempt to entice a happier look onto his face but concern filled the Head Warrior as he was only met with a distressed whine.

‘Oh No. My Omega was scared and somehow I was the source of his fright. I would fix it. Even if it killed me, I would fix it.’

Corey’s  body moved without him, his Wolf, Dashiell thrashing around wildly as he flipped Jaxson like a pancake. 

The previous headache bloomed behind his forehead with a newfound vengeance but this time he didn't care about making the pain go away. 

The only pain that he cared about, the only pain that mattered, was that of his Omega's.

Corey caged Jaxson between his limbs like a zookeeper gone mad as he hovered over him, dipping his head to rub his cheek over any exposed skin that he could reach. 

He would give his Mate his scent, bathe him in his essence and leave him dripping with it if that's what it took. 

Corey just needed Jaxson to be okay again.

‘I couldn't help myself. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't lose him.’

Corey was so engrossed in the quest of scrubbing himself into every molecule of his Mate's beautiful soul that he hadn't even noticed that, at some point during his assault, Jaxson had pressed the nurse call button. 

But it was abundantly clear once the instinctual recognition of someone else entering the room made every hair on the back of the Head Pack Warrior’s neck stand up.

Lowering himself down on top of Jaxson, Corey shot a glare so sharp that it could cut diamonds across the room at the unwanted intruder. 

The man had pink hair and sported a slim, less-than-daunting stature but it didn't matter. 

Stunted in height or not, he was a threat that Corey simply could not risk.

Something much more than a roar worked its way out from the pit of the Warrior’s chest and the room echoed with it as he maintained his protective stance over his Omega. 

If the pink-haired trespasser didn't take that as a notice that he was more than unwelcome, Corey was not above launching himself across the room to invent new ways for his arms and legs to bend.

"Hey, hey Corey, look at me. Everything is going to be alright, he's here to help us."

Jaxson's voice penetrated through Corey’s rage and he felt hands cup his cheeks and yank hard in the opposite direction to which the Warrior was staring but this time he wouldn't allow his Mate to win. 

He had to keep the danger within his range of sight in order to ensure his lover’s safety. 

No matter what Jaxson said, Corey would stay firm. 

He had to.

Jaxson yanked at Corey’s face again, the act much more desperate this time as the Warrior bared his canines at the threat. 

His muscles tensed in anticipation of bloodshed when the pink-haired man did not vacate the premises at his demand.

"Corey, it's Doctor Benji. You know him, he's a part of our Pack, our Medic. He won't hurt me, I promise."

‘Benji?’

Corey’s resolve only slipped for a fraction of a second at the familiarly-unfamiliar name but that was all that his smart Mate needed to force his head to swivel down to him.

"See? I'm perfectly fine, Alpha. Doctor Benji is only here to help. Come on baby, remember for me."

Corey’s fists shook where they had punched into the mattress on either side of his Omega and he resisted the urge to fall to his knees at Jaxson’s request.

He tried his best to remember, to dislodge something from the steadily worsening itch between his eyes but trying to extract anything useful was like swimming from a shark through molasses. 

The task was simply impossible.

His breath hitched, the passage between his mouth and lungs narrowing with an overflow of emotion.

“I... I...”

"Shh, it's going to be okay. Take your time, my love. There's no rush."

Corey nodded gently, wheezing out a few resistant breaths in an attempt to form the truth on his tongue. 

It took a bit to gather up the courage and even when he did, the words came out as a solemn whisper.

"I... I can't remember," he finally admitted, the lump in his throat sprouting barbed wire. "I can't... why can't I remember?"

A drop of wetness dripped from Corey’s chin, adding to the gallery of freckles that dotted Jaxson's cheekbones and his Mate’s thumbs instantly came up to wipe at the moisture under his eye. 

If Corey’s vision wasn't so blurry he wouldn't have missed the way Jaxson glistened with similar wetness but the wobble in his Mate’s voice filled in the gaps.

"I know you must have so many questions," Jaxson replied in a fractured whisper. "And I wish that I knew what to say. But we don't have the answers quite yet. I'm so sorry, my love."

Corey’s elbows weakened and then gave out and he used the opportunity to curl his entire body around Jaxson like a lifeline. 

He wondered if he was crushing his Mate’s smaller frame but the Beta made no movement or sound of discomfort, so Corey decided to allow himself the momentary indulgence.

‘I need him. He is the only thing that I know, the one person that I would never forget, even if it meant cracking open my own skull to retrieve our memories.’

Jaxson's body shook against Corey’s but the smaller man continued speaking through his tears nonetheless.

"I know it's scary. I know." 

‘That was the understatement of the year but I didn't bother to correct him.’ 

"But this?" Jaxson shimmied their position so that he could grasp Corey’s wrist and place it on the left side of his chest.

‘The way it pulsated underneath the expanse my palm was nothing short of holy.’ 

"This won't ever let anyone hurt you. You just have to trust me. Please."

Corey nodded, clutching his Mate ever closer into the confines of his body as Jaxson’s warmth flooded through him.

There was no question.

"I will always trust you."

It was then that a high-pitched cry rang out and Corey groaned, hunching to hold his head in his hands as if that could do anything to soothe the sensation that made his brain feel like it was about to herniate straight through every single hole in his skull.

"Oh, sweet baby. Shh, it's okay." 

Corey could hear a pair of feet scatter across the infirmary room, as well as a voice that he definitely recognized somewhere deep down.

And then, just as another helpless cry sounded out into the room, something shattered.

A single memory. 

A memory that was certainly not his. 

A memory of...

"A baby..." Corey breathed as the pain in between his eyes suddenly abated to an itch. 

"My brother..." he continued as the memory flashed across his mind like the clearest movie. 

"Theon."

[themotherofblood]

Love on the Brain

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold AU

A/N: Like I’ve said before, a lot of stuff in this series is not going to be canon.This is the readers world, hence my world.

TW: mentions of rape, abuse, misogyny, SMUT! vaginal fingering, handjob. Mutual masturbation vibes.

Grief is an unimaginable and intangible villain. You were sound of the body but your mind yearned for home, you’d found yourself watching the sunrise and within a moment it set. You’d sit between a horde of noble ladies, giggling and gossiping, none of it registering in your head. The world spun away while your body had stuck frozen. The nights felt longer as your dosages of nightshade had been lowered to keep your children safe. A few moments of comfort were rewarded when you felt them within you, moving and kicking while their father read to them. His hand rubbed the bump as he tried his best to get you to sleep. One particularly cool night, The King summoned Tywin to the throne room, while your husband wanted to walk you back to your chambers as you promenaded through the royal gardens. Instead, you chose to go with him, not wanting to be alone at that very moment. Both you and Tywin entered the room with your heads held high, your arm clutched on his extended elbow. Joffrey sat up top the throne, smug just like his mother; both you and your husband bowing before His Grace. More like bowing as best as you could while growing two humans within you.

“Is that the lowest you can go, my lady” Joffrey spoke up first. 

“I’m afraid so Your Grace.” your voice came out quiet and meek. 

Tywin walked forward as you stood behind with his nights. You cannot deny that watching Tywin tower over Joffrey wasn’t satisfying. In your time here at King’s Landing, you've come to realize that a crown gives no ma power, sure he might have armies or money but influence and wisdom reigned above it all. The boy king wanted to be counselled and so he was, they spoke of Stannis, the young Targaryen girl. What made your heart fill with warmth though, is Tywin holding his council meeting in the hall at the Tower rather than the red keep, so that he could be closer to you. The duties you’d taken up were completed each day as your husband watched in admiration of your strength to set your own sentiments aside as serve. That night was the first night you curled up to him since the news of your family’s death.

“Do you think we might win, should Stannis march on the city,” you whispered while tracing patterns on your husband’s chest “he knows of the city’s gates, he’d know where to attack,”

“We will hold him off, don’t you worry about that wife,” his voice rumbled through his chest as his hand played with your hair “you forget that I was the Hand of this city, long before Stannis Baratheon could even wield a sword.” He pulled the thick covers up higher to your shoulders, “Sleep, my lady. I will be right here when you wake up.” 

The next morning, the sun greeted King’s Landing yet again, the leaves were going to soon begin changing colour but you remained sullen, heavy-hearted still. That morning you had been awoken by one purring Lion, curled like a loaf of bread, on top of your husband's chest where your hand laid. His warm belly heated your cold palm while your feet pressed into Tywin’s calf, breaking him out of the glare he had fixated on the orange feline. 

 “Dear god, woman,” His raspy voice scolded you in a hushed tone, still unwanting to break the serenity of this new morrow. “Your feet shall put northern winters to shame.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You quickly apologised while pulling away but Tywin’s hold tightened on your waist, keeping you in place. His eyes look down at your figure. 

The sun shone directly onto your martial bed, making your skin glow in a way that would bring every man in Westeros to his knees, your eyes that held so much sadness in the still twinkled as though an entire world existed within them. Tywin brought his hand up to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers, making you hum as you felt them on your warm cheek. Your hand instinctively comes up to hold onto his hand, and another little meow finds a use for your other as your gentle pet through Lion’s little body. 

“My lord…” A few knocks end up interrupting the little cocoon you’d found yourselves in this morning, making Tywin groan and squeeze his eyes shut before pushing himself to get up. 

“Come find me at noon,” he says while gently picking up Lion to put on his pillow. “So long, wife’” He presses a kiss to your temple, longer than it needed to be before standing straight and looking at Lion, “Take care of your mother for me, will you.” before walking away to get dressed for the day. He showed you his face once more before leaving, but you were confused as to why he was in full armour. With the deep red chest plate and the gold lions on his shoulder guards, he stood tall and proud, looking more regal than ever. However, he silently assured you that there was nothing to be worried about before walking away, as the sound of clacking metal faded into the distance 

You too had gotten up for the day shortly after, you were to meet with Margery Tyrell today. You’d begun to spend time with her during your frequent visits to the city, going to the markets was mainly a detour to take food down to Flea Bottom. You remember that day clearly. 

It was quite hot for a day this late in the year, a red comet shone in the sky as you walked further past the merchant markets to Flea Bottom. Your armada of ladies loyal to you carrying baskets of food, toys and clothing, you’d particularly had your ladies, guards and yourself dressed lowly to not attract too much attention. A scuffle had caught your ear as you made your journey to the orphanages. Your guards created a circle around you and your ladies as you pushed through the crowds, a woman in the middle of it all was being beaten and stripped, she didn’t scream or fight back; she appeared to be murmuring under her breath. Her eyes closed, body tanned and all but wearing a metal choker with a giant ruby on it, hair as red as blood. 

“Stop them, Fred.” You nodded at him. Frederick remained loyal to your house and accompanied you since the day of your marriage under your brother’s command. He simply walked over and sacked his sword on the behinds of both men to make the cower away and scatter. You’d walked over to the woman to help her up, shielding her body with yours as best as possible. 

“Where is your home miss? Let us escort you there.” You offered as you covered her up with one of your guard’s cloaks. 

“It’s the last house off of the merchant markets, big glass windows, pale white walls. Do not fret my lady, I can walk there myself.” Your eyes widened at the mention of my lady, how did she recognize you? 

“Nonsense, lead the way.” You walked behind her until you saw her house. You wanted to ask her about what caused today’s scene but who were you kidding, most men were monsters, noble or not. Your own grandchild by law, the king of the seven kingdoms himself held demons of his own. 

“My lady, you must come in. I do not have much to offer but what I have is yours.” She bowed as she held her door open for you to enter

“Some water would be nice, please.” You smiled at her and turned around so that she could change, all your men and ladies turned too. You hadn’t realized you were thirsty until you downed the whole cup in one go. 

“Forgive me, you must think I’m a brute.” You chuckled while handing her the cup back and wiping her mouth with the back of your palm. “Alright then, let’s head off.” You clapped your hands twice as your company poured out of the redhead’s house. Right before you turned, she caught onto your wrist tight. 

You looked down to where your hands met and then you to her eyes that were flared with a kind of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Her gaze held yours until you frowned trying to pull away. 

“You must remember me lady Y/N, the lord of light awaits you.” You were perplexed, you had heard of the Lord of Light from your mother, lore from the west, from Volantis. You merely pulled your hand away without thinking too much about it. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as lady Margery stood in front of you smiling. 

“He agreed, didn’t he?” You looked up at her knowing the only thing that smile could mean 

“Oh yes, yes he did.” She took your hands in hers and shook them in excitement as she sat next to you. 

“Tywin did too.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile. Both of you might or might not have batted your eyelashes at your partners to sanction the building of asylum, for women and children to stay in and to supply food every weekend. 

“Oh, this will be so good for the realm.” You nodded in agreement with her, slightly wincing at the pitch of her voice. “I have to tell my grandmother, my lady.” You nodded once more so she could take her to leave. 

You’d often sit here in these gardens, you’d grown this small section yourself. With the help of whoever was chaperoning you. Colourful daisies and sunflowers, tulips and a small bunch of orchids. A healthy growing line of lush green pothos plants curled around the pavilion stands. You’d watch the waves crash below onto the shore, someday hoping that you could just sail away back home. 

“My lady.” You shut your eyes in annoyance as a shrill man’s voice called out from behind you. 

“Lord Baelish.” You bowed your head as he came over to sit next to you. “I had heard of a growing escape in the Red Keep, though I might say you’ve grown a piece of heaven here.” He compliments looking around the garden. 

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” You nodded at him before looking back at the sea. 

“My lady, I have come to you as a harbour, though what I say must stay in confidence.” Peter’s voice lowers and your attention is completely fixated on what he had to say. 

“I have offered to take Sansa Stark home, I could bring you with us too. My lady.” Peter whispers 

“Why would I wan-“

“Do you truly think Tywin Lannister would keep you after you bore him a son or two for that matter? Forgive me, for sounding curt but skinning a stag together like yesterday does not mean love, my lady.” You looked at him with your brows in a tight furrow as you took in what he was saying. In reality, there was some truth in his words, Tywin had not confessed to any love, though you had no idea what true love looked like anyways. “The things he does to people that are of no use are tales too atrocious to tell, I’m sorry I shouldn’t speak any further. 

“Go on, what do you mean by that.” You urged him to go on.

“You must have heard of what he did to Tyrion’s wife? Had her raped by fifty of his men to prove to annul his son’s marriage, to make it a sham.” Your eyes widened to show him that you were shocked and looked away. Only to spot Sansa sitting on the other side of the gardens, looking out to the sea. 

A small part of you wanted to go tell Joffrey of this plot, you know he would torment both Sansa and Baelish to their graves. You wanted Sansa to feel the pain that her family had caused you. You hated yourself for thinking this. 

“Speak no more of this, take Sansa home if you can.” you stood up and walked away before you could say anymore. Your legs moved as last as they could, walking back to your quarters, eyes nearly tearing up at wanting to cause someone else harm, at the thought of your husband discarding you, the thought of your dead family. 

“Milady, are you alright?” Your chambermaid asks as she walks faster to keep up with you. “Shall I call for Lord Tywin?” 

“No!” Your voice slight rose “No, just draw me a bath, please.” 

You sat in your bed with your hands shaking in anxiety, rocking back and forth to stop your head from running a hundred miles an hour. Once your bath was ready, you had yourself stripped immediately and dipped into the bath. Even with your maid’s protest of it being hot. It wouldn’t burn you but it was close to scolding, you’d simply sat down and dismissed all your maids. 

Tywin had returned from his venture a while back, he awaited you in the garden fine but you hadn’t shown up. At first, he chuckled it off as you getting slower the more pregnant you get but after half hour he grew worried. He spotted one of your maids and questioned them of your whereabouts and they informed him of you being in your chamber and having dismissed them all. 

Tywin’s feet took them up to his quarters as fast as they could while maintaining composure. When he entered he found the receiving chambers, varenda and both the bedrooms empty. He’d checked the bath upstairs after, that’s where he found you. In a humid room that smelled of Lilies. You were sat in the bath with your legs pulled to your chest, while your head rested on them. A slow break in the pattern of your breathing told him enough, you were silently crying. 

The jangle on his armour was enough indication of his person, so it didn’t startle you when he approached and sat next to the bath, his hand found your back and rubbed his palm back and forth. 

“Why didn’t you call for me, wife?” His voice sounded almost doting like he was speaking to a child. You turned your face to look at him, a small pout on your bottom lip and eyes red. 

“I want to go home.” A stray tear fell from your eyes. He knew of what you felt, but he wouldn’t agree or promise something he couldn’t give you. You gulped and closed your eyes and pushed yourself to stand up. If he loves you, he will make love to you right now. You needed to know that, all of the things he made you feel weren’t just for making a baby. His hands shot to your arms to help you stand, his eyes wandering down your body. Though it would fill a man with lust, it filled him with pride. His children were swelling out of such a beautiful woman. 

You got out of the bath, one foot after the other with the help of your husband. He looked confused as to what you were trying to do or had upset you. Your hands went up to the buckles on his shoulder guard as you began to remove them, the chest plate next. Though Tywin had to help you lift that one off, due to the strenuous weight of the armour. The chainmail and sword holster after. 

“Did you want me to bathe with you?” He cocked his brow at you, his reply was you smashing your lips together as your hiked yourself up on your toes. He was slightly taken aback but hummed in approval, bending down as one of his hands tangled in your slightly wet hair. “Easy, now.” He mumbled between kisses as you lifted his undershirt above his head. 

“Go on, get back in the bath.” He was slightly concerned at how hot the bath might have been when you got in because the water still held the perfect amount of heat for a normal bath. He undid his pants and breeches and stood before you in all his glory.

Your hormones make this a lot easier, it makes your mood change faster than the Iron Bank chooses its bet. You held your hand out to him and pulled him into the water once he grabbed ahold of it. His back against the head of the tub, you turned to straddle his legs. The tub was huge, much bigger than the one back home. Almost like a tiny pool, built into the floor of the upper veranda while the rest of the room was covered in blue and gold tiles. 

You began kissing him harder, he knew what you wanted but absolutely would not give it to you and began to push you away. A dread settled at the pit of your stomach. Peter cannot be right. Tywin registered the hurt on your face and quickly explained 

“We cannot do this. It isn’t safe in your state.” It wasn’t a good enough answer and you still looked hurt, making him elaborate further “Believe me, my sweet girl. I have wanted nothing more since the day they started to swell.” His hand lifted to your breast, one thumb going over your nipple, making them harden almost instantly. His other hand pulls you closer to his centre, his hard length a proof to his testimony. “You are carrying my children, and I will not endanger them.” His eyes darted between yours, hoping you would believe him. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew exactly what you were thinking. It’s what any woman would feel out of a political marriage. You were afraid that your marriage would be a sham after you bore his children. 

“Though that does not mean there aren’t other ways to pleasure you, my lady.” His eyes dropped low as his voice darkened. He took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on it before releasing it with a pop. All the while his eyes were fixated on you, while he repeated the same with the other; he moved on the side of the breast to suckle on the flesh right there a little harder. A soft mark began to redden, as his eyes dismayed further. His hands slowly turned you around and sat you over one of his legs, the water sloshing around the sides as he did so. His mouth found your neck as he pressed soft kisses all the way up to the back of your ear, making your body erupt in goosebumps. 

Tywin lowered the hand around your body, to the warm flesh of your cunt, barely grazing his hand there as he tweaked your nipple in his other. “What do you want, my lady?” He whispered in your ear 

“I wa- want you to touch me.” You stammered back as your brain already felt in shambles over how oversensitive you were from being pregnant 

“I am touching you, aren’t I?” He pushed further. His cock almost always throbs harder in need when he hears something filthy come out of a sweet flower like you. 

“Touch my pussy.” You whispered quickly, he wanted to press you further, make you enunciate. However, he knew from experience, to not tease a pregnant woman if he wanted his goods intact. 

His fingers began to rub into your needy nerves, making you gasp and push your hips out towards his hand, his other hand mindlessly playing with your tits. You worked up the courage to hold onto his cock, you had never done this before so you looked up to him for guidance. His hand wrapped around yours as he moved your soft hand up and down his shaft, before nodding at you. 

He entered a finger into you slowly to help open you up after being untouched for over a month, then popped another finger in, moving them in and out of you at a slow pace, his thumb all the while rubbing your clit. Your hips mindlessly ground against his hand, as you broke out into soft moans, your state of pleasure making you grab onto Tywin’s cock harder making him hiss. You looked to him to see if you hurt him and he nodded no 

“Doing so well, my little wife.” He groaned in pleasure as his fingers picked up pace within you, massaging that little spot within you that pushes you further to bliss. You matched his pace onto your husband's cock. “Here, touch yourself for me, my lady.” He brought your vacant hand onto your clit, guiding it to rub in circular motions. You looked at him panting as he nodded for you to continue. 

“Ahh, this feels, it feels.” Your world jumbled in you mouth as the knot in your belly grew tighter 

“I know, my sweet wife. Ease up for me and let go.” He urged you own as his own peak chases behind him. Your hand rubbed faster you clit as you wound yourself up to your peak. 

“Tywin, gah! I need it.” Your hands stroked his cock faster, your own hand growing tired before out of nowhere the bubble in you bursts, sending you right over the edge as your legs tremble, your hands still shakily stroking your husband's length before he too follows you; all the while fingering you through your own peak. 

His head rested against your shoulder as you rested against his heaving chest. Both in post orgasmic bliss as Tywin’s hand drew patterns on your inner thigh. 

“That’s one way to have a bath.” Tywin’s chest rumbles into a short chuckle. What breaks you out of your trance is meek meow. Which makes you duck further into the water and look to the door of the room. There sat Lion, with his big round eyes, he might be a feline, his eyes looked as though he’d caught the two of you committing a crime. 

You looked up at your husband horrified. “You don’t think he knows?” You asked him, making him chuckle again. 

“You wanted the cat, my dear.” He said before pulling himself out of the bath and shooing Lion away. “Come let’s get you washed, we have to get something in those two and you.” You reached out for him to pull you out of the water. He took special care in washing himself up and you, using the pails of water before drying the two of you up. 

Peter Baelish had to be wrong, sure Tywin might never love you but doesn’t mean he’d discard you. You were sure of it, you had to be. Tywin had called for your maids to help dress you up before he held his arm out and led you down to the dining gardens, where reheated food awaited the couple.

next chapter

[brandnewhuman]

I know you said it’s unrealistic and that he probably would find us if we were to ever move away but what it we just move completely out of America? Then what is he going to do? I don’t know if he’s ever been out of America because I haven’t seen the other movies yet but like seriously what will he do if I move to fucking China? Hop on an airplane?

And yes Michael finding his s/o and killing them would be such a good angst fic but like imagine him regretting every single bad thing he’s ever done to his s/o and being in panicked state and just going insane because he does care and he’s sorry and he’s willing to do anything and everything to get his s/o back. I want him on the verge of begging on his knees to God because he doesn’t know what else to do. Just imagine him being miserable and sad for the rest of his life because he truly did love and care for his s/o he was just ass at showing it and now he has to pay the consequences.

The “begging for a second chance” is seriously my favorite angst trope of all time and with Michael? Chef’s kiss 😚

( not that he would ever beg but still so good )

I mean if you're fast and smart enough you could outrun him by flying to another country yes.

The most effective way to buy yourself time to go out of the country without him knowing would be snitching him to the police. And that's something that would both enrage and break his heart

To know that his safe place, the first person he has ever cared about, that he has trust to get close to him and has get to see his more human side has done what everyone else has always did with him it's going to be the last straw for him

It's going to be both a wake up call about how far he has fucked up and a reinforcement of the world that has been planted in his brain of him being incapable of any good and of love/being loved

If he is able to stop you from leaving in any sort of way (which is what would 99% for sure happen) depending on the seriousness of your "betrayal" he's going to either kill you or just kidnap you

I do believe he would hate to see you don't see him as someone you love anymore but as someone you fear therefore you have to keep happy if you want to stay alive. The whole thing about being with you was that he felt like a real person, you looked at him like he was just Michael and not anything less or more than that.

It would kill him everytime you force a smile when he's around, the shaking you try to hide, the always teary and terrified gaze you give him. And it pains him greatly cause he knows he would never be able to fix it.

It's not about being scare or hurt by him anymore, he has successfully break you down and he knows perfectly well that people don't go back to normal once that happens

But he doesn't want to let you go cause you're all he has left, he just wants you to love him as much as he does even if you can't really know it cause he is absolutely awful at showing his true feelings

He tries to imitate the way you take care of him to help you and its driving him insane that nothing seems to work.

I think that would be worse than you being physically dead. The knowledge that you're practically just existing and not living. You're the shell of the person he used to love and it's all his fault

The only moments where everything seems normal is when you're sleeping, for a second you look as peaceful as ever and he gets to brush his fingertips against your cheeks without you having a full on panic attack. And even that doesn't last long cause you wake up scared as if someone was stabbing you as soon as you can feel him touching you

And all you would see from the outside is just his stoic self being a bit more careful than usual. Cause his own body and mind doesn't let him show as much as he wants to. He's literally as trapped as you are, the only difference is that you could try to leave and if you succeed you would be able to get away from the person you hate. He can't because he has to live with himself and nothing he can do is never going to make him feel better

[har-rison-s]

pray, do tell

request: If you don’t mind me asking, request for Loki asking the other Loki’s if they have a s/o in their timeline during episode 5?

a/n: hi ! i absolutely ADORE this idea and i hope i'll write it out respectfully :)) i loved episode 5 so much, except for SOME scenes, and i especially enjoyed multiple lokis sitting around and talking, chilling, that's like... my dream place to be. YOU DON'T KNOW THE EFFECT PRESIDENT LOKI HAS ON ME. like it should be studied in labs and schools cos ??????? that feeling when he's on screen was just something else. also ! kid loki holding alligator loki my beloved <3. i'd love to be surrounded by lokis, me and loki actually have the same personality type so they're like... my people. sorry for the rant, hahah ! this one is a bit shorter than my other loki works, sorry about that :/ also it took me like 40 minutes to find decent gifs lmao. happy reading !! <3

masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: nothing really

disclaimer: lokis mentioned have he/him pronouns !

Weirded out by what he's seeing, and not entirely sure it's real, Loki can't take his eyes off it, either. The way alligator Loki drinks his boxed wine is just so fascinating to him, yet weird and other-wordly (he knows those well) at the same time. And he's weirded out more by the fact that he doesn't find a variant of him being an alligator strange in any way. He's had a few trying days, as he said himself.

Loki manages to divert his eyes off the creature with horns on its head and looks to the grapes he holds in his hand. He picks small dirt away from the berries and takes a grape into his mouth with ease. The taste reminds him of many things. His childhood, his home, his family... Thor, Frigga, Odin, Sif and the Warriors Three. Asgard. The Gardens, the waters, the Bifrost. Heimdall. Visits to the city, the markets, the celebrations.

Love.

Loki blinks, fooling himself and others by aiming to portray that he's not thinking about anything important. But he is. She was the most important thing to him, and now... Well, maybe during the New York heist, she's still fine, but after Ragnarok... Loki fears too much to think about it.

He wishes he could remember everything with her that followed New York, but all he has of their future is some worn-out tape in the TVA archives. Perhaps even pictures... He wants to live through all they had now, he wishes he could do that most of all. Of course, there's the finding Mobius and helping Sylvie burn down the TVA thing, but upon remembering her, it all falls into the background.

His first love. Not a god, like him, but she was a goddess in his eyes. He smiles now, subtly, at the fond memories of her. He noticed the little moments he had with her in the tape Mobius had, about his whole future. How beautiful she always was, her subtle way of laughing and going about her smiles and giggles, how exceptional and different her clothes always were, how her hair shined in any light...

“Did any of you...” Loki starts to say, and sighs shortly before continuing, thinking he'll probably regret asking it, “did any of you leave a... a lover behind when the TVA arrested you? Prince or princess?” He looks between his variants. Young Loki shoots him a stern look. “Apologies, my liege. You seem too young for that.” Loki bids him a polite smile, but his brain whirs. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

“Don't know. Time doesn't really... exist here.” Young Loki says and throws a salt biscuit into alligator Loki's jaws. “But no lovers in my lifetime, Loki.” He pointedly looks at the older variant of himself, nodding slightly.

“Not yet, at least.” Loki points out and gets scoffs and chuckles from Boastful and Classic Loki. He looks at them with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, you and your grand plan,” Classic Loki shakes his head before taking another sip from his huge cup. Loki only rolls his eyes, but still waits for answers to his question, “well,” Classic Loki downs his drink, “it would be no surprise to you that I had countless partners before I chose isolation. Partners of any kind.” He winks. Loki nods, understanding how much alike he truly is with his variants. “But I feel there is no one truly... truly made for me. Like midgardians would say - 'the one'.“

“In my case, there were many 'the ones',” Boastful Loki says, mocking Classic's use of words. All other Lokis roll their eyes, “I actually feel like every person in the whole universe was made to be with me. I'm just that irresistible.” He smiles pleasantly to himself. Alligator Loki growls again.

“That's another “liar” from him to you, Boast,” Classic Loki nods his head towards Boastful, who only shakes his head and frowns.

“I had my fair share of men and women before I was taken,” Boastful says, “must have been the same for you, Loki.” He looks at him. “Asgard was truly a giving place.”

Loki chuckles, but looks away from his variants. “Oh, it was...” he says quietly, “it was.” His voice grows even more quiet. Young and Classic Loki exchange a look.

“Do tell us, your mischievousness.” Classic Loki urges him. Loki shoots him a nervous look, then he leans back into the sofa and sighs, his eyes strictly focused on his hands.

“I had plenty before I met... one,” he starts to say, “me and her share a past, and, it seems, a future as well. After New York, I am taken to Asgard, imprisoned, but she is there. I fake my death and rule over Asgard as Odin, and she's there. I help Thor destroy our evil sister--”

“Oh, she was a nasty one.” Boastful says, shaking his head. “We used to have a connection, but then she just... I don't even know.” He shrugs. Loki eyes him for a second before continuing.

“We destroyed Asgard, but saved its people, and saved her. We make for Midgard, and she's there with me.” Loki sighs, his eyes gloomy. “And then... Thanos attacks, destroys half, if not all our people, and...” he can't even speak further. His variants share a look, each having quite the correct guess for what could follow after that. Boastful drinks from his cup in an awkward manner. “But I feel like that's another life I lived. Or another me. I don't know, I feel so... disconnected from her, from what we had. Must be the TVA and this... void. And all that's happened, all I've learned about my future.” He sighs again.

“Meeting her again would be a wake-up call, no?” Boastful asks. Loki shrugs, a sad expression on his face.

“Rather a sign that you're real.” Classic Loki says with a wide, true smile. Loki looks to him as if looking at a mentor. “I often felt like the people I loved and the love I had for them, even if it was not reciprocated, were a reminder that I am real, I exist and I can feel all these things.”

Loki considers his words, and then nods along, finding a truth in them.

“After all, love and all other emotions are the human part in all of us.” Classic says. “And it isn't always bad to feel like a regular human being.” Loki can also find truth in those words. Love makes one feel alive, makes you feel like you're on the right path, found the right person, found your purpose. It doesn't always have to be glorious, it can be small, but nonetheless important to you.

“I used to think humans smaller than us, more pathetic and puny, but...” Loki shakes his head, “we, gods, are just the same, really.” He chuckles sadly. “Having quarrels over the stupidest things, being as imperfect as humans... Sometimes I even felt like I was too good, too perfect for something like true love, which is a pathetic emotion that makes you feel all kinds of other feelings, but...” he smiles, “often times I felt like that, she told me everyone was deserving of love, even me.” His smile grows wider.

“She sounds lovely.” Classic Loki tells him with a kind smile.

“She was that, and more.” Loki nods along. Young Loki imitates the sound of a snore and throws a crumpled piece of paper at Loki's shoulder.

“You're making me extremely bored.” He announces and sits straighter in his chair, looking over the mess that is his palace. “Love's boring.” Young Loki throws a juice carton across the room, making a face.

“You are just too young to understand and know it, your majesty.” Boastful says with a wink, and the next juice carton is flying over his head with a snicker from Young Loki. Classic Loki keeps Boastful tight in his seat so an argument wouldn't arise, and Boastful hesitantly restrains, his drink almost spilling over his cup. Loki watches them with a sappy smile on his features, and decides this is a good place to spend eternity at, even without her.

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[havin-a-wee]

Dreamer

warnings: smut, thigh riding

word count: 1.7k

His sleepy eyes opened at a slow pace, his eyelids falling back down at each attempt to open them. He persisted however until his eyelids stayed open and the blurriness of his vision cleared up. He was quite surprised at himself for being so adamant about waking up, but something in his subconscious was telling him that he needed to be awake.

A hushed groan slipped out of his pink lips, the warm air from his mouth hitting the tiny strands of facial hair that he hadn’t gotten around to shaving. As the sound of his groan died out, a small whimper echoed through the dark room.

His eyelids snapped open, no longer heavy. Although it took him another few seconds, this new wave of awareness allowed him to decipher the reason he had woken up from his deep slumber in the first place.

The source of the whimper was obvious now. It was his best friend Y/N, with whom he had been cuddling when he fell asleep.

Y/N and Harry were the closest two people could be without being in a relationship. They spent almost every waking and sleeping second with each other, and they knew one another like the back of their hand. Harry sometimes thought that he may know Y/N better than himself. Of course, with a friendship like that people thought they were dating, especially the media. But they always denied it, of course, assuring people that they were just friends. Only friends.

Only friends that were both in love with each other but too scared to say it because they are afraid to ruin the friendship.

You know, regular best friend things.

As Harry’s brain fluttered out of the hazy state it was in, he realized what was going on, and why Y/N’s mouth was dropped open, her lips glistening from the moisture of her own saliva.

He snaked his hands under the covers to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t.

Y/N’s legs were actually wrapped around his muscular thigh, and her hips were rolling on top of it as soft mewls escaped her small lips. The shock of it all rattled through his body and he blinked his eyes harshly in disbelief, just taking an extra precaution to ensure that he most definitely was not dreaming.

His darling girl was grinding her hips against his thigh in her sleep.

She must have been having some sort of wet dream, and Harry internally prayed that she was dreaming about him. It was a bit of an awkward situation because he didn’t want her to stop, but he felt weird just lying there until she finished.

His cock was already painfully hard in his boxers, and he cursed himself for choosing the pair with thin fabric.

Harry had dreamed about this happening many times, but now that it was he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He kept his eyes locked on her face, eyes squeezed shut and lips pursed, as he felt the thin lace of her panties rolling against his thigh.

The plan was to avoid touching her, to save her from any unnecessary embarrassment she might feel. But a particularly arousing whimper poured from her lips, and Harry couldn’t help himself anymore. He lifted his hand and caressed her soft cheek, a little shock leaving a slight tinge of pain on his fingertips. She clearly felt it as well because her bright eyes fluttered open quickly in response.

Her eyes darted around for a moment until she suddenly stopped the movement of her hips. Her teeth sank down on her wet bottom lip and her eyes met Harry’s, welling with embarrassment.

“Harry I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

He could sense the fear and embarrassment in her face, so he made an adrenaline-induced decision to cut off her rambling by placing his finger gently on her lips.

“Shhh s’ok love, keep going.” His hands touched around beneath the blanket until they met her hip bones.

The encouragement from Harry convinced her to keep seeking her release, albeit hesitantly. But once she found her rhythm again the large hands on her hips moved with her, pushing her down onto his thigh. He assisted her movements, assuring that her clit rubbed harshly against his thigh each time. She clenched her eyelids shut again, relishing in the euphoric feeling that was running through her veins.

Harry could tell she was close as her grinding became more frenzied and needy, curses and moans spewing from her lips.

“I’m close Harry” Her words were slurred and incoherent, but they just motivated Harry even more.

“C’mon baby, finish on my thigh.”

Within seconds she reached her release, white spots clouding her vision. He rode her through her orgasm, slowing his movements until fully coming to a stop.

Watching her face as she came down made Harry think he might just cum in his boxers.

They both inhaled a big breath before sighing it out, her eyes closed in bliss and his glued on her. When she finally looked at him, he was a bit red in the face, his gaze searing with lust. She watched them trail down to stare at her lips, and in a moment of confidence she blurted out.

“Kiss me, Harry. Please.”

He needed nothing more. Their soft lips met and they melted against each other, scratching the itch that they both had developed for one another. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she accepted it gratefully, taking the opportunity to tug on his bottom lip with her teeth.

He growled at the sensation, sending vibrations through Y/N’s mouth. In one swift motion, Harry had Y/N on her back and he was on top of her. Their lips fit so well together, almost as if they were made to be together.

Although he never wanted the kiss to end, he needed to know that she was alright, and what she wanted to happen. He pulled his lips away from a kiss, eliciting a small groan from Y/N.

“I need to know what y’want Y/N” He stared down at her dilated pupils and swollen lips.

“I want your cock Harry, I want it so bad.” She writhed underneath him, her body aching for another release. He chuckled at her needy response, even though he needed just as much as she did.

“Are you sure?” She nodded frantically. “Do you have any condoms?”

She shook her head. “I’m on the pill and I’m clean.”

“I am too.”

“Can we do it without a condom? I wanna feel you.” She bit her lip in anticipation of his response.

“Fuck..” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the blanket away from her body, revealing her exposed breasts and black lace panties. He had never been so grateful that both of them preferred to sleep naked, and that they were comfortable enough around each other to do it.

He reached for her nipple, squeezing and tugging on it slightly before bringing his attention to her bottom half. Her legs were clenched together tightly, but Harry pried them apart, tugging of the panties that covered her core. He sat up on his knees and looked at her for a moment. She is the most gorgeous person in the entire world to him, and he was in disbelief that she was actually lying naked in front of him.

“Harryyy” Her whines pulled him out of his trance, and he made quick work peeling the thin boxers off of his body. His cock sprung free and he pumped himself a few times before moving back to being on top of her.

“Y’ready darling?” She nodded and made eye contact with him, assuring him that she wanted this.

He ran his tip through her folds, collected the moisture that was pooling in her core. Lining himself up with her entrance, he slipped himself in, shouting curses along with her.

“God baby y’so bloody tight, such a good girl f’me”

“All for you Harry, I’m all yours” He let out a gutted moan at her words, and finally began to move. He pulled himself all the way out of her then thrust right back in.

“Fuck Harry!” Both of them were on a different plane of existence, the pleasure they were feeling was immeasurable. He found a steady pace as he rammed into her. The pad of his thumb found her swollen clit and began rubbing quick circles on it. She arched her back at his attack on her bundle of nerves and she let out a string of curses and moans.

“So good Harry, keep going” she rasped. Her words fueled his ego and he picked up the pace, determined to make her feel good.

“Such a good girl fo me, such a pretty little cunt.”

The sounds of their bodies collided filled the room, and both of them lost themselves in the immense sensations that were wracking through their bodies. After a few more thrusts, Harry felt her clench around him and he knew she was close to reaching her second climax.

“Come f’me darlin, wanna feel y’come on my cock” And with that she was climaxing, the knot in her stomach fell apart and the wave of pleasure flowed through her fucked out body.

His climax came only a few thrusts later, white ropes of cum painting her walls. They eased each other out of their orgasms, both of them red in the face. Harry slipped out of her core and plopped down next to her on the bed, both of them just staring at the ceiling, attempting to process what had just happened.

He turned his face to hers, something that she had already done. They stared at each other in their post-orgasmic states, neither of them knowing what to do next. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N quickly hushed him. “Let’s just enjoy this right now. I just wanna be next to you.”

He smiled at her and she returned it, grabbing his waist and pulling herself into his chest.

They both drifted off to sleep, just like they had earlier that night. But this time was different because they both knew that their feelings were reciprocated, even if they hadn’t verbally expressed it.

But that was enough for both of them.