#i have nothing of sustenance to add to this

[our-transmasculine-experience]

i wanna be a boy.

i wanna be pretty like a boy.

i wanna walk around shirtless like a boy.

i wanna be a boy in love with a boy and to be seen like a boy.

i wanna be a punk boy with his emo bf and be seen as gay, and not straight. like a boy.

i wanna wear platforms and cargo pants and compression shirts like a boy.

i wanna go to the gym and workout in just sweats like a boy.

i wanna sleep in late like a boy.

i wanna draw like a boy.

i wanna be a boy.

i wanna be a boy in the ways that matter

i wanna be a boy because i am a boy, not because i came out as a boy and my pronouns are he/him.

i wanna be a boy because im a boy.

not because im trans.

but maybe thats too much to ask for.

this.

[bugsludge]

Blurry mirror selfies

[sandwhitches]

request: "can i have an orange and cherry popsicle (hurt/comfort) w suna where he accidentally snaps at reader ??? u can decide how it ends exactly but id like it to be fluffy :3"

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 (𝐟𝐭. 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨)

a/n: u already know i’m going the fluffy route :3 had to repost bc im stupid and forgot tags the first time whoopsies!! also i was like not gonna put a banner on all of these but i don’t think i can physically make a post without one they’re so cute eeughhhh

genre: angst w/ a fluffy ending (hurt/comfort)

warnings: language, gn. reader, teeny argument, mentions of accidentally missing a meal

wc: 779

this is a part of my summer writing event!!! please feel free to send some requests my way :3

In theory, bad days happen just as much as good days, but every once in a while there is a particularly bad day that will fall onto your lap when you least expect it. That’s what today was for Suna. Particularly bad. 

This morning he’d rolled out of bed thirty minutes late, nothing too out of the ordinary for him, which is why he’s well versed in rushing a shower and scarfing down enough sustenance to last him until the afternoon. Traffic on the way to early morning practice? Been there, done that. Hours worth of conditioning? A little bit annoying, but it's not the first time that’s happened. Losing track of time and forgetting to eat lunch? Kinda sucky. Walking to his car to find a terribly noticeable door ding on the passenger’s side? Really sucky. 

Suna happened to have compiled an impressive list of minor inconveniences to combine with the other stack of shit, and it all adds up to the very worst part, taking it out on you. 

It was just an innocent question on your behalf about the dent in his car, “And you’re gonna have to pay?” You frowned sympathetically, watching in confusion as his expression turned completely to a sour contortion of a scowl, “Obviously, I am, the other car was gone by the time I came out.” He huffed in agitation with a superfluous roll of his eyes to seal the deal. 

You sputtered, brow tensed, “You don’t have to get so defensive.” Rintaro had groaned in response, tilting his chin, “Well what kind of a stupid question is that when I already told you what happened?” His breath caught in his throat with instant regret as you set your jaw tight with frustration, there was no doubt you were holding back a return that would only escalate what’s already been blown out of proportion. You stormed off, leaving Suna with the feeling that he quite possibly might be the biggest idiot in the world. 

As of now, you’ve only had the chance to be alone for a few minutes, taking your anger out by completing your most aggressive attempt at folding laundry to date. Suna knocks on the doorframe of your bedroom to announce his presence, you turn around to find him nervously thumbing at the meat of his palm, a guilty expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, looking up at the shift in your expression to gauge whether or not he was about to have a t-shirt thrown in his face. Who was he kidding? You’re the most understanding person he knows and he was stupid enough to snap at you. Suna thinks, in that moment, that there will never be anything big enough for him to get mad at you for again. Nothing feels worse than being like this, not even waking up late, nor conditioning, nor missing lunch, and especially not getting door dinged. 

“I just-...” he blows out a breath that makes his cheeks puff up while he sorts through countless words, trying to find the right ones to fix things, “I had a really bad day, and I’m sorry it made me snap at you…I'm an idiot.”  

“…You kinda are, huh?” Suna looks up to find that the echo of a grin has replaced the deep frown you had before, making the knot in his chest begin to loosen gradually. Rintaro huffs out a quiet laugh, “Yeah…” 

For a moment, you thought there might still be something else in his mind with the way his eyes dropped, head swimming in thoughts. The question sitting on your lips was quickly replaced by a yelp as Suna steps forward, wrapping you in his big arms and collapsing onto the bed.

“I love you, you know that?” He declares loudly, taking every playful kick you really don’t mean as you giggle uncontrollably, “Get off of me, Rin!” 

Suna snickers, kissing the crown of your head, “I can’t let go of you! Not until I make things right!” Your stomach already hurts from laughing as you writhe against him, feeling the lovely placements of tender kisses peppered across your face. 

“Let go before I put another dent in your car!” You shout, earning a bout of laughter from your boyfriend, “Low blow! I’m still recovering!” Suna knows that today was supposed to be bad, and for the most part it really was. But right now he has you pressed up against him like this, he can feel the rise and fall of laughter in your ribs, he smells the powdery scent of your shampoo, and presses his face into yours as close as physically possible. Yeah, he thinks, bad days don’t really exist if they all end like this.

[webslingingslasher]

trouble waking peter up bc she’s horny… I stg he’s never been happier to be woken up

“blood, tears and fire only”? he’s gna have to add one more to the list

YES. IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG.

it’s like being so hungry, you wake up with a growling stomach. knots tied and pulled, gurgling for sustenance. this is a new kind of hungry, one that has you famished. you could eat alone, or, you could invite peter to the buffet.

you start gentle, he’ll be grumpy no matter what, but maybe this time he’d catch on to your desperate touches and connect the pieces. peter looks so peaceful when he sleeps, it’s like he turns off all thoughts from the outside world.

‘peter?’ taps on his arm, they turn into delicate pokes. ‘peter? are you up?’ you’re unsure of him moving away from you means yes, he still looks asleep. ‘yes? you’re awake?’

peter breathes deep, you start to feel guilty, but not enough to let him continue his slumber. ‘pst, peter. wake up, please.’ a light shake, it does enough, your touch is shook off.

‘leave me alone.’ his blanket is tugged under his chin, its risen over your head, you bat it off, peter blissfully reaching back into dream land.

‘no, wait.’ you’re met with a heavy sigh, ‘what’s the rule, trouble?’ you trace shapes on his shoulder, like a toddler, you recite his bedtime rules. ‘blood, tears, and fire only.’

‘do we have any of those?’

you’re so… hungry you could burst into tears. but, that’s not what peter asked. ‘no.’ a satisfied nod, ‘great. i’ll talk to you when the suns up.’ the blanket is forced over your head again, you shove it off, this time you’re met with a whiny ‘hey!’

‘i think we need to add another one into the rulebook.’ peter cracks an eye open, you’re too awake for his comfort. ‘what time is it?’ you look behind you, a flash of white on your screen. ‘two.’

‘jesus, trouble. what do we need to add?’ you blank, peter’s frustration shows. ‘c’mon, quickly.’ you roll to your back, ‘i’m… horny. really, really horny.’

a total one eighty from peter, suddenly he’s wide eyes and smiles. ‘oh! okay, yeah, sure, we can add that.’ you blink your eyes and in the short second peter rolled himself over to lay above you.

'what do you want? something quick or the full shebang?' you think he might have been sending you the graphic dream because he's just as, if not more, ready as you are. peter's tugging his, your shirt off while you move your hips around to make more room for him.

'um, i mean we can have sex, sure.' peter looks up at your face, he leans back slightly, the missing blanket makes you shiver. 'you don't sound sure.'

'it's kind of selfish, so, yeah. let's have sex.' you hum when peter wraps an arm around your hip and tugs you closer to him. 'what's selfish?' it's two in the morning and you woke him up from a dead sleep, you shouldn't push him any further.

'what i want. let's just have a quickie.' you reach for his boxers, your hand stings when it's slapped away. 'ow?' peter pushes past it, 'what do you want?'

you feel shy for a moment, it feels like you're using him, you want to ditch the whole thing. you went from overtly horny to guilty in a second. 'i don't know...' peter isn't playing your games, he leans in over you.

'i'm not asking again, trouble. what do you want?' meaning, if you won't tell him, he'll override the situation and shut it down. 'okay, okay. could you... please?' it helps nothing, you just hate asking for it.

peter might not be able to fill in the blanks, but he could pick up a hint. 'could i?' your hands rest on his shoulders, he questions you and you answer by gently pushing him away, pushing him... down.

'what are you... oh, are you? that's what you want?' you pull the comforter over his head, peter fights it off, his hair falls in tufts. 'don't lock me down there, it's dark and hot.' that was the complaint? he's not upset?

'you're not mad that i woke you up just to go down on me?'

'god, no.' kisses down your neck, 'what's the rule?'

you smile, 'blood, tears, fire, and sex only.'

'that's my girl.'

[samenameastheothers]

Right Person Wrong Time pt. 2

✨MDNI✨

Ummmm hellooo!! First off I want to thank everybody for the love on pt. 1…like wtf I was not expecting that! Anyway I hope you all enjoy pt. 2 it's a little shorter...

I'm hoping to make one more part but classes suck and so does life sometimes so I have no idea when ill get that out. Everyone who asked to be tagged will be tagged again in pt.3 and if you want to be tagged, add a note at the bottom. <3

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, reader dreams of cheating, swearing, itsnothappyyetbutipromiseitscoming :)  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You finished your mission, got the information the Rhysand needed, and left. The effort it took to continue made up some of your hardest moments, and that was saying something. Regardless, you had continued on. Azriel was always behind you, you could feel his presence even more now with the bond, but he made sure you could never see him. Upon your return to Velaris, you masked everything, the bond, and your true feelings about it. You were good at that, masking what you felt, that's the reason you were in the inner circle, in The Court of Dreams in the first place. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for your excellence in discretion, it's the way you kept secrets that made you stand out to the High Lord those years ago, made you stand out to him. It didn't matter anymore, what made you special, rumors got out that you sold information to other courts a few months ago. After hours of integration by your own partner, there was no evidence that you did it, but no evidence that you hadn't either. You begged Feyre to read your mind, to prove you were innocent, but she wouldn't do it. You had sobbed, tears streaming down your face, trying to convince not only the man you loved but also the man you worked for that you would never betray him. He had walked away. Even after the truth came out, that you were not a traitor, he never came back…

“Until two weeks ago,” you say under your breath as you walk back to your apartment from the meeting you had been in for most of the day. 

You have been reminiscing about that night when he ate you out like your cunt was the last sustenance on earth, but more importantly the night you found out the male who broke your heart was your mate. How could you not have felt it before? You knew the connection between the two of you was strong, but how could the two best spymasters in the whole of Prythian not realize that they were fated for each other? The look on his face that night made you believe he hadn't suspected it either, and the fact that he has been absent at every court meeting for almost a month since makes you certain about how he feels being tied to you. Nevertheless, you were concerned, scared that he would do something rash, but mostly you wish you could get Azriel out of your head. Non-stop you were thinking about him, even more than when you were in an actual relationship with the male. You had tried drinking, hell you had gone out every night with Nesta before she got concerned and stopped taking you, but nothing worked. He was always there. 

You walk into your bedroom and let out a deep breath, you're exhausted and need a nap. You make your way over to your bed, shedding your clothes. Opting to sleep in the underwear you had on is better than going to bed in your full outfit. Your head hits the pillow and instantly you're asleep… 

Usually, your dreams aren’t vivid. I mean you've had crazy nightmares and weird sex dreams before, who hasn't? This time though, it's different. 

At first, it's dark, you can't sense anything in front of you. 

“The fuck?” you mutter, it feels so real, the feeling of nothingness. 

Then you hear it. A woman, moaning in ecstasy, she's saying someone's name but you can't make it out. Suddenly the image appears before you, a room, darkly lit, a woman on a bed of silk and an Illyrian male on top of her. You see him slide in and out of her, the lewd sound of his cock wet with both their pleasure makes you feel oddly out of place. You can’t seem to make out the image in front of you, it's constantly going back and forth between definitions so clear that you can make out the sheen of sweat on the skin of the woman he fucks, but every time you try to focus on the male you can't make out who he is. It's frustrating, you would like to enjoy this dream but something feels wrong, the male seems familiar. You don't realize who it is, not until the woman moans out his name again, 

“Azriel” she gasps and sighs like it's her own mate's damn name.   

 “No” you whisper. 

You can feel your heart break as you watch what's in front of you. You sink to the floor. Your eyes can't seem to stray from the sight of Azriel burying himself inside the other woman. He covers her mouth with his, his face now in full definition, his tongue sliding in and kissing the woman passionately.

“No stop please stop!” you start screaming at them, screaming at Azriel everything you have felt since he walked out of that interrogation room, and everything you wished you had said since. Your cries fell on deaf ears, he doesn't even turn his head to recognize that you are there. Even when he was upset at you, his eyes always seemed to find you, wherever or whatever you were doing. His moans now filling the room mixing with the crying of the other fae. You can’t help but remember the night he told you that you were the only woman who was ever able to get those sounds out of him. You can't stand it anymore, watching the woman come undone by him. You try to move but you are rooted in place unable to stop yourself from witnessing the breaking of your heart. It seems like you stay there for hours, you've long since been numb, tears steadily slipping down your face. 

Finally, Azriel slides out of the woman and stands up off the bed. You watch, somehow still mesmerized by him after everything. The way his shadows wind up his naked body makes him look like some dark god as he walks towards you. You are still sitting there, practically kneeling as he reaches you. Azriel grasps your face in his scared hand bringing you up to stand in front of him, his dark eyes burning into your soul.

 “My love, why do you cry?” he says in a voice softer than you expected. Softer than you have heard him speak to you in a while. It startles you, the way he seems so caring, and when you look into his eyes you see tears in them.

 “Azriel-” before you can respond his lips crash into yours. 

You feel darkness colliding all around you, the sensation of him then the sensation of nothing again, over and over. You feel as if you are falling, you try to scream but smoke fills your mouth, and- 

You wake up to your room filled with shadow.   

Tag list:

@sidthedollface2 @sillymercury @brieflyclassymortal @abewitchingwillow @crazylokonugget @kalulakunundrum @fxckmiup @azriels-shadowsinger @gorlillaglue25 @domciak84

[free-boundsoul]

You know, whenever I think about Kody for too long, I get annoyed with the wasted yandere potential (I shouldn't want to add to Freelancer's angst but...)

Like, after Bridging with FL, he could have showed up to their apartment. Hux mentioned that sensing the other person's magical signature was a part of the Bridge. He could have gotten so attached to the poor humanborn that was starting their new life at DAMN. Who knows who might try and take advantage of their naivety?

Oh, Raincloud, you really should try and distance yourself from Damien. You wouldn't know, but fireborns can be so hotheaded. If he gets frustrated, you might get burned. I couldn't stand to see you get hurt.

Hmm? Lasko? Isn't he a counselor? You shouldn't be friends with someone in that role, Raincloud. It's too much of a power imbalance. He could try and take advantage of you. You never know if all that stuttering is just an act, you know?

Huxley said what? Oh, sweetie, don't you know? Earthborns aren't known for being the...brightest. He probably misunderstood what happened between us. You know I'd never hurt you, right? I've only tried to help you.

Did I see you with an Incubus earlier? Raincloud, he's just using you for a free meal. I know you're new to this world, but demons need our emotions to survive. They'll do anything to get what they want. He'll whisper sweet nothings in your ear to make you feel whatever he needs to get sustenance. He's probably controlling your emotions without you noticing. It's what they do, Raincloud. You have to be so careful...but you don't need to worry about that with me. You can be yourself, I still care about you no matter what you feel.

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 5]

Batten down the hatches, my friends. This one is a L O N G one but it was so worth it.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Unloveable - The Smiths

“If I seem a little strange / well, that’s because I am /

But I know that you would like me /

If only you could see me / if only you could meet me /

I don’t have much in my life / but take it, it’s yours.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, hospital mention, blood / injury descriptions, AMERICAN HEALTHCARE, more horrors of a nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would have words), extreme weather, angst, hurt / comfort

Word Count: 3.9k (SORRY)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 6] [Part 7 (NSFW)]

Driving on uneven roads is difficult enough on its own, and having only one hand while amped up on adrenaline and preoccupied about potentially having lost Corvus forever makes you downright reckless. A particularly hard thump! has you worried about your car’s alignment but you simply add it to the list of things wrong and continue down the road.

The emergency room sucks. You’re not even fully in reality by the time you finish checking in, clutching your still-bleeding hand in your lap with not more than a couple pads of gauze and a random towel you had laying around in the back of the car. It’s a miracle how a human can bleed for over two hours and still be fully coherent enough to lie to their nurses and doctors about a knife slipping while cutting twine.

They don’t believe you for a second, but they both aren’t paid enough and are over-worked enough not to care. Everyone lies in the ER.

A shot of lidocaine and eighteen stitches later, you’re sent on your way with opioid pain meds you won’t be taking and a deep appreciation that Corvus hadn’t scored your dominant hand. It’s still irritating when you get home and try to undress to shower, unable to flex your injured hand at all. You straight up decide against actually cooking, heating up a frozen meal in the microwave and sitting on the couch to overthink everything once more.

The look of complete dismay on Corvus’s face before he left haunted you. 

You had long accepted that the black betta mer wasn’t the most emotionally expressive individual. His carefully neutral countenance rarely gave way to more than a quirk of a brow or occasional lip-turn, so the twisted look of open terror on his pale face shook you to your core both now and then. Hell, in the moment you had even been able to forget about a two and a half inch long laceration in your palm from sheer worry for him. 

You never would have expected a creature so powerful to run.

Another cold spoonful goes down roughly at the thought, and, dissociated, you decide you’ve had enough sustenance. You crawl into bed, exhausted, and feel your limbs sink heavily into the mattress as a deep sigh leaves your lungs. A hollow feeling permeates your chest.

You can’t help the rush of emotions that suddenly overcomes you, choked sobs racking your body as you curl up into a miserable ball around your pillow. The action brings only scant comfort to the throbbing ache in your chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

The beach is cold, but you don’t care. 

You felt stupid coming back to the shoreline the day after everything, so you waited. Your Monday rolls around and you try to go back to the coast before work, briskly searching high and low for a glimpse of black fins and a glittering night’s-sky of scales. The tides grant you no such favors, and two hours are wasted on nothing when you’re forced to leave. You deflect every question from your coworkers with lies about a kitchen accident.

The next day is scarcely different. You finish your shift in the office like a reanimated corpse, putting in the bare minimum to not have anyone look twice in your direction. You can’t even remember more than the gist of the report you had just read on illegal fishing activity a hour south of you, another damned case of foreign bodies trying to use nonexistent loopholes in the law to talk their way into overfishing protected areas. It was a Coast Guard issue and never should have crossed your desk to begin with, but here you are, tangled in another mess outside of your depth.

You slam the door of your Bronco shut before you stomp onto the dark shore, not bothering to take the cliff down to Corvus’s den this time because you know you don’t have the brain capacity to even think about scaling the rocks. The extra five minute trip down and around the cliffside riddles you with nausea that intensifies when the light of your flashlight finds the entrance to the cavern. 

Of course Corvus isn’t there; you weren’t expecting him to be, yet still it anguishes you. Three days without the merman in your life and you’re already starting to fall apart? It makes you feel pathetic for having grown attached to him so quickly. 

But Corvus had never made you feel that way. Never once had he made you feel like your presence had been a burden to him, eagerly listening to every word you had said to him. He always replied with a caring thoughtfulness to any query you gave him, firm with his boundaries yet forgiving to the innocent faults that had occurred. 

Corvus had a way of making you feel genuinely listened to, even when he didn’t always reply. It was weird to describe someone like him as warm, given his penchant for reserved silence and generally closed-off nature, but the sincere cordiality he had with you had never failed to stir emotions in your chest that you had felt far too anxious to put a label on at the time.

You realize just how taken care of you had always been with the merman. He offered to hunt for you, even if the incident with the ducklings had been an awkward misunderstanding. He made a place for you within his den that could never have any functional use for him as his size. Hell, he would stride along you in the sand instead of asking you to join him in the waves because it was easier for you. You’re wearing a piece of his hoard!

He cared about you.

Your hand gently grasps the raven head pendant, and you sit down in the rickety chair that Corvus has specially gotten for you. The luminescents on the walls seem dimmer than before, and you notice how wilted they’ve become in Corvus’s short absence. Pushing aside the thought that the mer had been putting in actual maintenance to accommodate for you, you brush your hand against the cerulean phosphorescent flora. 

Corvus had taken care of you when you hadn’t asked for it, so you were going to do the same. 

Searching the den for anything vaguely cup-like to transfer water with turns up nothing, so you resort to cupping your healthy hand in that small stream leading into the den. You punctiliously pour the brine over each of the parched plants until they’re saturated. By the time you’ve finished, you notice the vegetation you had started with has already begun to glow brighter. You glow brighter than the cave in that moment.

Wednesday still bears no sign of Corvus, but it does teach an important piece of information: this den had not been abandoned like the others.

You finally gather the courage to check inside of the decorated bed space at the back of the den for the first time since the giant’s disappearance, and you’re flooded with relief when you see the large cache of dazzling objects still lining the walls. Corvus hadn’t left, per se. He just hadn’t returned yet. 

In your jacket pocket is the trusty metal pen Corvus had fixated on so long ago, and in a moment of weakness, you leave it on the stone shelf at the center of the cavern. You had other pens. This one should be his… even if he can’t use it.

You keep coming back to maintain the cavern: wetting the algae and mushrooms, clearing the space of any excess sand the tides brought in, polishing the corroded metals in his collection— nothing escapes your watchful eye. You’ve even accidentally fallen asleep on the bed of furs and grasses, waking up in a flurry to see that you were late for work and needed to leave now, even if you dreaded doing so. 

You always leave a new trinket behind on the round stone ‘table’. Old jewelry, a piece of abalone shell, a tea ball you haven’t used in ages, rose quartz, an entire abalone shell (that you’ve now started to use to hold everything), cool brooches you found at another beach, an enamel pin in the shape of a flying crow, and many other items from around your apartment make their way into Corvus’s den. You rearrange the items into a nice display before you leave.

A week passes. Half of a month. An entire month. The gash on your hand has healed well, the stitches removed with strict instructions to keep the area clean. 

Each day, no matter the weather, you return to Corvus’s beach. The den is monotonous, and recently, you’ve begun to avoid going inside of it lest you have to face the untouched items on the rock shelf more often than necessary. The physical effort to place something in the pile is nothing by now, but mentally, it wears on you.

What if all of this had been for nothing? You had been forcing such doubtful thoughts out of your head for a month faithfully, always trying to look on the bright side. You’ve waited longer for a pay-off before, haven’t you? 

Why was this any different?

…because it hurts. No matter what pep talks you give yourself or happy memories you relive, coming back to the beach hurts.

You’ve been persistent to the point you’re starting to think that you’re nothing more than an annoyance instead of the oh-so-great protector of the coasts you had foolishly thought yourself to be. What a sick fantasy, you think, meddling in the life of something so obviously beyond you. The delusion that you could ever be a part of Corvus’s realm has poisoned you to the point of desperately coming back to the barren sands for even a hope that you’ll see more than the black apparition in the reveries of your mind.

The apartment is a mess. Unfolded laundry piles in the basket, dirty clothes along the floor. You’ve used the same towel to shower for long enough that it’s starting to smell of mildew, but just thinking about the effort of washing a load of towels makes you feel like lead. It took an infestation of ants for you to do the mountain of dishes that piled in your sink. Everyday tasks become chores, and chores feel impossible. 

Still, you drag yourself out to work again today. The weather is awful: torrential downpour with gusts of wind that nearly knock you off of your feet. No one is working in the field today lest OSHA get a taste of blood in the water (literal or metaphorical). You drum your fingertips across the wooden desk as you read a private request for development nearby a protected habitat, opposite hand fiddling with your necklace. You can’t bring yourself to take it off, even if it hurts to see in the mirror each day.

You’re in the middle of a paragraph about intended waste management when a heckling voice jogs you out of it. “I didn’t take you for the goth type,” it jeers, and you look up to see one of the environmental science team leads. A man twice your age. What was his name again?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retort, audibly weary.

 “The necklace,” he gestures at your throat. Your coworker sits against your desk, uninvited, looking down at you with leery eyes. “Haven’t seen you in that number before.”

You simply shake your head and look back down at the paper, uninterested in the conversation. He doesn’t take the hint.

The lead continues, “You haven’t been as chipper recently. Where’s your spunk? Your fire?—” he follows the words with a ridiculous hand gesture— “Those bags under your eyes could be checked in at the airport.”

You’d laugh at his joke if you weren’t already in such a piss-poor mood. “I’m just tired,” you state, not turning your head to look at him, “I’ll be fine.”

A hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt. “Look, kid, we’ve all got our bad days, but I can tell when someone needs a break—”

You throw the offending hand off of you and stand up roughly, throwing your chair back into the wall in the process. You feel heated. “I told you, I’m fine!” Your words are laced with venom, scratchy and raw and bitter. 

The commotion causes the lead to recoil, distaste written on his face. Other people in the office are starting to stare, and you meet each of their gazes individually. Maybe that was a bit too far.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and head falling forward. Everything aches. “You’re right,” you admit, offering an apologetic look to what’s-his-name, “I’m not feeling well.”

It takes no more than a few minutes to submit your request to leave early. As soon as it’s approved, you rush out of the building. The torrent building inside of you has nothing on the rain around, and you high-tail it out of the parking lot. 

Truly, you didn’t mean to end up back here today. The ocean is too rough, the cliff perilous, the beach an utter mess. The thought of just how stupid your actions are does nothing to stop you, though. 

You run down the embankment to the dock, shoes getting soaked from the crashing waves as you search the water. 

Nothing.

You scramble to the den, slipping and falling down the rocky slope and barely catching yourself before you hit your head. 

Nothing. 

You claw your way through the sands— up soggy hills and over rocky ledges, around complex twists and turns in the sandstone, under and over jutting stones, looking anywhere for alabaster white. 

Nothing.

You’re back at the dock, watching the serpent of metal squirm and thrash in the storm. With unstable footing, you sloppily traverse the writhing mass of steel, barely able to hold yourself upright as you reach the end of it. The storm forces you to your knees, and you place your hands on the lip. Despondency grips you, tearing at your throat.

“I’m sorry!” you cry, voice drowned out by the thundering of rain. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!” A black wave pummels into your small body, the force of an ocean threatening to knock you off of the dock. Still, you cling. You duck your head against the chilled metal, letting out a hissed breath before inhaling a mouthful of seawater. Blubbering, coughing, you rise back up and look out over the waves. They are cold and unflinching.

When the fury of the storm lulls, you force yourself to continue, hoarse. “I messed up and I just want to know how, okay? I don’t know what I did, I—” you choke off a sob, shaking your head, “I-I…” Muscles cry at you to stop, body begging you to return to the car for warmth. You persevere. You have for the last month. 

“I miss you, okay!” The wail carries across the ocean, echoing across the tides back at you like a taunt. Even in the calm of the storm, rain batters against you. The dock stops squirming so intensely, and you take the moment to catch your breath.

Even in your honesty, even in your raw vulnerability, screaming to the heavens for an answer, you receive nothing.

You turn away from the ocean and sink down onto yourself, defeated. The sobs you had been holding at bay spill out, and you hug your knees as you bawl into them. Your clothes are soaked, the wind is cold, and your chest feels miserable. 

Even with the storm beginning to pass by, you feel no better. You will away the tears eventually, wiping wet tears with a wet sleeve that feels like sandpaper, and ready yourself to leave.

The utterly shattered face of Corvus Corax looks at you, a few feet from the edge of the dock, just barely above the water. Eyes of onyx lay wide with guilt, grimacing.

You do not hesitate to throw yourself into the choppy water at him.

Corvus has no time to react to your actions before you wrap your arms around his neck clinging onto him as you gasp like a fish, clutching the coal-and-bone giant close to you like a lifeline. Right now, in the swell, he was.

Tentative arms snake around your midsection, slowly but surely pulling you closer to him. You feel the merman press his face into your soaked hair, taking in a deep breath of your scent before a rumble leaves him. “This is no place for you,” he whispers, and you can only feel him fly through the water like a bolt of lightning, unable to look up from his neck with how firmly he holds you. When you can finally move your head, Corvus already has the both of you on land, beelining it for the den with a look of conviction on his face. 

You didn’t even know you were trembling before you got inside, the surprising warmth of the cavern thawing the numbness in your arms and legs. The frantic betta strides right past the chair in the main room with you in his arms, heading straight for the bed space. It’s only when he gets to the ‘bed’ that he abruptly stops, looking down at you.

“You’ve rested here before.” It’s another half-question, half-statement, and once again it’s correct.

“I fell asleep after taking care of the algae, I’m sorry—”

Corvus cuts you off by hastily lying the both of you on the furs and feathers, the action causing you to let out an ‘oof’ as the air is forced from your lungs. The way he curls and desperately clings to you like a lost child has you feeling all sorts of complex emotions, but you do not fight it. When you open your mouth to speak, he gently shushes you with a shake of his head. You rest beneath his chin in silence.

For the first time in over a month, everything feels okay.

“I hurt you,” Corvus’s gentle voice breaks the silence, barely audible. It’s laced with sorrow so deep that it cuts into your heart. With a shaky hand, the giant mer peels you away from him, looking your entire form over. 

You show him your scabbed and scarring palm, the area pink but almost fully healed by now. You jump to reassure him, “The doctor said it was a clean cut. Easy to heal. I’m okay.”

Corvus shakes his head again, gently taking your injured hand in his. He holds it to his chest, over his beating hearts as he looks deep into your eyes. The downpour inside of him has yet to quell. 

“I hurt you, and I could not bear it,” he restarts, twin hearts pounding in his ribcage. A heavy pause follows as Corvus thinks, wanting to explain himself properly yet lacking the experience to do so. His ear fins twitch up and down as he debates how to continue. Eventually, he sighs, looking around the walls of the bed space. "In fleeing like a coward,” he laments, “I have only hurt you more.” 

The sentence causes the tension to snap inside of you like a wire. “I came back here every day looking for you. Every. Single. Day,” you admonish, tears welling in your eyes, “I took care of the plants. I swept out the sand. I even polished everything so I could keep myself busy!” You go on a total tirade about your activities, Corvus’s gaze not once leaving you as he takes the brunt of it all. Falter, your words catch in your throat as tears spill. “...because I was so afraid to lose you that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”

Corvus’s eyes soften with guilt, expression falling. He makes to respond, but you beat him to it.

“But I’m so glad you came back, because I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”

The merman’s mouth shuts, and his gaze returns to you. He does not hesitate to pull you close once more, gorgeous charcoal fins blanketing you. You run a hand over the appendage, unable to stop yourself, and Corvus lets out a blissful sigh. “I was afraid, so I fled without thinking of the consequences,” he explains. You do your best to sit back to watch him talk, but Corvus doesn’t allow you much room to move. He continues, “I am already… an anomaly amongst my kind. I was not created to have these sorts of simple domesticities, and I feared what would occur if I overstepped my bounds.” His words leave you with more questions than answers, but you know better than to prod the mer. Anomaly amongst his kind? He had mentioned brothers before his disappearance. You wonder what the others may be like.

Seeking to comfort the giant as he speaks (and partially out of scientific curiosity), you run a hand over his gill covers again. A soft gasp leaves the merman before he catches your hand in his, withdrawing just enough to look down at you. You give him a shy, cheeky smile.

“...as you are now,” he jests, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you say, not even remotely apologetic.

Corvus lets out a soft huff in response, when his eyes focus on the silver chain around your neck. He uses a talented claw to fish the raven pendant from underneath the neckline of your shirt, gazing upon it with the same fondness you had seen just before he fled. Before you can question the look, you’re shocked by the smile he gives you: a genuine grin, eyes crinkled at the outer corners and sharp teeth visible. For the first time, you see that he has fangs, the tips of canines poking into his lower lip. 

His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile softens. Corvus croons, “I must apologize again for what I have taken from you.”

You’re confused by his statement, tilting your head at him. “What do you mean?”

The merman gently tips up your chin with a knuckle, keeping his claws away from the skin of your delicate neck as he leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s unpracticed and clumsy, Corvus being so much larger than you, but the cold taste of the sea and ocean minerals has you addicted. A delicate hand cradles your face when you lean into him, and the moment ends all too soon.

“I am here, and I will not be pulling such an imprudent stunt ever again,” Corvus promises as he pulls away.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly, before nestling yourself into the crux of his neck and shoulder. 

The tender moment warms you, the shaking in your body finally coming to a stop. Your clothes may be soaked and salty, but the soft bed beneath and gentle embrace of the mer ease you. You let out a soft giggle that catches Corvus’s attention, and when the merman lets out a questioning hum, you remark, “If you ever do that again, I’m getting my boating license and hunting you down myself.”

Corvus hums from above you, knuckles tracing up and down your back. “From what I have learned, I should expect no less.”

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

HI PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THE ENDING OF THE LAST FIC I PROMISED I WOULD FIX THINGS

This took far longer than expected I am so sorry but I hope everyone likes it!!

[Part 6]

[highonakuweeds]

Mama's Boy (Alastor and motherly!reader)

(A/N: I would just like to add before this that mother deers like to clean their young to remove their scent from predators. And that Alastor is severely ooc here, no matter what I do)

POV: Reader is an overlord whose main schtick is mothering every. Single. Demon. In their path.

Your eyes scanned the outside of this Hazbin Hotel that some of the sinners were making fun of down on the street. “Redemption, my ass. I’d rather die a second time,” one of them remarked.

So, you helped them with their wish. They should be more careful about what they say, and you made sure to give them sufficient punishment.

How you reveled in their screams.

With a smile, you knocked on the door, politely waiting for someone to open it. They were muffled, but you could hear some shuffling and excited voices, squealing and giggling like a high school girl.

A woman with long blonde hair and a red suit practically swung the door open, the grin on her face twice as wide as yours. “Hi! I’m Charlie Morningstar; welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” You admired her eagerness and her energy, stepping into the threshold calmly. “(Name), darling. Pleasure to meet the owner of the hotel.” You put your hand out for her to shake, in which she accepted with a flustered smile. 

“Oh, thank you!”

You nodded at Charlie courteously before glancing around the interior; it could use some work, but it felt homey enough, nothing you couldn’t enhance.

You turned to Charlie, allowing yourself to speak before her. “Now, before you say anything, I’m not here to be a resident.” You noticed the way her face slightly fell, so you quickly added, “I’m here to assist you, sweetheart; don’t worry. I have…” You let out a deep breath. “Faith in your cause.”

At that, she beamed. “YES! Thank you so much! Who knows, maybe you could get redeemed, too!” 

You laughed at her words. “I think it would take more than just a simple helping hand to redeem me, but if that’s what you believe, then who am I to defy? You are the princess of Hell, after all.”

“Yes, thank you!” Someone with long gray hair and an “x” over their eye exclaimed, residing beside Charlie. “This is what I was talking about, Charlie; people don’t take your authority seriously!”

“Ooh, but it’s feels so mean to–”

The both of them realized that they left you hanging, and quickly shot you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. This is Vaggie, my girlfriend!” Charlie introduced, and you, in turn, shook Vaggie’s hand. You were surprised and quite pleased at how firm and secure she gripped your hand; it wasn’t new to you but it did feel good to know that there were people in Hell that could do such a thing.

“Hello, Vaggie. It’s nice knowing you.” You acknowledged before looking at the other sinners scattered around the first floor. “Would you mind introducing me to the others? I mean, if I’m to help here, I should know them, right?”

Charlie winced slightly at her forgetfulness and nodded. “Yes, of course, of course! This is Husk, our bartender,” she led you to the bar (which you were pleasantly shocked about; you didn’t realize that alcohol was allowed in being redeemed, but you assumed it was for celebrations) where a cat demon stayed behind the counter, cheap booze in his grip. He nodded at you respectfully, a gruff look seemingly plastered on his face.

Good God, he looked absolutely messy.

You couldn’t help yourself when you licked your thumb and pressed it against his fur. You tutted, shaking your head. “Take care of yourself, good sir! Looking good is one of the main aspects of self-sustenance.”

Husk hissed at you initially, though almost immediately, his tense body relaxed, slightly giving into your grooming. He noticed what you were doing just as quickly, though, and jumped out of your touch, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck was that!?”

“You had dirt on your face, sweetie; what was I supposed to do? Let it stay there?” You reasoned before sighing. You turned to Charlie, your voice coated in sincerity. “I apologize for interrupting you. Please, continue.”

She grinned at what you did to Husk before leading you to the parlor, where a lanky spider demon draped himself across the couch. “This is Angeldust, one of our residents!”

“Your only resident.” He corrected, sitting up properly (if you count the fact that his legs were on top of one of the armrests as “sitting up properly”, that is). 

You raised your eyebrows; this hotel continued to surprise you more. “Yes, I know you. You’re quite famous where I reside.” A small smile graced your lips to assure the porn star that you didn’t mean it in a degrading way.

“Woa-hoh, didn’t expect you to live somewhere where I’m famous but,” he shrugged, a small scoff escaping him. “Where am I not?”

At that you laughed, closed fingers covering your mouth. “I like your poise, Angel, dear. Please keep it up; you would’ve made your mother proud.”

He snorted at your words. “What, by being a porn actor?”

You shook your head. “By believing in yourself.”

It sounded corny, Angeldust knew that, but somehow it gave him a pang in his heart. He laughed, his grin turning genuine. “Thanks, toots.”

Charlie’s smile was practically blinding you as she attempted to contain her excitement. Though by the way she was holding back her jumping, she was failing. “You’re going to help so many people! Gah, you’re going to fit right in.”

You cupped your cheek in a slight flush, lips curled up bashfully. “Why thank you, dear Princess; such a charmer.”

Suddenly, a shadow traveled from across the room, and behind Charlie materialized a deer demon. She noticed his presence and turned to look at him. “This is Alastor!” She stepped back so that Alastor could shake your hand, and you were quite pleased by how he initiated it. “Our facility manager.”

“Pleasure to be meeting you, my dear, quite a pleasure! May I know your name?” He grinned (as if he wasn’t before), resting his hands on top of his microphone. You bowed your head courteously. “I’m (Name), darling.”

You glanced at his hair and sighed. “Your hair is going to irritate your face, Alastor.” You walked towards him until you two were close enough for your to touch his bangs, and the other two sinners you were with held their breath at it.

He tensed, sure, but as you swept his hair away from his eyes as much as you could, he let out a small chuckle. “You’re just like my mother, my dear.”

You quietly laughed at that. “Well, I do tend to exude a motherly attitude, according to some people. Hold still.” You did the same thing to Alastor as you did to Husk, licking your thumb and wiping his cheek. There wasn’t anything on it, but you felt the urge to do so.

Alastor’s smile softened, his brows knitting at your actions. “Do you do this with everyone?”

“More or less.” You placed your hands on your hips and nodded at yourself, proud of your own work. You clasped your hands, smiling as you glanced around again. “Well, I can’t wait to be a part of your team, Your Royal Highness!”

She blushed at your words, giggling slightly. “Please, just call me Charlie!”

“Whatever the princess says.”

It had been around 3 months since your unannounced and unsolicited aid, and so far everyone had been enjoying your presence. You would constantly cook for the hotel members alongside Niffty, that cute little thing that apparently cleans the hotel. You admired her ability to be able to take care of the majority of the house work, but you wondered how much she could actually take. Why not help her lessen the load?

You were also there whenever anybody needed some motherly advice, or a brutally honest opinion structured in constructive criticism. Charlie went to you the most about that matter, asking you what “exercises” the hotel staff + Angel should do to help them get redeemed. Vaggie would ask for your judgment about certain things, but more specifically about Charlie and how she could support her. They were incredibly tight-knit; it almost made you jealous.

Angeldust went to you to rant, your company too comfortable for him to not do so. You knew who Valentino was long before he started talking about him, but the more Angeldust talked to you about him, the more you wanted to discipline his moth ass. 

You found yourself attempting to groom Husk on multiple occasions, too. You would always have a handy brush by your side, ready to smoothen the knots and mats in his fur that would occur overtime. Husk used to try to stop you, but grew too fond of your care to give a fuck anymore.

The only person that hadn’t changed since your appearance was Alastor. He was always so polite to you, but kept his distance. As if you were just an acquaintance. 

You decided to pay him a visit.

You knocked on his door with one of your knuckles, your ear close to it. “Alastor, dear? May I come in?”

“Of course, (Name)!�� You heard his muffled voice say, and with that you entered. You hadn’t ever been to his room before, so imagine your surprise when you saw the outdoors taking up half of his room.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked courtly, sat down on one of his cushioned chairs beside the fireplace. You shook your head, closing the door behind you. “Not necessarily,” you replied, tilting your head towards the chair across him as a silent way of asking. 

Alastor nodded, and with his consent you sat down, crossing your legs. “Then, may I ask why you decided to visit me?” 

You just smiled sweetly at him, your eyes sharply scanning his appearance. “How are you, sweetie?”

“I’m doing quite well, dear, thank you for asking.” He responded, his tone cheerful. But before he could reciprocate the question, you interrupted his attempt. “No, how are you feeling? Anything you need to…” you shrugged. “Get off your chest?”

His eye twitched at your words, and he strained a chuckle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear (Name); there is nothing to get off my chest!”

You nodded slowly, your brows creasing in fake thought. “Alright, then. So, your need to help this hotel and its cause not because of your own personal needs, like what you want people to assume, but because the others are slowly growing on you isn’t something you’d like to admit? To talk about, perhaps?”

Alastor immediately stiffened at your words, the atmosphere around the two of you suddenly thickening as your vision seemed to get darker. “Aha, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” You grinned, a hand on your chest. “So, your fear of actually being vulnerable in front of people that could potentially be the death of you doesn’t sprout from something that happened when you were alive?”

His figure towered over you almost immediately, as if threatening you. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do, darling. You have much on your mind, and I can tell.” You blinked at him, unconvinced and unbothered, crossing your arms. “You were a mama’s boy, weren’t you?”

The air stilled around you as the demon that controlled it did the same thing. “I loved her dearly,” was all Alastor said.

“I know.” You softly replied, watching as his body morphed into its original state. “Do you miss her?”

He hesitated. Alastor shouldn’t be telling you all of this, and yet it felt right to do so. “I would kill to see her again, but I’m certain that she’s living the happiest afterlife in Heaven.”

You nodded in understanding. “I know. I’m sure she would want to see her son as well. I could tell just by how she raised you that she loves you as much as you love her.”

Loves. Present tense, not past. 

He laughed at your statement, sitting back down on his chair. “Would she love who I became?”

“Alastor, a mother’s love goes beyond everything else.” You stated, a warm smile playing on your lips. “You should know that. Was she a single mother?”

He scoffed at your assumption, his body slightly relaxing. “How do you seem to know everything?”

“Well,” you lifted your shoulders briefly. “One might say a mother knows all.”

Alastor’s laugh was bittersweet, his shoulder lifting at each chuckle. As it died down, though, you stood up, your arms opened wide.

He narrowed his eyes at you, his sincere smile straining. “What are you doing?”

“Come on, Alastor, you know what I’m doing.”

He froze, contemplating what he should do. He wasn’t fond of physical touch that wasn’t initiated by him, nor was he fond of people assuming he was. But your presence felt… different.

He sighed, shaking his head as he lifted himself off of the chair. “Alright, fine.”

If Alastor were to be honest, he had fully expected a half-hearted hug. He had just told you some vulnerable secrets, after all; maybe an embrace was obligatory afterwards. But as your hand cupped the back of his head gingerly as the other clinged onto his back, Alastor felt his heart sting.

He hadn’t felt something like that in decades.

He laughed faintly, his arms wrapping around your waist like a child whose mother had been on a trip for the past week. “You’re just like my mother, my dear.” He whispered, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I know.”

[pixelatedraindrops]

Hello everyone!! Today I grow a year older :3 (and I hate it lmao) FEEL FREE TO REPLY BIRTHDAY WISHES IF YOU WANT :3

So, over the time I've come back here, I've become pretty confident and proud of my once hidden passion about sick characters, sickfics and sick comfort/whump... 🌡️

And you all have been so supportive and sweet despite my weirdness so I thank you for that. You helped me feel more confident in my otherwise weird fixation <3 So, for my birthday I thought I'd try and make up a little drawing challenge for anyone who wants to give it a try... There are soo many talented artists on this site (and in this fandom)

So... It's your turn to target your faves now. You will see how fun it is and hopefully understand why I love doing it so much. 😈🌡️

(plus it's my birthday and I require some sustenance LMAO JKJK)

But yeah anyone can join in. This is just for fun though! You don't have to if you don't want to! I think its okay to ask for some food on my birthday though...right?? X'D So if you wanna do sth for my birthday...then... 👉👈 💦

CHALLENGE BELOW~

DRAW YOUR FAVE ON A SICK DAY CHALLENGE🌡️😷🥵🤧

~~~~

(Mmmmkay, I am lying to myself when I say this isn't mostly aimed at the RainCode community... X'D Can't help myself. But anyone can join regardless of the fandom!!)

So here's the challenge and the rules!! (featuring my two main lil targets ofc :3)

Regardless of who it is, put your fave through some sickness hell >:3c I'd love to see it! Make em' as miserable as you want!

destroy them 😈 jkjk XD

If you're in the RainCode community you can target anyone, but as you know, my main targets are Yuma and Makoto. If they're also your faves and who you decide to use, that will make me extra happy!

Some tips for anyone new to drawing a sick day scenario art. A few things that make it look convincing are the following:

Pajamas or Loungewear

Messy Bed Hair

Fever flushed face w sweat or at least a red nose

Tired Eye bags

Shivery body

Ice Pack or a Compress on the head

Thermometer sticking from their mouth

LOTS OF BLANKETS

Tissues or medicine surrounding them

Tea or Soup (or both)

Those are just to name some from the top of my head. If you'd like some pointers on how to make a character look ill, check out my Fever Coloring Guide. This is for digital artists but traditional artists can try it too!

You can add injury or angst to the scene but I'd like illness to be the main focus of it.

The scene can be anything you want to, it can be fluffy and wholesome (with a caretaker) it can be angsty, or it can be silly. Its all up to you! Do it for the sake of fluff! Caretaking scenes are the best for any kind of relationship >w<

Either way, have fun with it!! I look forward to see what people make if they decide to give it a try! It doesn't even have to be a full on picture! Doodles and sketches are fine too! Just show me something >w<

(feel free to tag me and say happy b-day and mention my challenge, I am proud to be known for this and would love for many to participate :3) I wanna see you take a go at it :3 Show me your style! :D

~

~~~

(wow look at me misspelling the word writing on text when I did it fine with my own hands lol)

Now, I know not everyone can draw...

Well never fear! I accept writing as well! ✍️✍️✍️

(hi vivia lol sorry for giving you a cold, at least you have an excuse to read and do nothing now haha x3)

Sickfics are one of the biggest things I live for! Any little drabbles or full fics with more than one chapter are welcome! Again target who you want any fandom you want, but I'll def be super happy if you make a RainCode fic. And even happier if you target my faves as well, but again, anything will do! Just make a cute story about your fave being miserable and being tended to! Trust me, it's super fun!

You can add injury or angst to the scene but I'd like illness to be the main focus of it.

Feel free to post your writing here and tag me or mention my AO3!

If you need a start to your fic, look on my blog for illness prompts! Maybe it can help give you a good start or give some inspiration! (thats why I share 'em :3)

I look forward to anything you try to write!

~

That's about all!! I hope you decide to participate! ✨

Good luck, have fun, and godspeed you future whumpers! 😈

(nah jk XD)

AGAIN THIS IS FOR FUN! NO PRRSSURE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO!

[runnning-outof-time]

The Boiling Point | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) has denied her feelings for Tommy to the point where she can't anymore. Will admitting them lead to good? Or will it blow up in her face? Does she know that Tommy feels the same about her?

Warnings: drinking, smoking, language

Word Count: 3893

A/N: this was a fun one to write…I’ve not decided on whether the events of Tommy and May’s night spent together went exactly as they did in the show, so I’ll leave that up to you. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) entered the Garrison after finishing her shift at the hospital. She most certainly needed a drink after what she'd dealt with over the course of her day. From pushy parents demanding that their child be able to jump ahead in line because of their slight bump on the head, to a gruesome workplace accident, she most certainly saw both ends of the medical spectrum today. She entered the bar, only to stop in her tracks as she saw Tommy talking to a rather elegant looking woman.

She furrowed her eyebrows at the sight but still walked forward, not saying anything until she was also standing at the counter. "'S been a while since I've seen a fresh face in here," she commented as she leaned up against the counter, "especially one of such sustenance and class...choosing gold was the right thing to do, Tommy," she couldn't help but add on as she cracked a grin. Her gusto cracked when Tommy didn't have a similar reaction to her statement.

Instead of jumping in on her joking, Tommy formally introduced the mystery woman. "This is May Carleton, (Y/N)," he said in a serious tone, nodding towards the newly named stranger after he spoke.

"Oh so it was true," (Y/N) just about gasped, astonishment in her voice. Both May and Tommy sent her a confused look, so she elaborated on her previous statement, "the boys were going on about how you managed to meet a big shot horse trainer at the auction you went to," she started off, nodding at Tommy so they knew who she was talking about, "I told them that there was no fucking way that anyone of any decent standing would have taken interest in a dirty, Brummie bookmaker...but I guess I stand incorrected."

"Goodness, you all talk like that here," May cut in before Tommy, who looked like he was about to give (Y/N) a piece of his mind, could say anything.

"Talk like what?" (Y/N) asked, her eyebrows raised as she thought that there was nothing out of the ordinary about how she talked.

"Never mind," May dismissed the topic with a slight shake of her head. "This drink was lovely, Tommy, but I'd better be getting back to the truck now. They should have everything ready to go," she said then as she stood from the stool she was sitting on.

"Want me to walk you back?" Tommy offered. (Y/N) was shocked at how formal he was acting. This woman must have been of great importance to invoke chivalry so quickly out of Tommy Shelby.

"I'll be fine," she brushed his offer off, "stay back here with...(Y/N), was it?"

"(Y/N), yes," the other woman nodded.

"Yes, (Y/N)..." May repeated the name, "it was nice meeting you. I'll be going now," she said, bidding the two one last goodbye before she walked to the doors of the Garrison.

(Y/N) watched her leave before shrugging and sitting on the stool that the other woman had been occupying. "She barely touched her drink," she commented on the nearly full glass. She lifted it up and swirled it around, squinting slightly as she looked intently at the clear liquid. She then took a swig of it and her face quickly scrunched up into disgust. "Tastes like shit," she commented as she set it back down on the table.

"Do you need something, (Y/N)?" Tommy asked, a hint of an unknown tone laced into his voice.

"Me? No," she shook her head, "I was just wantin' to stop by after a long shift...figured I'd get me something strong to drink," she added before nodding to the space behind the bar where the whiskey was kept. Tommy immediately picked up on what she was wanting and fetched the bottle so that he could pour out two glasses. "Did you think I needed something?" she asked as she watched him set the glasses between them on the counter. Tommy said nothing, but instead pursed his lips together as he went about pouring out the whiskey. That was all (Y/N) needed to jump to conclusions though. "You were trying to get it on with May Carleton?!" she asked in a baffled manner, trying so very hard to stifle her giggles.

"What? No, (Y/N)," he denied her statement quickly, clearing his throat afterwards in an attempt to regain his composure, "she was only here for the horse."

(Y/N) couldn't help but snicker at her own thought before she shared it, "it wouldn't be the first time I've heard you refer to yourself as such." She looked over at him then, trying to hold in her laughter. She lost it the second he glared at her though.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy groaned, knocking back his glass of whiskey as he waited for her to compose herself. "Would you stop fucking laughing already?" he was starting to get aggravated with her behavior now.

If she only knew how much this irked him on so many levels. First, she was making something that was solely motivated by business into something that wasn't. Sure, he expected the guys to give him some flack for enlisting the help of May Carleton, but he didn't think it'd be coming from (Y/N) too. Second, and more important in Tommy's eyes, it was bothering him that the person making these comments about him having eyes for another woman was the same person that he had eyes for. That's right...Tommy Shelby had feelings for (Y/N) (Y/L/N). But he could never move on them because he couldn't go ahead and ruin the one good, constant thing that he had in his life: her friendship. So instead, he just stomached her teasing and acted like nothing was the matter.

"Awh, I'm sorry, Tommy..." (Y/N)'s grin turned into an exaggerated pout, "did I hurt your feelings? Have you fallen head over heels for this woman?"

"Are you going to drink your whiskey?" he deflected once again, his eyebrows raised in hopes she'd drop the topic altogether.

"I am, thank you very much," (Y/N) answered him, taking hold of the glass and bringing it up to her lips. "So..." she trailed off after swallowing the amber liquid, "the horse, eh?"

"Yes, the horse," Tommy nodded, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief because she'd finally moved on, "she was here for the horse."

"And not for you?" she brought it back around again, her persistence making Tommy groan. His reaction made her laugh again. "Ok, ok...I'm finished ragging on you," she told him, playfully pushing his forearm to get him to look at her again. Tommy looked up then, his facial expression telling her that he hoped she was being serious this time. "Wanna hear about my day?"

"Please," he responded almost immediately, relieved that she was now moving away from his endeavors.

So (Y/N) got into talking about her day, telling Tommy all of the details of the different cases that she worked and the scenarios she was put through. He listened intently to what she was saying, seemingly hanging on every word as he enjoyed having a break away from the plentiful thoughts and strategies that plagued his head.

She finished the rest of her glass after recounting a story about another pushy parent and set it down on the counter with a sigh. "I bet I've talked your ear off," she started, leaning back on the stool again.

"You've not," Tommy shook his head.

"I should go anyway," (Y/N) persisted, standing from the stool after she was finished speaking, "leave you here to worry about May Carleton and your horse," she added with a grin, unable to resist herself.

"(Y/N)," Tommy groaned before sending her a warning glance, one that she only giggled at.

"Goodnight, Tommy," she bid her goodbye, not commenting further on her previous statement.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he repeated the farewell, watching as she walked to the doors of the Garrison.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" (Y/N) questioned herself out loud as soon as she exited the tavern.

She felt like she wanted to pull her hair out. How could she go about teasing the man she was madly in love with so effortlessly? And better yet, how could she tease him about another woman? No, this wasn't just another woman...this was a woman who was prettier, wealthier, and more dignified than she'd ever be. She'd be crazy to think that Tommy'd ever pick her over the May Carleton if it ever came to that.

But would it ever come to that? She wasn't so sure. On one hand, she wanted to scream about her feelings towards him from the rooftops. On the other hand, she wanted to keep them inside for as long as she lived. They had a good, solid friendship between the two of them, and she didn't want to be the one who ruined it.

So she took a deep breath and composed herself before walking away from the Garrison. Tonight wouldn't be the night that she told him how she felt.

(Y/N) was sitting at Polly's dining table, talking about the day she'd had, when the phone began ringing.

"It's for you, Ms. Gray," one of the maid's announced as she entered the room the two other women were in.

"I'll be back in a minute," Polly said to (Y/N), who nodded her head and watched as the older woman exited the room.

True to her word, Polly returned after only a short time. "Who was that?" (Y/N) asked, her curiosity immediately getting the best of her.

"Tommy," Polly answered as she sat back down.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) phrased the single word as a question, hoping the other woman would share more about the phone call.

"Yeah," Polly nodded before continuing, "he's called to say that he's staying the night at May Carleton's...something about not having enough petrol."

"Oh," (Y/N) responded in a passive tone, trying not to sound too interested in the whole ordeal. Inside, she was screaming. She hated the fact that her mind was telling her that nothing good could come from Tommy spending the night at that woman's home.

"Maybe it's more than the horse that's got him there," Polly commented as a grin crept onto her features. (Y/N) didn't know if the older woman sensed her internal ordeal or not, but either way, she wasn't helping it.

"Maybe," she shrugged, wanting to continue playing along with the act without showing her true feelings.

"I think he's above his weight with her," Polly added after a few moments of silence had passed.

"You do?" (Y/N) hated the fact that her ears had quickly perked up at Polly's statement.

Polly only nodded her head before she grabbed her glass and brought it to her lips, "he knows nothing of the world she lives in, and vice versa," she explained her statement then, "she probably sees some novelty in him, and you know how men are..." she paused, sending (Y/N) a knowing glance, "it won't ever work beyond that," she then ended her statement by taking a drink from her glass.

"Well if you think that to be the case..." (Y/N) trailed off as she took a drink from her glass.

"You want me to be wrong?" Polly looked surprised by the younger woman's statement.

"Well, I mean..." (Y/N) trailed off, in a bit of a bind now. No, I want you to be absolutely, positively correct about this!, is what she wanted to say, but she couldn't spill her guts like that. Polly looked at (Y/N) expectantly, which made the younger woman realize that she was taking too long to respond. "Wouldn't you want what's best for him...for him to succeed in life?" she concocted a last-minute, sheepish sounding response, topping it off with the smile to match.

"May Carleton may help him succeed in his ventures, but she is certainly not what's best for him," Polly remarked, a bit of a preposterous tone laced into her words.

"If you say so, Pol..." (Y/N) trailed off, her eyes focused on her glass. Why was she, again, trying to will off Tommy to another woman? Were these feelings that she had for him even real? "You were the one who brought up about him not just going for the horse," she pointed out; her lame attempt to help save face because why were they still even having this conversation?

"I was," Polly responded, pursing her lips and ending her statement, and the conversation, there. (Y/N) swore that the other woman could see how much all of this was irking her at the moment. But now it was finished...not with the proper closure that she wanted, but finished, nonetheless.

As hard as she tried, (Y/N) couldn't quite get that conversation off of her mind for the rest of the night. Just the idea of Tommy staying at May's made her stomach flip...she didn't want to think about what they could possibly be doing together. But she kept her act up. She kept it up until she was finally home for the evening. There, she allowed her fake smile to break down into a frown, one that stayed creased into her features for the rest of the night.

(Y/N) made her way into the Garrison the next afternoon, hoping to find some familiar faces that would help her unwind after another stressful day.

"(Y/N)!" one of the people she was hoping to see called from the bar, making her walk promptly in his direction.

"I was hoping to find you," she stated as she stopped at Arthur's side.

"Oh yeah?" Arthur asked her, his eyebrows raised as he slid a drink her way.

"Yeah," she nodded, accepting the glass, "need to forget about today."

"Look no further then...come with me," he said with a grin, waving her to follow him over to where the door to the snug was. He opened it before walking inside, holding it open for her to walk in behind him. "Look who I found!" he announced before moving over to show (Y/N) to the others in the room. Cheers and greetings followed his statement, and (Y/N) tried her best to wave and smile at everyone before sitting down in the booth next to John. "What'd I miss?" Arthur asked as he settled back down in his seat.

"We finally got Tommy to crack," John answered, a half-smirk on his face.

"Did ya?" Arthur leaned forward, "go on then...where were ya last night, Tom?" he asked with intrigued eyes.

Tommy stayed mum, his lips firmly wrapped around a cigarette. (Y/N) felt her heartbeat increasing at the mounting tension. Get on with it already! she was screaming in her mind, the suspense nearly killing her. Thankfully, John stepped in and came right out with what he learned. "He was at that swank horse trainer's; May Carleton...said she's got a fuckin' mansion," he said what (Y/N) already knew. Still it felt like a shot to the heart when he said it.

"I didn't have enough petrol to make the drive home. She didn't have any either," Tommy mumbled, wanting nothing to do with the conversation he was about to be thrust into.

"No petrol, eh? None at all in any of those garages she's got?" Arthur asked with raised eyebrows, "probably has her own service crew to deal with that shit."

"It's the honest truth," Tommy was still dismissive, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray. He couldn't help but look over at (Y/N), who seemed to be waiting on the edge of her seat for more of the details from his previous night to drop. What he noticed right away was that she wasn't grinning like his brothers were. In fact, she seemed pretty troubled by the conversation.

"And when was the last time you've been honest?" John kept the ribbing up, the smug smirk now full on his face. "Tell me, what does Ms. Carleton's bedroom look like...it as lavish as the rest of her place?"

(Y/N) held her breath for five seconds, and when Tommy didn't give any sort of response, she stood with a huff and walked to the door. She paused as she grabbed the handle, taking a moment before she shook her head and opened the door with enough force that it just about smacked the wall it opened towards.

The room fell silent then as the three men looked out into the bar area. "Fuck was that about?" Arthur muttered under his breath, raising his eyebrows to himself before he grabbed his glass and took a drink.

Tommy snuffed out his cigarette before he stood from his chair. "I'll be right back," he announced as he grabbed hold of the door handle and brought the door to close behind him. He seemed to know exactly what this was about, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

After exiting the snug, he took a hard right, walking through the few groups of patrons until he got to the hallway that connected the offices to the main space. Having an inkling of where she might have gone, Tommy trusted his instincts and walked down the hallway. He found (Y/N) in one of the empty offices, trying to light a cigarette with her shaking hands.

"(Y/N)," he called her name softly, making her jump in her place before her eyes fell on him.

"Jesus, Tommy," she breathed, her one hand on her chest as she abandoned her cigarette completely, "don't scare me like that."

Normally he would have chuckled at her jumpy reaction, but he knew what type of conversation laid ahead of him. So instead of beating around the bush, he jumped right to the point. "Why'd you leave the snug back there?" he asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bar for extra emphasis.

"It's nothing," (Y/N) tried to deflect.

"It's obviously not nothing," Tommy didn't go for her pathetic excuse.

"I don't want to talk about it," she tried another method of aversion, hoping to shake him off of her tail.

"Something's bothering you, (Y/N), and I'd like to know what it is," he just about demanded her.

"I didn't like the conversation you were having back there, ok?" she quickly said, looking at him with wide eyes as she finished her rushed sentence. "Happy?" she added for extra emphasis.

Tommy blinked a few times, trying to connect her statement to what was being talked about in the snug. He was only half-invested in the conversation that was being had. The other half of him had been trying to figure out what was bothering (Y/N) so much. He guessed that her coming into this room had something to do with it as well.

"About May?" he finally asked her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to narrow his options down.

"What else was being talked about while I was in there?" (Y/N) decided to play against him, not conceding to his questions right off the bat.

"It wasn't exactly a conversation I was wanting to have either," he pointed out then, still wondering why she was making a big deal over this.

"Well you weren't exactly pushing for the conversation to be finished," she shot right back at him, still unhappy that he wasn't coming forward with the direct answers that she wanted.

"What was I supposed to do, (Y/N)?" he raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.

"Tell them what happened!" she raised her voice, becoming more frustrated by the second.

"What happened?"

"You stayed the night with her, Tommy! I'm not an idiot, I know what happened!" she was practically screaming now. Tears were on the verge of spilling from her eyes and she hated it.

"I...I don't know what you want me to say," he was hesitant in choosing his words now, not liking how she was starting to break down. He hated to see her like this; to see her so vulnerable, but at the same time, he didn't know what to do to change it...he didn't have the words.

"I want you to say that it's not true," (Y/N) responded, feeling like an idiot the second the words left her mouth. What exactly was she asking him to do? Did she want him to lie for her own sanity?

Tommy paused for a moment, thinking over what she'd just said. He furrowed his brows then as confusion washed over him. Was she asking him what he thought she was asking him? "Where is this all coming from?" he decided to switch the topic slightly and, hopefully, get to the bottom of it all.

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hating that she'd brought the conversation to this point. Then she took a deep breath and looked at him again. She wanted to lead this with her mind, not her emotions. "I've reached the boiling point, Tommy. I can't dance around you like this anymore...I can't dance around my feelings towards you. But yet it seems like you've got other plans, and I know that this," she motioned between the two of them, "would be too good to be true if it were to ever happen, so just go ahead tell me what happened…go and break my heart. Break it a thousand times, if you like. It's always been yours to break anyway," she took a deep breath to steady herself after her admission, almost not wanting to look at him and see his reaction. But she did, and the expression he was wearing was one that she'd never seen before.

"I don't know what you're getting at, (Y/N). I haven't..."

"No, stop," she waved her hand in front of him, signaling him to stop talking, "I don't want to hear it...I don't want it to become true," she told him, lowering her gaze to the ground before she managed to get past him and exit the office.

Tommy stood in his spot, baffled by what had just happened. He didn't expect for their conversation to end the way it did. He didn't know what to make of her statement and the fact that she'd just walked out on him. Did she truly have feelings for him? Was she about to admit them to him? But yet he didn't run after her. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips before switching the pack for a box of matches. He lit the cigarette and took a drag before exiting the office and returning to the snug.

There, he sat back down in his chair and tried his best to ignore the incessant pestering from his brothers as his mind got bombarded with different questions and scenarios. With a sigh, he pushed them away as best as he could. He’d get to the bottom of this another day.

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby

MASTERLIST

[crackedpumpkin]

The Red String Theory (03)

Decisions - 决定

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 | 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀

a/n: i just realised that lots of people think this is a zuko x reader. i apologise, it is not. it's just lots of buildup before we actually get to the romance lol sorry

The sight of the wooden ceiling above your bed has grown familiar to you over time. You’d grown used to the rickety motions of the ship, though your first few days consisted of being completely motion-sick. 

You stumble to the kitchen, stomach growling in need of sustenance. Wincing when you accidentally put too much pressure on your ankle, you carefully lift it and do a quick rotation, checking if it’s in the process of healing from your spar the other day with Zuko.

The both of you had grown a little closer than before banishment. It took a while for him to warm up to you, but with Iroh’s assistance and your persistent presence, he began to open up a little more. The old man would constantly invite you to play Pai Sho with him, have tea, and chat. He’d also drag Zuko along and make you play against each other, only to cackle when either of you lose. 

Pushing past the kitchen door, the smell of spices hits your nose and makes your mouth water in anticipation. “Beef noodles?” You ask, recognising the broth in the large pot. The wok sits idly at the side, waiting to be used to stir-fry more veggies. Hu Ge, the chef, eyes you suspiciously, sliding across a bowl. “Come on, you know I love my leafy greens.”

He adds some more blanched vegetables to your bowl, the spicy oil settling in each nook and bathing it in red. “Thanks, Hu Ge!” You call out as he leaves, grabbing a pair of wooden chopsticks and digging in. 

You’ve just finished your meal when you notice another bowl filled with slices of spicy roast duck on the side, noting that the multitude of peppercorns on it can only be consumed by one specific person. You bring the bowl up to the deck of the ship where General Iroh is training Prince Zuko, the former welcoming you warmly upon seeing you. 

You hand the General his bowl, noticing the frustration in Zuko’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Zuko says bitterly, walking away and taking up his telescope once more to keep an eye out for the avatar.

If the avatar is even still alive, that is. The whole point of your banishment is infuriating. You knew full well about his real reason for banishing Zuko, and you just happened to get lumped in as collateral damage. 

Fun.

“It’s been three years, Uncle Iroh, wouldn’t he know by now that the avatar doesn’t exist anymore…?” You mutter wearily, noticing the dark purple rings under General Iroh’s eyes that hint at his actual exhaustion. You’d run into him a few times when you couldn’t sleep, realising that he’d regularly keep Zuko company during sleepless nights.

Iroh pauses between mouthfuls of roast duck chewing thoughtfully. “Who knows? Are you going to be the one to tell him that?” You shake your head immediately with a wry smile. He merely chuckles. 

— — — — — — 

It’s your turn to be on the lookout with Zuko. Yawning, you survey the open sea and begin counting the number of glaciers out loud in an attempt to liven up the atmosphere. “That’s thirteen so far. Wanna bet that we’ll find one taller than the one we passed by two days ago?”

You’re unphased by Zuko’s blatant ignorance of your rambles. The both of you have grown used to each other’s habits over time. In the beginning, you were too scared to even move in front of him, not knowing when he’d throw a fit at you for distracting him.

Eventually, though, you would grow bored and ask him questions about himself. After all, you’re with a prince. When else would you find out more about royal life? 

Spoiler alert: Royal life is not fun.

Interactions had grown from small questions to discussions about whether noodles were better than rice, to the occasional spar and Pai Sho matches. Currently, you’re in the lead. He’s a sore loser though, so it’s just a matter of time before he demands a rematch.

“Do you think we’ll be having any soup today?” You ask thoughtfully, playing with the flame on your fingers. You shiver when the cold breeze brushes against the bare skin of your hips, regretting not having brought along a coat. 

Firebenders like both of you tended to have a warmer body heat than others, but that didn’t protect you from how cold the South Pole is. How he’s on deck without any outer layers is a feat in itself. 

Just as you begin to debate with yourself whether you should request some hot soup, something unexpected happens.

An ear-piercing whistle breaks through the silence. A singular light is shot into the air, and you recognise it as a signal flare, only used when in trouble or to attract attention. It tints the sky pink as if forecasting the terror that would soon follow.

Zuko holds up a telescope, falling silent as he focuses. “The last Airbender. Quite agile, for his old age.” The playful and calm atmosphere from before is gone, now replaced by something far more serious.

He turns to face an officer standing guard at the door to the stairs that lead down into the cabins. “Wake my uncle!” He orders sharply in a raised voice, “Tell him, I found the Avatar.” Focusing on the telescope once more, he quickly adds. “As well as his hiding place.”

There’s no way.

“Are you sure?”

He glares at you. “Are you doubting me? What happened to your resolve?” 

“I just…” Your gaze hardens, steeling yourself. “I know. Let’s just get this over and done with. The faster we secure the Avatar, the faster we get back home.” 

He grabs his helmet and puts it on. “If they’re housing the Avatar and hiding him from me…” His eyes narrow, filled with cruel intent. “Then they deserve much worse than a simple greeting.” You merely sigh. It’d be a lie to say you’re not affected by how cold he sounds, but your humanity isn’t a priority in this situation. 

What matters is getting back home. To Hanoh. 

All trace of the Zuko you’d come to know over the past three years on this ship is gone, and in front of you is someone filled with resolve to do whatever it takes to regain his father’s approval. You can hardly say that you turned out any different though. 

“I’m going to capture the Avatar and restore my honour,” He declares with a glare that could melt steel. “And you should stay on this ship. You’ll get in the way.” 

Okay, rude much? He may be a prince, but he sure doesn’t act like one.

“Have it your way, prince know-it-all.” Shrugging, you just focus on the sunrise instead. A moment of silence passes between you both, an acknowledgement of his order. “You better not get hurt.” He lets your earlier comment slide, testament to how much he’s grown to tolerate you. 

He lowers the telescope, regarding you with eyes that practically command respect for his authority. 

“I won’t.”

— — — — — — 

The cabin is quiet as you begin to pack your stuff, taking a simple bag would be enough to hold all your treasured possessions. There isn’t much to bring home aside from some clothes, your ribbons, some money, and some accessories you can trade.

You pick up a bracelet that sits on the side of your table, staring at it with a sad smile. The intricately woven strings once bright and vibrant have faded over time, unravelled bits here and there. It’s the main reason you stopped wearing it around, afraid that it might break and fall somewhere without your notice.

It’s your most treasured belonging. It was a birthday present, given to you in the same year your mother passed away. She and Hanoh had presented it with gleeful smiles, having worked on it together during their spare time. 

You’d worn it every day, only taking it off when you bathed and during the mourning period after her death. It’s the only thing left that connects you to both of them, the only thing serving as a reminder of what you’re living so desperately for. 

You miss her.

All of your mother’s items were stored inside a box that Hanoh had by her bedside table, and you’d occasionally open it and carefully examine the accessories inside with an almost childlike curiosity. Hanoh would always talk about how you looked so much like your mother, promising to hand you the box when you were old enough.

Now that Zuko’s about to capture the Avatar, it’s like a ray of hope shining through the narrow doorway you’d kept closed for the past three years. Day after day was practically torture, and all you wanted was to go back to your battered room, and have dinner with Hanoh again. She’s the only one you have left.

No matter the means, no matter the actions you have to take, you’d get home. 

That’s a promise.

A loud ruckus from outside jolts you out of your thoughts, stashing the bracelet securely inside the bag. Fear grips your heart, creeping up on you like frost as you conclude that something’s wrong.

Rushing to the hull of the ship, you look down to see Zuko firebending at the tribespeople. Screams echo through the air, a boy you assume to be the Avatar directing the flames away from them. A tinge of self-doubt stings your heart, but you push it back down and ignore it. 

He looks young; oblivious to the world’s current state of affairs, probably. A blue arrow etched into his skin atop his head is a tell-tale sign that he’s an Air Nomad. You vaguely remember Hanoh telling you long ago how the Air Nomads chose to live peacefully when they were just as powerful as any other nation. 

This kid is the Avatar…?

Subconsciously holding your breath, you watch as he willingly follows Zuko and the rest of his soldiers into the ship, the doors lifting and closing with a loud clang. You begin to pace back and forth, picking at your cuticles as you try to calm your conflicting thoughts. 

This is a good thing, right? With the capture of the Avatar, you can finally go back home. You can see Hanoh again. You can live out the rest of your days in peace.

However, you know deep down that if you hand him over to Ozai, he’ll do far worse than anything you can imagine. The Fire Lord you know is ambitious, ruthless, and merciless to whoever he deems unworthy of being alive. 

Unfortunately, most people who fall into that category are the other nations. But what would that matter to you? You’re just a dancer - a maid from the palace with no power. There’s nothing you can do.

“This staff will make an excellent gift for my father.” You move away from Zuko’s sight just in time as he walks onto the deck, hiding behind a tall soldier as he speaks. Iroh notices this, raising a brow inquisitively. You hold a finger over your lips, silently pleading with him to not address you. Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he gives you a single nod.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know of fathers, being raised by monks. Take the Avatar to the prison hold, and take this to my quarters.” He orders, the ship beginning to set sail for the Fire Nation. Iroh notices you trying to slip away, distracting his grandson so you can sneak back down into your cabin. 

— — — — — — 

Turning when the door creaks open, you’re stunned when you see who else but the Avatar holding the door. Shock registers itself on his face as you bolt to your feet. “Wait!” Your cry goes unheard as he slams the door shut, your outstretched hand faltering as you process that the Avatar is loose on the ship.

It’s time to make a choice. Go home to Hanoh, or help the Avatar escape far away from Ozai.

Pressing your lips together, you set down the bag and open the door, taking off and running after the Avatar. The hallways are filled with soldiers searching for the escaped prisoner, and you run over to help. 

Where could he have gone?

He couldn’t have gone far. The lower deck is like a maze, and there’s little space to fight in the narrow corridors filled with pipes. If you were brought on board a ship as a prisoner, what would you do…? 

Your steps slow to a halt, looking at the stairs leading up to the control room. Hoping that your hunch is right, you run up the stairs only to see Zuko jumping off the balcony, the Avatar on his glider mere inches away. 

“Zuko!” You cry out, ice-cold fear filling your lungs in that split second, running out onto the balcony. Luckily, he manages to grab the Avatar’s ankle, the both of them falling onto the ship’s bow. “Oh, come on!” 

A loud growl makes you look up, your breath hitching when a large flying animal with 2 riders swerves toward the ship. Zuko takes the opportunity to firebend at him, the latter doing his best to deflect the blows. 

Do you jump off the balcony and help Zuko, or run back down and waste precious time?

Amid your dilemma, a sudden movement catches your eye: the Avatar teeters on the ship's edge, dangerously close to plunging into the ocean below. Zuko stands nearby, a look of triumph etched on his face, fists tightly clenched. He notices you and offers a nod of victory, his gaze locking with yours. 

A sigh of relief falls from your lips, your knees giving way as you collapse on the wooden floor. 

He’s captured. You can go home now. 

Your joy is short-lived when something bursts through the surface of the water as you’re trying to fathom the cruelty he’s just displayed. The Avatar rises in a cocoon of water, his eyes and tattoo glowing brightly in an ominous manner. 

How is he alive??

He lands on the bow and waterbends a forceful ring that knocks Zuko and a plethora of soldiers that join him off the ship. 

“Zuko!” Your heart is pounding, the sound filling your ears as you gather your courage and dive off the balcony into the ocean below. At that moment, you didn’t care about the Avatar or the fate of the world. 

All you want is for your friend to be safe.

Ice-cold water stings your skin, and you almost let out a cry from the drastic temperature change. Forcing your eyes open, you search desperately for Zuko. All you can see, however, are just soldiers struggling to kick their way to the surface.

Where is he?

Panic swells in the form of burning lungs, your limbs getting heavy from the numbness the cold brings. Panic soon turns into fear when you still don’t spot him, finally swimming back to the surface and breaking through the water with a loud gasp. 

As you’re gulping in mouthfuls of sweet, sweet air, your vision clears and you see the very boy that you’re searching for, hanging off the side of the ship. He’s grabbing the anchor’s chain, clutching it tightly to keep from falling. Although he’s in a precarious situation, you can’t help but smile widely in relief.

You’re alive. He’s alive. You’re both alive.

The flying animal that you’d seen earlier departs from the ship, Iroh helping Zuko up. A pillar of flames is soon shot toward them, but it backfires when the Avatar airbends it away and redirects it to the walls of a glacier. The ice soon comes tumbling down from the heat, burying the bow of the ship. 

You watch the three of them fly off with pleased grins, shivering from the cold. You begin to paddle closer to the ship, hearing a familiar frustrated groan. Peering up from where you’re afloat in the water, you raise a fist and pound the side of the ship, hoping to attract their attention.

Moments later, Zuko’s face looks down at you, annoyance filling his eyes when he realises it’s you. He moves away without another word, only to be replaced by a rather amused Iroh. He lets out a loud chuckle, signalling to one of the crew to help you come back up. 

You wave back sheepishly.  “Got any room for one more?”

[mikhailwrites]

Keep your Sergeant happy / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #18 - Cooking (from the SFW prompt list, made a bit NSFW)

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Two weeks. Soap and Ghost are holed up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere for two weeks, and the Sergeant is seriously starting to lose it. They don’t even know if they’re really in danger; all Price told them was, “There’s been a leak; lay low, don’t return to the base until you hear from me”. It’s just their luck they’ve been out on a deployment to Germany when it happened.

They’ve been living off canned food and stashed MREs for too long, and Soap’s had just enough. He looks into the cupboard for the umpteenth time as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there. More cans. “Ah swear Ah will throw up if I have tae eat one more canned meat.” Johnny groans, going through the stash in hopes of finding something else.

Ghost hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything encouraging or otherwise. Soap is sure his Lieutenant could live from berries and roots if it came to that. Or hunt a rabbit with his bare hands or something. He’s seen Ghost’s survival skills first-hand many times. Fuck, Soap would kill for a rabbit. Or a fish. Or anything other than a disgusting piece of pseudo-meat in the sleazy gravy. But there’s nothing else, and his stomach has been growling for over an hour.

By the third, slowly chewed bite, Soap is willing to call this shit worse than actual torture. Closing his eyes as he feeds himself another piece, Soap feels his face contort in a mixture of disgust and apprehension.

“You look like you’re about to die, Johnny,” Ghost says without a hint of emotion.

Soap sighs, putting the dreaded can away as he hopes the few bites would be enough to calm his stomach and give it at least an illusion of sustenance. “Might as well if I have to eat one more of these.”

Ghost chuckles, shaking his head slowly. “Any food is better than no food, trust me.”

Soap knows, truly, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bitch about it, does it?

“Tell you what, if you can manage two cans a day, I’ll cook something nice for you when we get back,” Ghost offers and… he sounds almost cheerful as he says it.

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Only the sly glint in his eyes betrays the truth that he enjoys teasing Soap.

“What… uh… okay? Alright.” Soap stutters and reluctantly takes the half-eaten can.

Ghost nods his approval. “That’s the spirit, Johnny. So… what’d you like? And I swear to God, if you say haggis, you’re not gonna live it down.”

“Why? Ye cannae do haggis?” Soap teases but quickly reconsiders as Ghost turns to him fully, casually flipping a knife. “Alright, alright! I dinnae even like haggis, ye British twat! Tikka masala fine with ye?”

“Butter chicken it is,” Ghost agrees, hiding the knife away.

The following week is a blur. They get back, Price briefs them, and then they have to catch up on the piles of work that, somehow, could wait up until then but couldn’t wait any longer. Johnny was looking forward to returning home, but now that he’s home, it’s not as happy a reunion as he hoped.

Soap is just finishing up for the day, tired, apathetic and irritable. For the first time ever, he’s seriously considering taking a few days' leave. Ghost’s voice stops him as he reaches the door. “Soap, meet me at the mess hall at 2300.”

It’s a weird request at best, and Soap blinks a few times before he turns around. The Lieutenant doesn’t spare him a glance, still typing away on his keyboard. Maybe Soap didn’t hear right? “Come again?”

“Mess hall, 2300, be there,” Ghost repeats without any further explanation.

Soap nods, too tired to bother. “Sure.”

As a matter of fact, he’s too tired to ponder on it. Ghost tells him to be somewhere, Soap does it, easy as that—no thinking required.

The moment he steps into the mess hall, five minutes to eleven, he realises what’s going on. The smell of masala, garlic and turmeric is enough to make his mouth water immediately. He remembers Ghost’s promise now.

Entering the kitchen, he sees Ghost dressed in his usual black attire, with a white apron. The balaclava is tucked up on his nose because, obviously, he needs to smell and taste the sauce. Nobody would ever believe Soap if he told them.

“You were actually serious,” Johnny says as he leans against the counter, watching in astonishment as Ghost prepares the meal. No, not Ghost, it’s Simon now. And Simon’s moves in the kitchen are just as steady and well-practised Ghost’s on the battlefield.

Simon chuckles, stirring the sauce. “I was. Now, hand me the plates.”

Soap does, feeling a bit nostalgic. He used to help his maw in the kitchen when he was but a wee kid. He watches Simon fill the plates with rice, pouring a generous amount of sauce over it and adding a healthy amount of chicken on top. “Here you go, one chicken tikka masala.”

They sit at the table; it’s a bit weird being the only two people there, but Soap doesn’t mind. This feels nice. Unsure of what to expect, he scoops some rice with his fork, adding the sauce to it, before he tenderly tastes it.

“Holy shit,” Soap utters in disbelief, staring first into his plate, then at Simon, who looks very pleased with himself as he eats his own portion. “This is so good!”

“Thank you,” Simon smirks. “Told you I can cook.”

It’s true, but for some reason, Johnny really thought he was joking. Ghost. Cooking. And acing it, as he aces pretty much anything he does. On a closer inspection, it shouldn’t surprise him. Soap opts for not saying anything and just enjoying the amazing treat. When he tastes the chicken that was probably soaking in the marinating sauce for some time, he moans obscenely. The food is honestly much better than it has any right to be. So good, in fact, that it strips Soap of his brain-to-mouth filter. “If you’re at least half as good a lay as you are a cook, I wanna marry ye.”

Simon pauses, fork with another bite lifted halfway. His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Oh fuck…,” Soap breathes out as he realises not only what did he just say but to whom.

Simon smiles, one of his slightly scary, feral smiles. “Technically, this could count as a dinner.”

Soap is fighting the overwhelming mixture of confusion and panic. He has no clue what’s going on, but Simon doesn’t seem offended, which is good. In fact, he looks… intrigued. Okay, Soap can work with that. “You think me some easy lad, letting you have your way with me after just one dinner?”

“It’s a damn good dinner,” Simon shrugs. He watches Soap intently, and the intent is dark and hungry.

Johnny slides his foot under the table until it nudges against Simon’s. It’s a safe touch, nothing overt or inappropriate. “Aye, it is. Makes me want to ask about the dessert.”

Simon’s foot nudges him right back with more strength, forcing Soap to spread his legs a little. Bleedin’ Jesus, is this really happening? “I might have something… back in my room.”

Soap finishes his plate in a record time, feeling genuinely sorry because it was definitely good enough to savour. Maybe he could convince Ghost to cook for him again. He’s determined to try.

It’s a small miracle they make it to Ghost’s room without any incidents. The moment the doors close, however, Simon is already yanking the balaclava off, mashing their mouths together as he wrestles with Soap’s clothes.

Johnny helps with that and then promptly returns the favour, eager to touch every inch of exposed skin, to kiss and taste everything Simon offers. And he offers plenty. They kiss, and they rut against each other, desperately trying to relieve some of the tension. However, it’s not that easy because it has been building up for months. The banter, the flirting, the seemingly innocent touches. It all culminates right here, at this moment.

Johnny has no idea when exactly their dynamic shifts, but at one moment, Simon is kissing him, licking his way into Johnny’s mouth, and the next, it’s Johnny, pressing on, forcing Simon to take a step back, then another, until they get to the bed. He’s never imagined Ghost as anything other than pushy top, but it seems that he was wrong. Still, he needs to clarify. “You want me to…?”

“Yeah, Johnny, fuck me,” Simon says, almost painfully blunt but perfectly clear. Johnny pauses to take a deep breath.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Simon,” Johnny grins, pushing Ghost back, causing him to fall on the bed. Ghost could immediately turn the tables if he felt so inclined, and it turns Soap on. He gets Ghost to cook for him, he gets him to be manhandled, and he gets to fuck him. He might just be the luckiest lad in the whole fucking world.

It’s good, so good. Simon is far from passive; he wants Johnny, and what Simon wants, Simon gets. Slowing down and speeding up again, changing the angle ever so slightly, they work together in nearly perfect sync to prolong their pleasure. Despite their best efforts, it cannot last.

Johnny is the first to succumb, gasping, only barely managing to keep reasonably quiet as the sweet respite takes him. Simon is close behind, grunting and arching his back as he grinds against Soap.

They lay on the bed, side by side, sticky and messy, yet unable to do anything about it for the moment.

“I’m doomed. You are as good a fuck as you are a cook,” Johnny laughs, quiet and light, tracing invisible patterns on Simon’s skin.

“I’m not marrying you, Johnny,” Simon retorts in a tone just as light.

“You say that now, but wait until the second date.”

[cookeybg]

Unexpected Cohabitation a JonDami fic

Title: Unexpected Cohabitation

Main Characters: Jonathan Kent and Damian Wayne (some of the others show up too, the list is too long)

Eventual relationship: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne (my fave)

Stuff to know: No capes, reverse robins, high school AU, no smut, no Brucie Wayne, I know nothing about sports but it will show up, (aaand I think that's it, will add more if it comes up)

Word Count: 1,370

[Here's my table of contents]

Part 2 - Chapter 9

Jon was tired. The shower had helped his sore muscles, but he hadn’t worked out that much since before he had broken his leg and his body had not been ready for the sudden farm work. He stared at himself in the mirror, he looked tired, then he stared at his phone, the time was eight thirty in the morning. He sighed to himself, he had been up since six. SIX! In the morning! Damian had claimed that he usually slept in on the weekends and six was a good time to be up. He had told him this while the green eyed tyrant watched Jon shovel the muck from the stalls. All the while petting Titus and relaxing on clean hay. Afterward, he had joined Damian in his morning run. He had only joined in running because he had been too embarrassed to admit that he didn’t actually have a morning routine. Damian’s work ethic was insane and Jon wasn’t sure if he wasn’t a robot. There was a knock on the door that lead to Conner’s room. Jon unlocked it and open it to see his brother’s sleepy face and bed hair. “Why are you awake so early?” Conner mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t ask.” Jon grumbled, turning away to walk into his own room, he closed the bathroom door on his way out. He looked at his bed longingly, sighed, and changed into a pair of light blue jeans and a t-shirt. Yawning, he debated on styling his hair. He thought back to how Damian never looked messy and decided to at least brush it. He rubbed his stomach, grimacing, it wouldn’t stop growling. All he had eaten was a protein bar Damian had given him after their run. It had tasted awful but Damian had told him that if he didn’t eat it his muscles would deteriorate. Leaving the room Jon bumped into Jason who told him that breakfast was ready and waiting. Jason proceeded to knock on Conner’s door, but Jon did not wait for their interaction. He was starving and needed sustenance. Walking into the kitchen was like walking into heaven. If heaven smelled like bacon and pancakes which Jon was fairly sure it did.

“Good morning Mister Kent.” Alfred greeted. “You may serve yourself whatever you see fit.” Alfred pointed towards a counter top near the breakfast nook filled with silver buffet serving dishes. Jon rushed towards the serving trays and lifted the lids, one by one. His mouth watered. There were scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, blue berry pancakes, diced fruit and there was even a pitcher of fresh squeezed orange juice. It felt like he was staying at a fancy hotel. Jon served himself everything, happily balancing the pile of food while he picked a seat. He had been so entranced by the food he had failed to notice his parents and Cass already sitting at the table eating. “Good morning sweetheart.” Lois said smiling. “Ah, sorry,” Jon blushed, “Good morning, mom, dad, Cass.” “Morning, son.” Clark laughed. Cass smiled, bringing her hand towards her chin and pushed it outwards, she then lifted her left arm horizontally in front of her connecting it to her right arm, her right palm and arm lifting towards herself. Jon wasn’t completely sure what that meant but he assumed she said good morning back. He smiled to her and nodded. Jason and Conner walked in not too long after. Conner greeted everyone enthusiastically and also piled on the food. Jason challenged him to an eating contest which Alfred put to a stop before it could start on account that they would get a stomach ache. “Bullshit!” Jason yelled, patting his stomach. “I have an iron stomach!” “Language, my boy.” Alfred admonished. “Sorry.” Jason said shamefully. Lois burst out laughing and their conversation changed to what their day was going to be like. Jon sat listening to them, enjoying the company and eating the mixed fruit. “Hurry, Tim!” Dick burst in running towards the back door. “We’re gonna miss it!” “Hold on! It’s hard running with all this stuff!” Tim was holding what looked like long sticks, he paused at the table to greet everyone and turned to Jason and Cass. “Are you guys coming too? I’ve got your stuff.” Cass nodded and started walking towards the back door. Jason shrugged, shoved the last bit of bacon into his mouth and yelled a thank you to Alfred as he ran off to follow Cass. “What’s going on?” Conner asked standing up from his seat and placing his hands on the table. Tim was already following his siblings out when he yelled that it would be easier if they just followed instead of explaining. Conner and Jon looked at each other and ran off to join the Wayne kids. “Have fun!” Clark called after them.

Once outside they followed the Wayne’s to a small clearing near the kitchen garden. Damian had changed from the sweats and sweater he had worn in the morning and was now wear a tight black workout shirt and black joggers. Talia was wearing a white sports bra and black tights. She stood in front of Damian watching him like a hawk, legs apart, arms loose to her side, her right holding a wooden sword. Damian moved his body fluidly and elegantly, his expression serious and his sword swings strong. “Again.” Talia commanded, walking around him to observe him better. Damian stopped and restarted a series of movements that Jon had no idea what they were called. He watched in awe as Damian’s lean arm muscles bulged and sweat beaded his forehead. “Pretty cool, huh?” Jason smirked on his right. He poked the grass floor with the tip of his wooden sword. Cassandra nodded in agreement twirling her sword in one hand. “Cool!” Dick said, eyes wide and practically vibrating in place while hugging his much smaller wooden sword. “Don’t let him hear you, he’ll get annoying.” Tim said. Instead of holding a wooden sword he held a really long stick. “What is he doing?” Conner asked. Jon could practically see stars in his eyes. “Mom-“ Jason coughed into his hand and blushed. “Talia, has been training Damian since he was able to walk. It’s a family tradition of the Al Ghul’s.” Jason pointed at himself with his thumb. “She saw we had potential so she trains us too, with Damian’s help.” He then pointed at Cass. “She’s also been learning for a long time but she prefers to train with us, though she sometimes spars with Damian.” “Wow.” Conner whispered, his eyes sparkling. Jon had caught himself before he could say the same sentiment out loud. He hated to admit how freaking cool it was that this family was learning martial arts. Especially one that was apparently passed down in an ancient family line. It felt otherworldly. “Good.” Talia smiled. “At ease.” Damian relaxed his posture his chest subtly going up and down. He was obviously tired but he was controlling his breathing. His expression stoic. “Now, the young ones wish to train.” Talia turned to look at the rest of them and tilted her head indicating for them to join. The ones holding wooden weapons rushed forward and took up positions on the grass, a well established practice. Damian walked up to a bench to wipe sweat off and drink some water. He then walked back to the group to take up the same position as his mother. “That looks like fun.” Conner said. “It doesn’t seem like such a big deal.” Jon scoffed “They are learning to be ninjas, how is that not cool?” “All I need to do is swing a bat and I can knock someone out. I don’t need to learn some fancy pants ninja technique.” Jon shot back petulantly. Damian looked away from the group and his eyes met Jon’s, a smirk played on his lips. Jon crossed his arms over his chest pivoting from one foot to the other. While Conner sat on the grass to watch the others Jon turned around, heat creeping up his neck. “I’m going to go take a nap.” Jon announced, the sun felt too hot to be sitting outside.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

AH YES tumblr finally let me send an ask!!! it kept crashing on me whenever I tried :')

Anyways a request! Can I get the dad squad all talking about their respective Links? Maybe sharing a little about their varying relationships to them? <3

-Sky Floor

(@nancyheart11 @smilesrobotlover @mad-navi have some Dad Squad :D)

A comfortable fire crackled merrily, making light dance in patterned delight, pushing the darkness away. It cast heavy shadows on the Fierce Deity as he watched the other men eat the fish he'd caught, and Abel finally raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you ever eat?" the former knight asked.

"I require very little sustenance," the deity answered.

Rusl and Abel exchanged a glance and shrugged, both about to return to their own food when the mystical warrior's stomach growled loudly. Both men looked at him, waiting for an acknowledgement of the obvious.

When nothing happened, Rusl spoke up. "...I believe your stomach is telling you it's time for that sustenance, friend."

The deity blinked. "Is... that what that sensation is?"

Abel and Rusl once again exchanged glances, this time practically screaming how the hell is this man still alive. The more Abel learned about this mysterious deity the less he understood.

Fierce hummed to himself, grabbing one of the fish from the perch where it had been roasting over the fire. With a mumbled apology to the captain (since when did Fierce know Abel had been a captain?), he tore into the fish with fangs that were unnervingly large at such a close vantage.

"Forgive my curiosity, but..." Rusl started off, and Abel immediately leaned away from the pair in a reflexive response. He was just as curious as the Ordonian, but he was far more used to keeping his mouth shut no matter his thoughts on a matter. Apparently blacksmiths from simple farming communities had no such scruples. "How do you know how to fish? Your title and your skills, well, lean more towards fighting than pastimes."

The deity munched slowly on his food, staring seemingly at the fish for a moment before he swallowed. "I learned from Link."

This was another matter that confounded Abel. It wasn't unheard of for multiple boys to be named Link - it was a popular name, one drenched in the mythology of their people, of heroes and monsters and goddesses. But for a deity to be looking for someone named Link... it made Abel leery. Was Fierce searching for his son?

Abel wished things just made sense. Nothing had been normal since the calamity. He and Tilieth had finally gotten into an uneasy peace on the plateau before that had been shattered.

"So, Link is your... son...?" Rusl tried to ask as tactfully as possible.

The Fierce Deity blinked. "I don't have offspring."

"Link isn't biologically my son, either, but he's still my son," Rusl clarified.

Fierce's head swiveled to Abel, an unspoken question in his tilted eyebrow. Abel was fairly certain he was simply asking if the former knight's Link was his biological son or not, but there was still that hint of unease that the deity was actually looking for his Link. Abel wasn't sure he wanted to reveal the truth of the matter.

He couldn't fathom why he was so mistrusting of someone who had clearly prove that they were both as otherworldly as they claimed to be and was also acting on his behalf. But... well... he didn't trust easily anymore.

Besides, there were so many things that didn't add up.

"What's your relationship with Link?" Abel finally asked, pushing past his old habit of keeping his head down around authority figures. It wasn't as if Fierce had asserted his power to either of the men, anyway. Mostly.

"Link is... a Hero of the Goddesses," Fierce answered slowly, as if he himself were choosing his words carefully. Abel felt like he simultaneously wanted to laugh and groan at it. It seemed they all had things to hide. But his phrasing also snagged at Abel's mind, making him stiffen. So the deity was looking for his boy. He'd never heard of him, though! "He is pure hearted and I chose to protect him."

"So you're his guardian?" Rusl surmised.

The deity tipped his head. "Yes. He is very young. He is capable as a fighter, but incapable in many basic mortal aspects. I do what I can to assist him in battle and in any other way possible, time willing."

Abel narrowed his eyes. This was... making even less sense.

"My Link is a sweet boy," Rusl said, leaning back and staring into the fire with a gentle smile. "He's a ranch hand. Or, well, he was, before he was dragged into destiny's greater affairs. He's a restless young man now. But his heart is still pure and gentle. He hardly needs my help in a fight, but I still try to assist him."

Before he was dragged into destiny's greater affairs? "Is--was your son a knight?"

Rusl looked at him, a little confused. "No. He worked on the ranch. I taught him sword fighting, though."

Then what was...? Actually, that brought up another question. "Yes, about that. You're a blacksmith, and I understand blacksmiths know a little of sword fighting so they can craft well. But you fight like a warrior, not someone who learned basic handling to better understand a weapon."

Rusl's smile pulled more at one side than the other. "Oh, I've had a few jobs in my life."

"Clearly," Abel quipped, dropping the topic. It wasn't worth poking him about it. He just needed to piece things together, little by little.

"What about your Link?" Rusl prompted.

"He's my flesh and blood," Abel answered simply, dropping the subject and looking at Fierce. "So, you learned to fish from the child you're protecting?"

"He knew a little of fishing, yes," Fierce replied, tossing the remains of his fish into the fire. It snapped loudly as it burned through fat and bone. "I perfected the method. It's surprisingly relaxing."

"Well, you are certainly good at it," Rusl muttered.

Abel looked away, pondering the situation. Link didn't know how to fish, not like Hylians did. He learned from the Zora, which usually consisted of attempting to chase them down and catch them by hand. Zora were clearly much better at it--and used nets, but that detail never seemed to deter Link--but his boy still tried, despite his Hylian capabilities, or lack thereof, in the water. The Fierce deity didn't catch fish in that manner.

"Yes," Abel said quietly, thoughtfully, before reaching for another fish and holding it out to the deity. "And you caught plenty of them. So eat."

"I ingested one, that should be suffici--"

"Eat," both Rusl and Abel emphasized at the same time. Hylia only knew how this mythical person had survived this long, honestly.

[singingcicadas]

As a shallow, low-brow person who enjoys the satisfaction of eating from the good old cliche cake of karmic retribution, Death of Optimus Prime makes me distinctly uncomfortable in a way that excessive depictions of gore/body horror/violence/abuse does not. I think it’s the underlying moral of the entire thing that gets to me: the implication that no good deed goes unpunished, that those who chose to flee in times of need are entitled to mock the sacrifices of those who chose to stand and fight while enjoying the world they made possible. The irrationality of the motley crowd. The heartless apathy of the people. The desperation for peace trumping the need for justice. 

The main thing I got out of this issue is that… it isn’t worth it. The altruism. The ideals. You can give and give until every last vestige of your life is bled dry and there will still always be people who stand gorging on the sustenance of your flesh while pointing their fingers and saying “well we didn’t ask you to. Maybe it would have been better if you didn’t. Why didn’t you do better? Why didn’t you do more?” 

Like it’s not enough to sacrifice the Matrix, it’s not enough to sacrifice your life, it’s not enough to sacrifice everything and have those sacrifices be unrecognized and scorned by the very people you made the sacrifice for, they’d make you give up your identity as well, your name, your position, and then finally your right to exist within the world you won back; they’d take and take until you have nothing left to give and it still won’t be enough, it’ll always be you are just as bad, because how dare you inconvenience our lives by having the audacity to stand up against evil. While conveniently disregarding the fact that everyone’d all be living (or dying) under the Decepticons’ lovely governance if the Autobots didn’t fight back. Or as part of Zeta’s vamparc ribbon. Or under the functionalists hoping their alt-modes never get booted into the obsolete category. It’s like the fucking Giving Tree except at least the boy has a better attitude towards the tree.

I don’t disagree with the NAILs’ standpoint as a concept, it’s interesting and does add depth to the story, but the way it’s treated is. um. rubs me in every wrong way possible. 

Like. this is no. Just no. It's one thing for the NAILs and Decepticons to want Optimus gone; they have their own interests. Their motivations, while ignoble, are still understandable. But for Bumblebee to agree? To the point where he’d even exile Optimus himself if he didn’t want to leave? Bumblebee. Bumblebee, conscience of the Autobots. Bumblebee, whose kindness is so all-encompassing that he can find compassion for even Megatron and Starscream. Bumble-I-owe-Prime-everything-bee.

“Tonight for the first time all Cybertronians are united” wtf. This is wrong on so many levels. Optimus led you through the war. He led you to the victory of the war. Without his military leadership you wouldn’t be standing there worrying about keeping peace in the first place, because there would not be any peace to keep. Unless you’re interested in living under peace through tyranny. And you’re just going to throw him out now that he’s filled his purpose, because your enemies and dissenters are united in wanting him get thrown out. He’s guilty of what. exactly. existing?

Talk about appeasement. Talk about using someone as a means to an end. Even the Scavengers are better than that they didn't give up Grimlock. This isn’t how you treat someone that you owe a debt of gratitude to. This isn’t how you treat a friend, nor a comrade. This isn’t how a loyal soldier treats his leader. This isn’t how a decent person treats another person, period. 

Then there’s the whole subsequent plot line where Starscream gets to be the leader of Cybertron. Is that some sort of political vent or. What’s it supposed to imply? That the masses are mindless and easily manipulated. Elections are bad. People can’t be trusted with democracy cuz they’re stupid and selfish. Deceit and manipulation are not only more effective than brute might but also triumphs over genuine intent. And the good guys just. rolls along with it. Then gets backstabbed a bajillion times. Then still keep rolling along after getting backstabbed a bajillion times. Like why. What did you expect. What’s the point of fighting for so many years if you’re so desperate for peace that you don’t even care what kind of person is ruling you? Ruling your home, your planet, your compatriots? Your comrades? Did all those Autobots who died during the war just. die for nothing. Why didn’t you just surrender to Megatron when he first offered then. Why not simply kept your heads down and accept Sentinel. Zeta. The functionalists. At least less people would have died that way. 

It’s not even a matter of oh everyone is a war criminal there’s no victors in war everything’s morally grey and complicated or any of that twisted contrived grimdark shit. It’s a lack of common sense. Trusting the SIC of your enemy faction who’s a known mass murderer/notoriously famous backstabber once is giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Continuing to allow him to rule your planet after getting backstabbed betrayed sabotaged almost-killed multiple times is stupidity. It’s enablement. Complacency. Since when did everyone decide that the best method of dealing with a self-serving entitled prick who lied and killed and manipulated his way up to dictatorship under a farce of democracy and faked 'god-chosen’ bullshit is to leave him in charge and wait for him to develop a conscience.

And then the perspective of the colonists. “Look what your wars, hatreds, and ambitions have brought us,” they said. “You’re all gross. Why can’t you just stop fighting?” Easy words, from people who lived the majority of their lives in relative peace and ease. From those who had the privilege of growing up knowing no deaths, no functionalism, no crushing stratification. As if Cybertron hadn’t been led astray from the beginning by Shockwave and locked into an endless cycle of violence and oppression ever since the dawn of its civilization. As if Cybertronians ever got a chance at a peaceful fulfilling life. Four million years of war is horrific. But where would the Cybertronians be, if the war never happened? Oh right cowering under the functionalists. What if there were no functionalists? Then it’s Nova Sentinel Zeta. What if the Autobots didn’t fight?  Peace through tyranny and a universe wiped free of organic lifeforms. From the moment they opened their eyes, each and every Cybertronian from the time of Onyx Prime to the last constructed MTO has been cast into a dystopia so deeply entrenched as to be inescapable. It’s suffering all around. What other choices did they have? 

So speaketh the colonist, built on the back of Cybertronian expansion. Which is funny because Unicron is literally a product of colonialism.

The story seems to imply in so many ways that war is an inherent crime in and of itself. It doesn’t matter who initiated it. It doesn’t matter if you were the aggressor or the defensive or forced into it as a last resort. It doesn’t matter who or what you were fighting for. It doesn’t matter that you tried your best to remain true to your ideals through so many long years of violence under impossible conditions. To the eyes of the lofty outsider, the apathetic bystander, simply participating makes you just as bad as the other side. It doesn’t matter how horrible the alternative would have been if you’d rolled over and didn’t resist. In the end everything fades into inconsequence; the only legacy left behind is destruction. Everyone is a killer.

But no actually. war doesn’t work like that. History doesn’t work like that. For those who's never experienced the circumstances firsthand, never suffered through the choices or the lack thereof, what right do they have to judge?

[morgana-ren]

Initially I had this idea hafter watching Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (loved it, I highly recomend it) but, since I see quite the parallels between Coriolanus Snow and Ascended Astarion, here goes nothing.

Imagine an Astarion who gas a bard Tav as punishment, not letting them make a single noise for days, maybe longer, as he says he'll "consider" returning their voice once he believes they'll behave.

-----

I haven't read it, admittedly, but I'll add it to the reading list! This isn't a sexy or a kink answer but I tried, but if it's not what you had in mind, please let me know and I'll redo it.

-

Cruelty. You could call it that.

He calls it an object lesson. A point that must be impressed because it isn't getting through.

That's the problem with a songstress. So many ridiculous ideals of love and the safety in it. The irritating idealization of it all in their songs that are woven from the thread of absurdity. A reminder of naivety; of innocence.

It's utterly insulting.

The caged bird sings endlessly of freedom. Always, always. Looking to the sky with longing. Flapping restless wings, perching high in their cage, surveying land through gilded bars and dreaming-- romanticizing.

The song might be beautiful. It might break a lesser man. It might touch the soul--

(--that no longer exists, yet even now, he can feel the motif sew into his skin and touch something that should be there; a ghost in his flesh that he can't scratch out. He hates that goddamned melody, he hates it-- it plucks, and it pulls like a bird gathers seed from the soil to sustain itself. She used to sing to him before he truly became him, and she uses it to drain his resolve even now--)

Love is beautiful, fragile, and fleeting-- like a hummingbird. Meant to roam and seek sustenance. Freedom. Choice. It is beauty and truth and irritation and futility and rejection--

He won't hear it.

(--Love is filth and blood and sacrifice. It is seven thousand souls in fire and his own in the palm of a devil's hand. It is anything to keep her safe. It is what must be done. She will hate him for the rest of her luxurious life with him--)

She begs him. Begs him listen. She looks at him with those watery, pathetic eyes, grasps him with delicate, calloused fingers and a voice raw and cracking.

He loves her.

She is foolish and naive with ideals. She doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what it is to be captive. To be abused. To be used. She sleeps on pillows of silk. He forces the finest meals down her throat. She will live and she will like it.

(--She will come around, surely. He did--)

She hums sometimes. He can hear it. She does it on purpose, he swears. He hears it in his meditation. He hears it as she is in the cold and dark of the cells miles away. That same melody she wrote for him after he first displayed weakness and confessed to her his reliance on her. She sang it to him by starlight and campfire, in the dirt, at his absolute lowest when he was weak, and foolish, and nothing. She sat with him beneath the sky and gave her own confession in song and looked at him as though he hung the moon--

It stitches a pattern into his skin. He hears it. He cannot pluck it free. Even as he is different now. He is stronger, and better, and faster. More powerful. He can protect her now, he can protect them both--

(--More deserving--)

He waits. He waits and he waits and he waits. He is eternal. Time is nothing to him. It is nothing to her either. His sweet songbird, she will see and she will understand the greater picture. She will thank him. What he has given her is a gift. It is a gift, it is a gift, it is a gift--

She bemoans this, but she will understand. One day, she will. She will, same as he did. She is foolish, and idealistic, and simple-- But she will.

(--I love you as you are. As you always have been. You are enough, and I will always love you--)

If he could feel, he is certain he would be irritated. Annoyed. What a foolish girl he has chosen. She sings her same tired song rather than embracing a new tune. A better one. One suited to who he is now. The better man.

He takes her instruments. He binds her hands. He isolates her so that her songs will never be heard until she sings what he wishes to hear. Until that fucking song dies, and he never hears it again. He never wants to hear it again.

He is the master. She will obey. And she will come back to him.

(--He hears it in his fucking mind. He cannot make it stop. It plays on repeat. Some vengeance from his old, weak mind playing tricks on him--)

She doesn't sing anymore. Eyes as pale and empty as the moon. She can sing. She can play. She can repeat on demand, like a parrot. He has heard these melodies before.

She asks him what he wants her to play.