#i lied about the lightning it turned out not That Easy

[raplinenthusiasts]

200917 Bang Chan 🔥

for @backtoblueandgreyside Bangtan CC for Palestine / donate

[everlastingserenitys]

NEXT DOOR DISTRACTION

summ. your perverted next door neighbour who couldn't help but end up inside you one night

pairing. sylus x f!reader cw. perv!sylus, masturbation, sex, fingering, kissing, dry humping, dirty talk, needy!sylus. a/n hello trying tumblr! gonna post my series from ao3 on here haha... no specific order, going with what I like !!

cross-posted from ao3 ;3

Sylus knew he picked the right option, and he wasn't going to back away from it now.

Ever since you moved into the house next to his, he was immediately hooked. Well, the first thing that actually hooked him was your outfit. The way your tiny skirt raised up your body when you bent over, made his cock ache.

Or the way your breasts bounced in a rhythmic movement as you jog from the moving truck, back to your house. Oh how Sylus wanted to see more.

He did offer to help you, but you kindly rejected him, and for some reason, that just made Sylus like you even more.

He was so dazed by you, he believed love at first sight was a thing. And he was going to try everything to win you over, to his bed.

Sylus started to workout outside more often. Usually, every morning he would notice you sitting on your porch and relax in your seat as you watched the view ahead of you, so he took those opportunities to at least try to impress you.

It worked, a little bit.

He would specifically stand somewhere in your sight of view and start his workout, he snuck quick glances at you and noticed your eyes glance away every time he looked at you. On some mornings, you both would have the smallest conversations. And all of them went out as expected.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

That was it.

-

But this morning was different.

“Morning” Sylus’ voice echoed through the quiet, bright neighbourhood as he started on his workout.

“Good morning.”

Sylus paused his movements and turned his body towards where you were sitting. He took off his gloves and stepped towards you. “You know, I was thinking…”

“Hm?”

“Spar with me. The invisible man is doing me no good. But don’t worry, I won't go too hard on you.” Sylus directed the large gloves towards you and waited for you to take them.

“Are you sure? Don't you think it's a bit early in the morning for this?” you chuckle awkwardly, instinctively taking the gloves from his hand and getting up from your seat. Sylus chuckled in response and dragged you to the pavement in the front of your house.

“If you don’t like it we could just stop after a bit.”

You shook your head and got ready in position, “let’s start.”

“Let’s do it, sweetie.”

Sylus got in position and mockingly sent the first punch, his fist was flying towards your face at lightning speed, you ducked your head to dodge the attack, but before you could keep balance you stumbled on your feet and fell onto your ass.

A low whistle left his lips and he reached his hands towards you, to help you up.

Sylus’ eyes were everywhere but on yours. His ruby iris averted left and right as he helped you up. You didn't even notice it at all, but after you got up, you patted down your silky pajamas and glanced back up at Sylus, whose eyes were still on your chest. You cleared your throat and he shook his head, looking you in the eye.

You notice his body twitching slightly at the mere second the two of your eyes meet. Sylus shifted away from you and got ready in position. Confused, you just get ready and continue fighting him.

You were winning practically every round, and he totally lied about going easy on you. This man was difficult. But after memorizing his patterns and secret tricks with the little time fighting him, it was way too easy now.

You sent a punch in his direction but you didn’t notice his foot slip in between your legs, and in one step, you fell, again.

This time, on top of him.

You groaned as you felt Sylus’ fingers slip through your hair, he lifted your head from his chest and stared at you with a strained look. Sylus’ hips buck the slightest and that was when you felt his hard-on thrust against your lower abdomen.

You bit back a whine that was about to slip out of your lips and after an awkward second of silence, Sylus quietly apologized and lifted you off of his lap.

After that moment, Sylus immediately rushed back to his place, it wasn’t because he felt embarrassed that he made you fall or any of that, but it was because he felt like his cock was going to burst any second now.

“Shit…” he muttered, slipping his pants down and placing his large hand on his boner. He gave it a few rubs before tucking his hand under his boxers to pull out his searing, hard cock.

Sylus silently scolded himself as his thumb glided on his leaking tip, sending a spark of pleasure rushing through his body.

More fingers wrapped around his length, Sylus grabbed onto the bottom of his shirt and shoved it in his mouth as he stroked quick, intense movements. He closed his eyes and leaned back, thinking about what you looked like back there.

He moaned as he remembered the way your breasts bounced at every punch you sent him, or when you fell on your ass and a little moan slipped out of your lips.

Or when he dry humped you.

A loud groan escaped his lips, he didn't even notice he already came at that thought.

Sylus sighed and rested his head against the wall behind him, letting the shirt slip out of his mouth moments later.

He brought his fingers to his sight and stared at the white mixture coating his long fingers before he headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.

He should totally ask you to spar more often.

Several hours had now passed and Sylus was getting restless each hour. It was way too difficult to think of anything else to get you in his bed. He was contemplating on whether he should just barge in your house and fuck you right then and there but yet again, that would probably not be a good idea.

Sylus sighed and rested his head against the kitchen counter. Even thinking about you was getting him hard, he needed to see you again.

So Sylus got up from his seat and went to the window that was adjacent to your room.

Sylus’ perverted eyes peered through the blinds and he saw your curtains were wide open, and noticed you getting changed into a new outfit.

Great timing, Sylus.

As much as he knew this was wrong, his eyes couldn't help but stay locked on you. The way your fingers glided through the soft fabric bonding with your body, slowly removing them, it was as if you knew he was watching.

Sylus’ breath hitched and he tried to hold back, he was trying so, so hard.

You already had your shirt removed and it was now your pants left.

He peered the blinds wider and continued staring. He needed to see more, more, mo–

Sylus froze in his spot when he saw your eyes make eye contact with his, you couldn't see him, right?

Wrong.

-

You stared at your window, looking at the glowing red iris illuminating through the glass, it was painfully obvious he was staring at you the whole time.

And it got to the point you actually didn’t mind it.

After all the moments of him being a little creep, you kind of enjoyed it. The way he still acts flustered after accidentally making eye contact with you, or how he twitches at the feeling of your skin grazing his, it was obvious he needed more.

Sylus still had his eyes locked onto you, you knew he was waiting for you to take your pants off and he wasn't going to leave the window until you did. But instead of taking them off, you beckon a finger at him.

You had never seen him leave the window so fast.

Seconds later the doorbell rings and you quickly put on your shirt, heading downstairs to open the door.

You open the door and notice Sylus a little out of breath, his eyes stare up and down at your outfit before looking back up at your face.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll make it up to you if that's what you want sweetie.”

You hesitate for a second, intrigued, you agree.

“Fine.”

Sylus chuckled and stepped inside, his footsteps grew louder as he stepped towards you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers glide against your jaw, he looked into your eyes, filled with desperation as he leaned in closer to you.

“May i?”

“Mmh”

He scoffed and captured your lips in an aggressive, needy kiss. Sylus’ tongue shoved into your mouth and tied his tongue with yours. Your tongues intertwined together as he pushed you closer to the stairs.

In a swift movement, he lifted you off of the ground with one arm and carried you up the stairs. While still having his tongue shoved deep into your mouth.

He eventually found the way to your room and he placed you on the bed before pulling away.

Sylus stares at you with a breathless look, he brought his fingers to the hem of your shirt and played with it while his chest heaved heavily.

He was already going insane and going slow was making it worse for him. Sylus slipped his fingers under your shirt, his cold fingers making contact with your warm skin, he needed more of this warmthness.

He removed your shirt and soon, your pants.

You were left completely bare and exposed underneath him. Sylus grinned at the sight, not in a creepy way, more like in a ‘I won’ kind of way. His eyes captured every curve and perfection of your body, and he was already addicted.

His fingers slid down your stomach and made their way to your soaking entrance. He rubbed small circles on your clit, making gasps and quiet moans escape out of your lips, he needed to hear more than that.

A finger slid in your dripping cunt and Sylus groaned as he pulled down his pants. His cock twitched at the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers. He couldn't wait any longer, he pulled his fingers out, and aligned his tip with your dripping entrance.

“Ready?”

“mh–mhhh?!”

Sylus continued thrusting his length deep inside you, his fingers held onto your hips and he rocks himself back and forth, back and forth…

“You like that? Hm?”

“Yes! It's sooo good.. more please!”

“More? Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

Sylus’ rhythmic thrusts were interrupted with desire blinding his eyes, he didn't even care how quick he was going anymore. He grabbed onto your ankles and lifted your legs over his shoulders.

“You're squeezing me so tight..hah.. lift your hips for me, sweetie.”

You obey and a small praise escapes his lips, you moan in response and beg to release already.

“Already? Dirty girl.”

“S-says you!” you huff and thrust yourself deeper in him.

“You’re the one thrusting yourself in my cock, and I'm the dirty one?”

“I'm gonna cum..please” you gasp, shutting your eyes as you continue driving yourself in him, Sylus groaned in response as his grip tightened around you. With a breathless moan, you couldn't hold it in anymore, a stream of hot, wet cum pooled out of your hole as Sylus still had his cock buried into you.

But that didn't stop him from continuing. Sylus only pulled out for a second, just to watch the dirty mess you made, pour out of you and he eventually put his tip back against your drooling cunt.

A wave of pleasure spiked through you as Sylus’ cock slicked your cum in and out of you, making a huge mess on the bed.

“Ya hear that? You’re taking me in so good…mgh yes…”

“Sylus!”

“I’m here, keep calling my name, I'm close.” he moaned.

“Sylus! Sylus! Sy–”

With one final thrust a spike of pleasure washed through you as the warm white mixture spurted inside your body, you froze in shock and Sylus pulled out of you, plopping on top of you, absolutely breathless.

“Thank you, neighbour.” he chuckled against your neck, planting small kisses along it. You sigh and ruffle his hair, attempting to get up but your legs were aching.

“You’re welcome, creep. Let's get cleaned up.”

“Mhmm”

part 2 of untamed desires | sylus -> next work

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: Your Fall Awakening

✧ "I loved watching the base of those thunderstorms, the billowing tops of the cumulonimbus, the lightning that effortlessly lit up the lake and the sky. It was gorgeous, so energetic. I was in love." - Ginger Zee

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you. Also, the tense changes from past to present to future, I hope this doesn't make the reading difficult.

Also! Thank you so much to everyone who put in a paid reading request, when my life stabilizes, those will be on the top of my priority list. <3

p1 �� p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

Pile One (King of Cups, 5oC, The Sun, The Knight of Cups)

This energy feels sudden but fated. This year’s eclipse season has been insane and you were always destined to reach a cosmic juncture of complete renewal around this time. The scales are tipping in your favor and this is your season to receive. 

This is my emotionally attuned pile. You were a sensitive child—a walking bundle of warmth and acceptance—until people took advantage of your gentle soul. You could have been the typical sunshine kid always giggling, easily making connections, and being a bright energy people were easily attracted to. Whether or not you were aware of it, people saw your capacity for love and happiness as intimidating and “fake”. Their reality did not shine as bright as yours so they could not fathom your authentic happiness.

That doesn’t mean people did not try to take advantage of your gentleness. Society associates friendliness/happiness as weakness and sees you as an easy target to get over on. Being trusting isn’t naivety, it isn’t your fault that you extended your time and resources to greedy people, it is their loss that they ruined a genuine connection because they were too far gone in their own misery to recognize a helping hand out of the shadows. 

This is a general reading so the details of what happened vary greatly, for most of you, there was a series of traumatic events involving your interpersonal relationships that scarred your heart. I visually see a wilting flower or a chest caving in on itself. 

Betrayal, cheating, abuse, years and years of lying, bullying, isolation, being ignored, and just overall feeling less important than the other people in your life.

But we don’t need to get into the nitty gritty of that bullshit. That chapter is closed, burned, and a renewed phoenix is rising from its ashes. 

To any other person, these events would have turned them rotten and nasty, but you never passed this hurt onto others, you just held onto it and kept holding on until it slowly drained and left all the cavities in your body empty and numb. You’re used to depletion, giving and giving, but being left in the dust after everyone else gets their fill and moves on.

Listen to me, you are stepping into your rainfall- the world revolves around you- era. You’re being rewarded for your resilience and “the cycle ends with me” attitude. A hurt person hurt you and you turned that into further reason why you would never be so cruel to another soul.

You got the sun, the best fucking card in the deck, right in the middle of your spread. With the lies you’ve been fed over the years, at some point on your journey, you got lost in the illusions of lack and fear. Fear that you weren’t enough and less than the magnificent being you truly are.

But this juncture is like a lightning strike of clarity to your consciousness, you are realizing that this journey is just that… a journey. A life lesson circling you back to your power so you can acknowledge just how fucking desirable your heart actually is.

People tried to rob you of your happiness because they wanted it. People tried to squash your kindness because they wanted it. People abused your time and energy because they yearned for it but could never have it. Think about it, if you had nothing of value, they wouldn’t have plotted on the resources you offered. 

We’ve all heard the saying, “You don’t know how good you have something until you lose it.” Life put you on this course of being on top, hitting rock bottom (deep depression), and then climbing up again so you can cultivate the strength to have a sensitive soul and defend it against all the greedy hands who want a piece. 

This journey taught you discernment, who to trust and who not to trust. It taught you how to pick yourself up and dust off. You learned to be stingy with your time and treat yourself as high value. Most importantly, you experienced your first full cycle of rebirth, where you learn that even your lowest of lows are temporary and it is universal law that all things eventually come to an end to be reborn bigger and better. 

True strength is seeing the world’s ugliness and not letting it taint you. You’ve been the victim of cruel actions and you wouldn’t dare enforce those on anyone else. The universe honors people like you. You were always meant to experience this upcoming win fall.

If you’re reading this, you’re already beginning to feel it. Shifts like this happen internally before manifesting externally. You step outside and the world looks more… romantic.

You can feel it in your bones that you are about to receive your fairytale life. The moon is smiling back at you and the stars are spelling out your name.

Embrace this Knight of cups energy and follow the whims of your heart, they’re leading you to your new timeline. Fall in love with yourself and acknowledge the battle you not only survived but won. 

P.S. Little you is so motherfucking proud of who you are and what you stand for. They knew you would make it back to them. It pained them to see you lost in other people’s lies but they never doubted your capability to see love in life again. Your kid self lived and breathed this joy and they knew nobody could truly take it from them. They are happy to see you realize it too.  

"Sometimes, the strongest roots grow in the softest soil."

Pile Two (King of Swords rev., King of Pentacles, 10oW, Queen of Wands rev.)

YOU ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH! There is no fucking reason to fixate on changing yourself when you are already perfect as is, sugar plum!

You carried your family’s burdens up a verrry long mountain. You were trekking through life with a generational weight strapped on your back. Your greatest devil was expectations. 

You were told who you should be, what you should do, how you should act, what you should believe in. 

There weren’t many loving voices in your home, your efforts were met with harsh critiques and a heavier load on your plate. This is the classic case of being pushed beyond limits no child should have to reach. In your upbringing, it was perfection or nothing. Not only did you have to excel academically, you had to be attractive and have a thriving social life, do extracurriculars, and anything else that exemplified you as a model child and citizen. 

And even then, when you did all those things, you didn’t get the proper acknowledgment or congratulations you deserved. Lots of you just got higher expectations set after you proved you could reach an already unrealistic standard. God forbid you didn’t reach those standards, some of you got shunned or abused. 

Sometimes you felt more like a project your people flaunted rather than someone they authentically loved and cared for.

This fucked with your young psyche. I mean… what's the point!? You jump through all these hoops to barely get a pat on the back? Yeah, you seemed perfect on the outside but internally, you were teeming with self-hate and the contempt of not being enough for anyone. 

I am getting frustrated just channeling this message, damn you deserved so much more! 

(Do you get migraines or tension headaches?)

This is my pile of people who did not get the privilege of choosing their own career path. Your guardians told you to study to become a doctor, engineer, scientist, artist, or whatever the hell they wanted to flaunt as an extension of themselves. 

But get this, your people didn’t do that shit either! They push so hard for you to be someone they’re not because they’re projecting their (fear of) failure onto you. 

For some (those who were not ignored or abused), it wasn’t malicious. They pushed you to be great because they wanted the best for you, but the way they handled it was fucked up.

There was a lot of fear about falling short of expectations and disappointing the people around you. Creating this mindset that you had to perform for affection and needed to prove that you were of value to people in order to be loved.

Some of you heavily rebelled against this authoritarian force in your life. Explicitly, through using sex to satiate your desire to feel loved. Like with your family, you viewed love as transactional and went into “relationships” with people who disguised their lust for you as love but only truly wanted to exploit your vulnerable state.

I am sorry you did not deserve that, you are better with those energies out of your life. 

BAAABBBYYYY, this season is rinsing out all that gunk between your ears and pushing the weight off your back. Can you feel your spine unfurl?

This season you’re letting all the bullshit go. You’re garnering strength the rest of society only talks about. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror and saying that nobody’s expectations are worth living a life you don’t want to live. Those people were empowered by you not recognizing your own capability, they were the only measurement of how worthy you were and the only source of the approval you craved. 

(why won't this center???^)

You’re awakening to just how much of a bad mf you truly are! You’re the king of pentacles- you’re your own empire! You’re reclaiming your power and acknowledging that with all the time and effort you put into building someone else’s dreams, you have the strength to build your own!

With every challenge thrown at you, YOU BODY THAT SHIT!

I’m getting chills, I feel like a hype man lmao. I’m your biggest fan fr. I want you on my team! You’re an irreplaceable asset that anyone would be blessed to work with. 

All the pressure you faced has forged you into a one-of-a-kind gemstone and you are shining brightly! 

This journey taught you the power of control and how to take the reigns of your own chariot. You will never allow another soul to take your will from you again. 

*Clears throat* Don’t tell anyone I said this but… expect your life to blossom in ways you can’t even begin to fathom.

Your 5th house: leisure, pleasure, romance, creativity, and your 10th house: higher self, your image, and how you carry yourself once you leave the shadows is getting a major activation.  

The dreams of your future that you wouldn’t dare whisper to the people in your life are being heard by Source and they’re being packaged (with a cute lil bow) behind the scenes, ready to be delivered at your feet. I am not kidding, your oracle cards are: 10th house, 5th house, Venus, fated meeting, and “Blessings you couldn’t even dream of are walking to your front door”.

There is a special emphasis on your creative endeavors, unleash the side of you that was shunned, and allow it to garner the love and attention that has always been meant for you! It is your time to live life the way you’ve always wanted to. 

P.S. People don’t want to hear it because getting your expectations high is a “bad” thing or whatever, but you will meet someone. It’s a fated meeting and you two are meant for each other. Royal love. You got all court cards and while I was typing, “one-of-a-kind” autocorrected to “one-of-a-king”. 

Pressure Reveals Our Brilliance

Pile Three (10oS Rev., 10oW, 8oP, Queen of Swords, Emperor)

Growing up, my mom always told me that when we feel like we’re wandering aimlessly, we’re actually slowly inching closer to where we’re meant to be.

I pass these words of wisdom on to you because you know the pain of wandering all too well. When you were younger, your energy was unadulterated and you dreamt big without any doubt creeping around your skull to sully your aspirations. You are naturally a very ambitious person with a killer drive to get shit done.

However, something shifted. I don’t think it was a specific event, it happened over time. The wrong people and painful situations slowly chipped away at your spark for life until your body lost its will and you slowly staggered to the ground with all ten swords in your back. 

There was a dense fog around who you were and what you wanted. You questioned your desires and your ability to achieve them, growing more frustrated with your own confusion. Until eventually, you stopped dreaming. Anything to curb the painful disappointment of feeling like a person coming from a broken mold. Or a human without an outline, just an indistinct blur melting into the background. 

I feel static in my bones. I see that your shadows locked you in place- paralyzed. Limited only to the realms in your head as you watch the world evolve and move on without you.

This pile struggles with the most intense anxiety. Have you seen Inside Out 2? There is a scene where the anxiety emotion goes into overdrive and can’t remove herself from the control panel and Riley has an ongoing panic attack. For a huge chunk of your life, your anxiety couldn’t release itself from the command center. Your whole life has felt like you’ve been holding your breath, waiting for the panic attack to subside. 

You’re a nervous nelly, I’m afraid. Not to be offensive, but I imagine a nervous, wet chihuahua shaking like a leaf (haha, been there).

Something about your friendships and the negative influence of others is important. The ten of swords is typically a betrayal card. These situations left you with an aching sense that you didn’t have control over the direction of your life, so you spent your days worrying about everything that has and will go wrong.

Maybe people told you that you weren’t capable? Maybe you felt like you didn't measure up to the people around you who had direction in their lives.

You have a lot of energy, pent-up energy. It is actually one of your blessings, you have an abundance of energy to achieve all that you set your mind to. But these traumatic events locked up this vitality and prevented it from being properly expressed. It didn’t go away, it got transmuted into mental energy and you “thought” yourself to death. 

It’s funny—you probably daydream about taking action and doing the everyday things that others do without a second thought. For them, it’s normal, but for you, it’s a wild dream. 

This is my late bloomer pile. The things people your age typically do, you haven’t gotten around to because you can’t seem to get your body and mind on the same accord. 

You had restless energy, your body was always on but not in motion. Think of a tightly stretched rubber band aching to be released anywhere but stuck in this moment of tension. You felt the pull, the urge to leap into action, yet something held you back—whether it was doubt, hesitation, or simply the weight of expectation. Each day was a reminder of your potential, a constant yearning to break free and finally express that energy in a meaningful way. But, the second you went in for the kill, your bones locked up and left you stagnant.

I want to cry writing this. Your wishes are so simple and you will get them tenfold, quote me. 

This season you are getting the key to freedom from your mental prison- clarity. Clarity on just how possible everything is. You are awakening to the world at your fingertips and the very road map woven into your heart.

It sounds silly, but you dream of work! You want to go out and create without paralyzing fear looming over your shoulder. This is your deepest desire because you are meant to do it. You’re the fucking emperor AND the queen of swords. Your name is meant to be plastered on a building somewhere, and no amount of fear or doubt is going to keep you from that. 

This journey taught you how to build mental fortitude and define yourself. You won’t listen to any voice that prevents you from living the life you want to live, not even your own. The next time you get stabbed in the back, you won’t even flinch and you sure as hell won’t stop your motion. 

You don’t need to think, just be. Your feet will take you to where you need to go.

(Shoutout to my Rahuvians!)

Your wildest dreams have been heard and answered, and you’re beginning to find your direction again. I know it’s hard to believe, especially after spending so much of your life in an illusionary prison—a mental construct that felt all too real. But take a deep breath and allow those bars to melt away. Remember, this chapter is just that: a chapter in your life. You are ready to turn the page and embark on a new adventure, one that could be your very first! Embrace the possibilities ahead, and tell any lingering fears to shut the fuck up and kick rocks.

This next phase in your life is anything but slow, it’s a complete 180 from what you’re used to. Get ready to be a busy bee and in high demand. Your mind and body will be sharp, focused, and honed in on your craft. You are mastering something and achieving great success. “Blessings you couldn’t even dream of are walking to your front door.”

P.S. I know that was a long, agonizing, period in your life but jump for joy now that it’s over! I promise you, it truly is!! Don’t stress about the past or worry about what you should or could have done differently. You did everything perfectly and you were always meant to be where you are right now. 

I know this might sound cliché, but the situation was out of your hands. The lesson was about learning to surrender control and trusting in the only constant in life: change. Nothing lasts forever, your pain is temporary. Trust that this experience has shaped you, and now you have the opportunity to step forward with newfound strength and resilience. Embrace the future—it’s waiting for you!

She's Using the Colors of Her Aura to Define Her Being

Pile Four (2oP, 7oW, 4oW, 90P, Clear, Third Eye Chakra, 1st House, Pluto)

Hmmm, pentacles (earth​ = stay and grow, grow, grow) and wands (fire = go, go, go)… “Should I stay or should I go?” 

Nobody wants to hear it, but you’re being pushed into hermit mode. But fear not! ☝🏾 This will be your last and most peaceful retreat. You’re caught in a battle between the urge to slow down and prioritize your wellness and the temptation to jump up and grind. Embrace this time for reflection and self-care—it’s essential for your growth. When you take the time to recharge, you’ll emerge stronger and more focused, ready to tackle whatever comes next with renewed energy. Trust that this phase is necessary for your journey.

The right answer is a blend of both. Make a steady meditation and fitness plan you can rely on where you feel productive yet kept to yourself. Your energy is sensitive at this time and people are going to try and purposely trigger you because they can sense that you’re getting ready to pop out and do your mf jig!

You are crazy intuitive and are awakening to this fact, but just like the start of any journey, you’re trying to find a balance between your intuition and judgment.

Spoiler alert, they're the same thing! 

ESPECIALLY for you. Check to see if you have Pluto, Ketu (south node), Jupiter (Sag or Pisces), Mars (Aries or Scorpio), or Moon (Cancer) in your first, fourth, seventh, or tenth house. Or literally anything in your eighth house.

You are blessed with the ability to see beyond the veil of illusion and are meant to nurture and refine this gift. Embrace it as a powerful tool for understanding yourself and the world around you. Trust your intuition and allow it to guide you through challenges, helping you uncover deeper truths. 

This season is bringing changes to your physical body and immediate environment, you feel most vulnerable to the weather changes and are probably having trouble sleeping. You are likely feeling tension between your eyebrows and are seeing images that aren't actually there. 

You’re experiencing a third eye awakening and a major karmic clearing, this is my most spiritual pile by far. If you’re not into these types of things, this isn’t your pile. Actually, this group really stands out from the others, I don’t have advice for you per se; this message is to assure you that you’re not delusional. 

I am here to tell you to trust what you’re seeing. You’re right! Whatever you think is happening… is happening. If you think great things are coming, they absolutely are. Conversely, if you feel that something shady is going on behind the scenes, then that’s exactly what’s unfolding. Trust your instincts; they’re guiding you toward the truth.

Here’s a secret about intuitive judgment: If the thoughts are causing anxiety and plaguing you with fear, they’re not true. On the other hand, if your instincts provide insight into a situation and help you feel more in control, you’re on the right track. Even if the truth is harsh or painful, knowing it empowers you to make informed decisions about your next move. 

The truth is enlightening, even if it leads to a tower moment where everything you thought you knew comes crumbling down. Lies may feel comforting at first, but they can slowly trap you, binding you to a life that isn’t truly yours. Your soul craves deep transformation and healing. It may sound cryptic, but this is your season to die and allow yourself to be reborn anew. Embrace the intensity of Scorpio season; it’s a powerful time for you to shed old skin and welcome a higher version of yourself. 

Who is this higher version? You have been cultivating them bit by bit with every trial thrown your way and it is finally time for them to rise to the surface. This version embodies your resilience, wisdom, and strength, shaped by your experiences and the lessons learned along the way. Embrace this transformation and let your true self shine. You are ready to step into your power and create the life you’ve always envisioned.

(Any Mula natives in the chat?)

I am excited for you, it’ll be tiring and unpleasant but the world waiting for you on the other side is one of bountiful harvests and celebrations! Hang in there! 

Embrace the slowness and allow yourself to relax while it's here because this next chapter is TURNT. 

P.S. You’re hot—like really, incredibly sexy. Your gaze is piercing, and people feel as though you see straight through them into depths they aren’t even aware of. You don’t have to do much to unsettle others; they’re easily triggered because they can’t hide behind the safety of their masks when they’re around you. Your authenticity and intensity shine through, making them confront their own truths. Embrace that power; it’s a gift that not everyone possesses!

She Follows the Blueprint Woven Into Her Flesh

[hotchsprncess]

the road to recovery ⊹ spencer reid

.ᐟ MDNI .ᐟ

ᝰ summary : since getting shot on the job 2 weeks ago, anything physical was difficult for spencer and was strongly discouraged by his doctor. you were tending to his every need like the wonderful girlfriend you are, but there were some new things he needed now that he was recovering.

ᝰ warnings : mentions of injuries, domestic vibes, l-bombs, fem reader, sorta sub!spencer (he's just needy af), softdom!reader, oral f receiving, handjob, munch!spencer (nobody can tell me he doesn't wanna be suffocated by thighs okay), dirty talk, praise, multiple orgasms

munch!spencer is a necessity and i will never shut up about it. i didn't have a specific season reid in mind for this (though i did take inspiration from him getting shot in s5 & s9). maybe pre-prison reid though? i feel like he'd become less subby post-prison arc BUT imagine whatever season reid your heart desires! hope you all enjoy my first reid fic & feel free to send me any requests ⋆.˚

it was hard watching your boyfriend struggle and be basically bed/couch ridden since he was shot on a case a couple weeks ago. spencer was shot in the leg, a bullet grazed his neck, and a couple rounds got stopped by his vest which left his torso severely bruised. to say you were panicked when you first got the news was an understatement, but luckily spencer was okay and just had to take it easy at home during his recovery. you took this time off work to stay by his side and get him whatever he needed since his doctor strongly discouraged him from doing any strenuous movement, or moving too much at all for that matter. now that it had been a couple weeks, spencer was starting to feel better and he was recovering well, his torso slowly becoming less sore and the stiffness of his neck subsiding.

you press a kiss to spencer's forehead as you grab the empty coffee mug from the nightstand, him reading a book on quantum physics at lightning speed as he sat upright in bed. "oh- thanks honey, i could've brought that back to the kitchen you know?" he pulls his gaze away from the text on the page, locking eyes with you and getting lost in them. "oh stop, just because you have crutches and the doctor said you could move around a bit more doesn't mean you have to do all the little things" you smile softly at him, watching as he licks his lips gently. "what's on that genius mind of yours?" you ask, reading into him from the distracted look in his eyes. he may be the profiler but spencer was a very easy person to read, and the saying 'eyes are the window to the soul' was basically written about him. he reaches out for you, grabbing your smaller hands in his large ones as he sighs, "there's something else i need, if you don't mind" his hands squeezing yours.

"anything, what is it?" you watch as he shifts a little, now noticing the slight bulge in his sweatpants. now you get it. "i haven't tasted you in so long and now that i'm doing better i can hardly cope, i need- please just sit on my face" he practically begs, a smirk creeping onto your face. "fuck spence, who am i to deny that?" you whisper and press your lips to his, feeling the desperation in his kiss. his hands have moved and are basically pulling you onto the bed by your waist, hardly being able to wait now that you've agreed to satiate his needs. you break the kiss, giggling softly as you start to remove your leggings and thong that lies beneath it. "fuck..." he breathes out, shifting to lie flat on the bed. "come here, please baby" he begs as he feels your weight on the mattress, making your way towards his head. you straddle his head, pussy hovering over his mouth and nearly making him drool. "you'll tell me if you start to feel pain, right? the last thing i wanna do is hurt you- oh!" your sentence turns into a gasp as spencer tugs you down, his tongue coming in contact with your slit, collecting your juices on his tongue.

"f-fuck" you gasp again, his tongue devouring you as though you were his last meal. his mouth finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth and causing your hips to buck. your hands grip the headboard as he indulges, stabilizing you on his face. "spence, spence.. so fucking good, jesus-" you whine as he moans into your pussy, ministrations never faltering. as much as he was desperate, you were in the same boat, not having had sexual contact with your boyfriend in weeks. his hands have a vice grip on your waist as he releases your clit, taking a second to speak "grind on my tongue, please" he sticks his tongue out, pulling you back down. you moan at the contact, your hips rolling and grinding your pussy on his tongue. "you're so good, so good at this, i- i'm close" this omission makes spencer start to flick his tongue across your clit frantically, bringing you to the edge. "shit, shit- spencer, i'm cumming" you moan, legs shaking around his head as your orgasms crashes down, his tongue collecting everything it can. your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, yet his tongue continues to work at your hole. "baby-"

"more, give me one more, please" he whines, muffled slightly by his face being buried in your pussy. "god yes" you moan, throwing your head back at the blissful overstimulation you were feeling. "you taste perfect" he groans against you, lapping at your clit again and rapidly bringing you to the edge again. "don't stop, don't stop-" you gasp loudly, second orgasm making it's way out of you. "yes! yes!" you squeal, thighs squeezing his head as you cum again, his tongue hectically collecting it all once more. you take a moment to regulate your breath, lifting off of his mouth and lying beside him on the bed. a smile is plastered across his face, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "thank you, needed that so bad" he breathes, wiping his chin with his hand. "thank you, baby" you smile as your hand lingers on his waistband, his bulge now a full erection. "it's time for me to repay you" you whisper in his ear as you push down his sweatpants and boxers just enough to release his cock, the precum actively leaking down his shaft.

"o-oh god" his words are shaky as your hand wraps around him, the sensation overwhelming after weeks of no contact. "just enjoy it, baby... you've waited so patiently" you whisper, starting to stroke him, his precum being the perfect lube. "yeah, yeah, mhmmm" he whines loudly, your pace gradually picking up. "feels good?" you ask, his hips thrusting up into your grasp. "so good, so good i- i can't-" his breath is rapid as you jerk him off, moans constantly leaving his mouth. "that's it, you're doing so good, just enjoy it, don't think about anything else.." you press a kiss to his cheek as he grips the sheets, his orgasm building up. "gonna- gonna cum- can't hold it" he moans loudly as his cum starts to shoot out, landing on his stomach. your hand slows as he comes down, his breath coming back to it's normal pace.

"you okay, love?" you run a hand through his hair as he chuckles. "more than okay, you're unreal" he cups your cheek and runs his thumb across it gently. "should get you cleaned up, one sec" you slip off the bed, heading to the bathroom and dampening a washcloth. when you reach the bed once again, you wince as you see the purple that litters his torso, "tell me if i start to hurt you, okay? just wanna clean you up" you gently wipe up everything, careful to be as gentle as possible. "you're amazing, thank you" he smiles lovingly at you, grabbing your hand. you smile back, "of course. i love you, doctor reid",

"i love you too, sweetheart"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Big Bed III

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: There's a storm

Magda wakes suddenly to the sound of thunder and she jolts.

It's quite a rude awakening and she groans loudly, pulling one of her pillows over her face.

It's kind of impressive how Pernille can sleep through it, still snoozing on the other side of the bed as another crash of thunder echoes through the house and rain pounds on the window.

Magda's used to the rain. She didn't live in London for years not to become desensitised to the sound of rain.

It's the thunder that always gets her. England was known to be fairly rainy but rainy didn't mean storms so thunder and lightning wasn't something that Magda was really good at tuning out.

She sighs, rolling over onto her other side as another round of thunder cracks in the sky.

So far, Germany was trying to make up for the lack of storms in Magda's life.

It was so unfair that Pernille could sleep through this when Magda can't.

She flicks on her bedside lamp, sitting up in bed and reaching for her phone. It's clear she won't be getting any sleep until this storm passes so she might as well get comfy.

Aimlessly scrolling on social media is easy so Magda occupies herself with that for a while before halting.

This is a thunderstorm.

You don't like thunderstorms.

You're a good sleeper most of the time, dead to the world like Pernille is but you've always had some kind of sixth sense when it came to storms, always somehow waking up before the first crash of thunder.

You waking up usually leads to you in the Big Bed but you're still in that weird in between where you've semi-weaned yourself off of it but still get in from time to time.

Magda shivers as she pulls back the covers, the early morning chill causing goosebumps to erupt all over her arms.

She's glad that she and Pernille had gotten a house that had carpet all over the upstairs because she's sure the chill of the floor would have been so much worse if it wasn't.

Regardless, she makes her way to your room, opening the door only slightly in case you actually are asleep.

You're not because your bed is empty and Magda can see you turning your nightlight on and off underneath the bed in time with the thunder rumbling.

"You okay there, princesse?"

You let out a little shriek of shock before Magda's temporarily blinded by you flashing your torch right in her eyes.

"'M fine, Morsa," You say though your voice is strained and you're very much not fine.

"Uh-huh."

It's a very tight squeeze and extremely embarrassing when Magda's bones pop but eventually, she drags herself under your bed with you.

"Why are we hiding?" She whispers, knocking her shoulders against yours.

"I'm not hiding!" You deny while you curl closer until you've practically wiggled your way under her.

"Okay," Magda says," So we're not hiding. What are we doing?"

With puffed up cheeks, you reply," Waiting for the storm to go."

"Okay."

Magda lies with you for a while. She didn't bring her phone with her but she knows it must be bordering on at least half an hour before she speaks again.

The rain hasn't let up and neither has the thunder and every time, you flinch and lean further into her.

"This isn't too comfortable," Magda says to you softly," Laying on the floor like this, is it?"

You shake your head.

"How about we head back to bed?"

Your head shakes even more furiously. The thought of going back to bed makes your tummy feel icky and bad. You don't want to go back to bed at all.

"No, I think we should," Magda insists and you whine.

"Morsa...Morsa, please no."

Magda crawls out from under your bed, dragging you with her before hoisting you up into her arms.

You expect her to tug you back into your bed, pulling your blankets all the way up to your chin and telling you soothing words.

But she doesn't though.

She keeps a hold of you while exiting your room, across the hallway and into her own.

Momma is a lump in the bed, fast asleep even though the storm hasn't let up yet and Morsa slides in, placing you in the space between her and Momma.

She takes your night light from you, setting it off to the side before fluffing up a pillow to slip under your head.

Magda leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Big Bed cuddles are always best when there's a storm going on," She whispers to you.

[monkey-overalls]

Project: Eden’s Garden Daily Life Thoughts

Okay, I just finished the Daily Life walkthrough—here are my thoughts so far:

Eva. Eva Freaking Tsunaka. I did not expect her to go from a character I’d basically forgotten about since the prologue to my current favorite. She’s literally everything—it’s hard to put into words how much I love her in all her geeky glory. The fact that her “Ultimate Liar” talent was, in itself, a lie was something I somehow didn’t see coming, but her real talent is definitely more intriguing. Thanks to the let’s-player only choosing her FTEs, we get to know so much about her backstory and how unfairly she was treated by her school, teammates, and the UTP. Of course, some—or even all—of that could also be a lie, but for now I choose to believe she only lied initially to protect herself. Besides, she really doesn’t have much to gain from continuously venting about her past to Damon. I’m pulling a Kaito and believing in her simply because I can!!!

Kai. You bet I’m already attaching myself to the pink-haired, crybaby sidekick. I have a type, and my type is incredibly obvious to literally anyone who’s spent at least five minutes on my blog. He’s obnoxious, whiny, and I can’t help but want to give him a fidget cube and cradle him in a weighted blanket. He’s sopping wet and perfect. I also already shipped him and Damon from the start and boy do I feel vindicated!

Wolfgang. I know he’s the fan-favorite, and it’s easy to see why, but I can’t bring myself to like him all that much because the dude is just so unbelievably shady. Before chapter one, I thought there was a good chance he could be the first victim, especially when he’s so clearly set up as Damon’s narrative foil, but after a while my suspicions turned to Eva (no matter how sick that made me feel). Sorry Wolfgang fans, I actually breathed a sigh of relief when he was revealed to be dead because I was so certain it would be Eva. Hopefully this isn’t me seriously jinxing myself and she turns out to be the killer or something. Also damn his death artwork is brutal.

Uhhh lightning round… Ingrid is so sweet; Applejack is one of my highest kins so you know I’m keeping my eye on this hard-working Southern belle. Toshiko is adorable and her secret made me laugh out loud, though I immediately felt guilty about it. Grace continues to be loud and antagonistic, you go queen. Jett has done nothing of note so far but he’s still at the top of my list for his unmatched Scooby Doo goofiness alone. Diana inviting Eva to be her roommate makes her an automatic winner in my book (and I lowkey ship them) but her questioning of Damon makes me a tad suspicious. My thoughts about Jean can basically be summed up in that one meme that goes something like “I’m gonna be honest, I’m only focusing on your titties right now.” Cassidy’s cool, and I’m almost certain her blackmail picture was a reference to the Jerma onion ring clip. Eloise, Mark, Desmond, Wenona, and Ulysses… exist. Sorry, I don’t have much to say about any of them.

TDLR; Eva Tsunaka lovers unite, Kai sucks but in a lovable way, and RIP Wolfgang I guess lmao

[universefcb]

Getting matching tattoos with Marc Bernal 🤎

↬❥ Forever on the skin

Marc Bernal x Reader!fem

Synopsis: You were sitting on the couch and he had the idea of getting couple tattoos.

a/n: Marc is underage and has a tattoo and my father is forbidding me from having a boyfriend 🙄

REQUESTED

warnings: no

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The idea came to you one afternoon, amidst laughter and carefree conversation on the couch in Marc's apartment. You were lying with your legs on top of his, fiddling with your phone, while he absentmindedly ran his fingers down your arm.

“You know what would be cool?” Marc asked, interrupting the comfortable silence.

You looked away from the screen and arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

He smiled sideways, that smile that always made her heart race.

“Get tattoos together.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“Matching tattoos?”

“Yes. Something small but meaningful,” he explained, his eyes shining with excitement. “Like a symbol of ours, something that represents us.”

The idea took you by surprise, but at the same time, it didn’t seem so far-fetched. You and Marc had been together long enough to know that this wasn’t a passing thing. And if you were going to mark your skin with something, make sure it was something that really mattered.

“And what do you have in mind?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand.

Marc thought for a few seconds, then picked up his phone and started looking for inspiration. He turned the screen to you.

“Something like that.”

You looked closely at the image. It was a minimalist drawing of a small lightning bolt. Simple, understated, yet full of meaning.

“A lightning bolt?”

“Yes. Because you are like a bolt of lightning in my life. You came out of nowhere and changed everything,” he said, his voice full of affection.

Your face heated up, and you looked away, smiling.

“That was cheesy,” you joked, giving him a light slap on the arm.

Marc laughed.

“But did you like the idea?”

You looked at him and then back at your phone screen. Tattoos were permanent, but your love for Marc seemed to be too.

“I liked it. Let’s do it.”

The smile that appeared on his face made any doubts you might have had worth it.

The tattoo parlor had a modern yet cozy feel. Art prints lined the walls, and the background music helped create a relaxing atmosphere. You wanted to relax, but your stomach was in knots.

“Last chance to give up,” Marc joked beside him, a teasing smile on his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms.

"I will not give up!"

“Then why are you pale?”

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was that you were nervous. You had never gotten a tattoo before, and even though everyone said it didn’t hurt that much, the idea of a needle piercing your skin over and over again didn’t sound very exciting.

The tattoo artist, a friendly guy named Alex, invited you to sit in the chairs.

“Who goes first?” he asked, readying the machine.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Marc was quicker.

“me!”

Of course he wanted to go first. He looked relaxed, sitting there like he was about to do something as simple as getting a haircut. You watched as Alex positioned the little lightning bolt stencil on his arm and began tattooing.

Marc didn't even move.

“It doesn’t even hurt that much,” he commented, looking at you with a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Easy to say. You play football, you must be used to pain.”

“You’ll get it right” he winked at you.

You weren't so sure.

When it was his turn, he sat down in the chair with sweaty hands. Alex positioned the stencil in the same place Marc had made his, only on his arm.

“Ready?”

" I think so…"

The machine began to vibrate, and the moment the needle touched your skin, you knew for sure: it hurt much more than you imagined.

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, squinting your eyes.

Marc chuckled softly beside her, but quickly took her hand.

“Breathe, love,” he said softly.

You squeezed his hand tightly.

“You lied! You said it didn’t hurt that much!”

“I just didn’t want to scare you,” he replied, holding back a laugh. “But you’re doing fine, I promise.”

You opened one eye and stared at him.

“Are you lying again?”

“Maybe a little.”

You tightened your grip on his hand, and Marc made an exaggerated grimace.

“Okay, okay! Feel free to squeeze. I’m strong, I can handle it.”

Despite the pain, you laughed. Having him there, holding your hand and distracting you, made everything seem a little easier.

After a few minutes—which felt like hours—Alex finished the tattoo. You let out a sigh of relief.

“There you go,” the tattoo artist said, cleaning the skin and placing the protective plastic on it.

You looked at the little lightning bolt on your arm and then at Marc's. They were perfect.

Marc came closer and kissed her forehead.

“Now, yes, officially marked by each other.”

You smiled, feeling your heart melt.

“It was worth the pain.”

He laced his fingers through hers and smiled.

“It was worth it because now you have something of mine on your skin.”

“And you have something of mine in yours.”

"Exactly."

And, as cliché as it sounded, at that moment you knew that nothing in the world could erase that.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @p4uul0vr @nngkay @meganesanchez @bymerinott @htpssgavi @luvvpedri

[princeash28]

Excerpt from my Gratsu Fanfic, in which Gray is depressy espressy and Natsu wants to help... in his own way 😅

The sounds of Gray’s window being broken into was surprisingly unalarming. Soon after, his bedroom door creaked open, and he knew without knowing who it was.

“Go ‘way,” Gray muttered into his pillow.

“So, you are alive,” Natsu chuckled, and opened the door fully, letting in light that made Gray groan. “Didn’t think Bickslow walloped ya that bad. Or ya just slackin’ off for no reason?”

Gray turned further away into the pillow stubbornly. “What part of ‘go away,’ did you think meant ‘come in?’”

Natsu went quiet and his footsteps retreated. Thank the gods. Gray didn’t want a conversation right now, much less with a pyro who snuck in whenever he saw fit.

“Got'ny grub?” Natsu called from the kitchen, and Gray grunted in annoyance.

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Not for you,” Gray said shortly. “When are you going to stop breaking in?”

Natsu didn’t answer. The sounds of Gray’s pantry being pilfered lit his stomach up in annoyance, but he didn’t have the energy to move. Didn’t have the energy to do anything since the Battle of Fairy Tail a few days ago.

A heaviness was pressing on him like a weighted blanket, pawing at him to just stay in bed, to just not think about—

Burning villages and dying masters and his best friend stopping him from sacrificing himself twice. Running away from the imploding Tower of Heaven while Erza and Natsu were still inside. Getting his ass handed to him by Bickslow and letting his family down when they needed him. Natsu knowing how weak he really was.

—that.

Natsu padded back into Gray’s room with something crinkling, and Gray finally lifted his head with a scolding already on his tongue for whatever he’d stolen—but it tripped over his slack jaw and wide eyes. Natsu’s bandages were mostly gone.

Gray had never seen Natsu with burns before.

‘From the lightning,’ Gray realized.

They flowered over his skin, almost like frost on a window blooming and leaving red, angry roots. They were almost pretty in their intricacy, winding up on both arms like vines, up the right side of his neck, wrapping around his ear and holding his bruised eye hostage—the one that had been bandaged the last time Gray had seen him. His right arm wasn’t in a cast anymore, replaced by a more flexible brace that he recognized from Porlyusica’s supplies.

But there were no more blue veins under his skin; no more alien flecks of sapphire in his green eyes. It seemed Laxus had shocked the last of the ethernano out of Natsu’s system.

Then Gray’s eyes landed on the source of the crinkling sound, and he blinked in confusion at a bag of jerky he didn’t even know he had had.

“…Where did you find that?”

“Under the couch.”

Gray deadpanned. “’Course ya did.”

He held out a stiff piece of jerky that smelled awful. “Want some?”

“What I want is some peace and quiet.”

Natsu clicked his tongue and popped a piece of jerky into his mouth. “Fresh outta that. Want anything else?”

Gray cocked an eyebrow. “…What?”

He rolled his eyes. “To eat,” Natsu elaborated around a mouthful of dried meat probably left from the previous tenants of Gray’s apartment. “Have ya had anything today?”

Gray stared, and the frozen flutters within him began to thaw.

‘He doesn’t mean anything by it,’ Gray told himself sourly. ‘Why would he?’

Gray’s warring emotions created a glare on his face. “Why do you suddenly care about my diet, fire breath?”

Natsu chewed with an unimpressed look. “Answer the question first.”

“…No, I haven’t.”

“That’s why,” Natsu said, and then went back to eating his jerky. “You got a lotta weird food in there. Bet I could make somethin’ with it.”

Gray was starting to feel like he was having an aneurysm, so he finally sat all the way up. He tried to ignore how dizzy it made him. “I—what? You want to cook…? You?”

Natsu glared in offense. “Why not?”

“Because the last time Lis—” He caught himself at the last moment. “The last time someone tried to teach you to cook, you almost burned the whole guild down.”

“That’s because you came in there and picked a fight with me!”

“I was trying to put out the fire you caused!”

“Yeah, right! You were just jealous of my skills!”

Gray scoffed. “Skills? You would burn water.”

“Oh, yeah?!” Natsu barked, and jabbed a finger in his face, “You just watch, Ice Prick! I’m gonna make the best damn slop, and you’re gonna eat it!”

He marched out of Gray’s room with the jerky. Then, he poked his head back in.

“And joke’s on you, dumbass, ‘cause you can’t set water on fire!”

“Let me guess, you’ve tr—”

“’Cause I’ve tried!”

Read the rest of "Don't You Dare (Make Me Fall in Love with You)" on AO3

[lokabrenna-writes]

Soukoku headcannons because they have taken over my life

(Remember how I said I don’t write romance? Guess there’s a first time of everything •v•)

Port Mafia

Dazai fell first and harder

They have matching rings they got from the arcade and wore them all the time until they eventually broke. The rings were bound to break eventually considering how many battles they had been through, but they didn’t break during a battle. The duo were arguing about who knows what for the millionth time and the rings just snapped. They looked down at the pieces of plastic that had hit the floor in silence for a few minutes. (“If Chuuya wanted a divorce he could’ve just said so.” “Shut up and go win us new ones.”)

They both have specific items they steal from each other whenever they’re going to be separated for some time (separate missions, hospital stays, etc.). Chuuya will steal Dazai’s black hoodie that has what looks like lightning strike decals on the sides of the sleeves. Dazai will steal Chuuya’s white blanket that has what is supposed to be a slug and a mackerel messily stitched in one of the corners from when Chuuya was first learning how to embroider. They always make sure to return it without the other noticing when they get back from wherever they were so the item will smell like the other when it’s time for the duo to be separated again. Of course, both know the other takes said items, but neither say anything.

They paint each other’s nails every now and then. Black is they’re default color but they’ve also tried various nude/pink shades, blues, reds, and some glitters.

They’ve both attempted eyeliner (liquid and pencil) and failed. Both ended up with the liner all over their eyelids, but that didn’t stop either of them from laughing at the other.

They were each other’s first kiss. It was 2 in the morning and they were watching a movie. Since they can never agree on what to watch, they have a bowl with random numbers in it and whichever number is pulled is what they type in on the tv. Tonight some romance movie had been selected. Neither were particularly interested but they watched anyways (mainly to see whose movie plot prediction was right). Chuuya was growing sleepy towards the end. Sleep never came easy to Dazai so he let his mind wonder why the kiss scene at the end was always made out to be this grand moment. He turned to Chuuya who had laid his head to rest on his shoulder. He tucked his finger under Chuuya’s chin to tilt his head up and connected their lips. It was quick, not nearly as drawn out as the one playing on the screen. Yes, they both liked dramatics but it’s important to not over do it. They both hummed as they broke apart. It was pleasant, but it was not firework worthy as the movies had made it seem. Chuuya rested his head again, this time in the crook of Dazai’s neck rather than the edge of his shoulder before saying “Next time put some chapstick on. Get the strawberry one.”

Dazai finds children to be annoying, but he doesn’t exactly like or dislike them. Chuuya adores children and finds them to be endearing. To Dazai, there is very little in this world that can make him laugh as children falling. He's not necessarily laughing because the child may or may not be hurt, but more so at the face they make when they're processing what happened and then start crying. Chuuya yells at him despite this explanation.

The first and last time they said "I love you" was the night Dazai left. Before placing the bomb under Chuuya's car, Dazai had used his spare key to enter Chuuya's apartment to take his car keys. An extra precaution to ensure Chuuya wasn't caught in the explosion. He was supposed to be in and out, but he couldn't resist checking on Chuuya one last time. He peeked into the bedroom to find Chuuya already fast asleep. He walked over and watched him for a bit, knowing it would be a long time before he would be able to do so again in peace. He reached in his pocket and applied the strawberry chapstick to his lips before leaning down to connect their lips. Chuuya stirred at the contact and even though he cracked his eyes open, it was clear his mind was still very much asleep. Dazai pulled back after a few seconds and placed the chapstick along with his spare apartment key on Chuuya's bedside table. He briefly debated on leave a note before deciding he had already been in the apartment for too long. The last thing he wanted was to make it seem like Chuuya knew of his departure beforehand. "I love you," Dazai said in a quiet voice. It took more in him to actually get the words out then he cares to admit. "I love you so much. Forgive me for what I'm about to do, especially to your car, but this is for the best." These words came out more broken then he intended, but he hopes he got his point across. "I love you too," Chuuya mumbled out, eyes shut and snuggling deeper into his pillow. Dazai would come to cherish the moment the second he stepped out of the apartment. Chuuya does not remember it, but believed those three words to have been merely apart of his dream.

[nothingunrealistic]

14. not enough, sheila and susannah

14. not enough

On nights like this, when thunder rumbles like a thousand Yamahas revving and shakes the windows in their frames, and lightning flashes bright enough you’d think it was broad daylight, and rain and wind pound the roof and walls searching for the thousand holes and cracks that’ll let them in to curl up by the radiator, Sheila lies awake and hears crying. The wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney — that was in a story someone read her once, or maybe it was a radio drama, and for some reason it’s stuck. Every storm brings a baby wailing for Mama, or a toddler with a skinned knee, or a child without a friend in the world.

Tonight, though, as Sheila listens, it sounds more and more like someone really is crying, and close by. It’s a rare sound — blubbering is one of the few things scorned equally by Nation’s warden and its inmates. Which means the only girl who’d dare to do it is one who doesn’t know the rules.

She turns onto her side, waiting until the next flash lights up Susannah’s bed. Empty.

Sheila kicks off her sheets and rolls out of bed. The floorboards squeal — they get louder every year, and there’s a few new bad spots just since she got out of bing — but the storm still drowns them out. Past the crammed-in beds, through the door with its shrieking hinges, three steps down the hall to the john, following the sound of sobbing.

There’s one dim light bulb left in the bathroom, the rest broken by lighters or lipsticks or shoes and never replaced. It’s just enough to see Susannah by. The bandage on her arm is the brightest thing in the room. Her head is bowed, and her hands squeeze the sides of the sink nearer the door, and if there were more light, her eyes would surely be red.

Sheila coughs. Susannah jumps about a foot. “Oh! Sheila!” She wipes her hands on her nightgown, all frantic. Not a bit elegant. “I-I-I was just… washing my face.”

Sheila’s learned a thing or two about Susannah since she got here, without being told. First thing: she lies a lot. Second thing: she’s bad at it. “Gotcha.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

It’s the bathroom, whaddya think? would be the easy answer. Wouldn’t be real, though, and Susannah might know it. “Couldn’t sleep. Never can when it storms like this.”

“Me neither,” Susannah says, too quickly. “That’s why I’m awake too.”

Another rumble rolls through the room, closer this time, and Sheila wonders if the roof’s finally going to fall in on them, until she sees Susannah putting a hand to her middle. Huh.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” Susannah whispers. Christ, she sounds about ready to cry again. “All the time.”

“We’re all hungry here. Except when Rat gets something good and shares. Doesn’t happen much.” They’ve gotten used to it over the years, as the food’s gotten worse and the portions have shrunk. But Susannah, for all her troubles, seems to have eaten well enough before Nation; after three days, she must be feeling the pinch. “Want a cig?”

Susannah looks at Sheila like she’s nuts. “I can’t eat a cigarette.”

“You can smoke it. Smoking stops you being hungry, that’s how it keeps you thin.”

“No thank you,” Susannah says, somehow making it sound like fuck you. She’s got potential.

“Suit yourself. I’m having one.” Sheila pulls her pack and lighter from her nightgown. Susannah gives her the kind of critical eye she’s seen on the faces of a hundred nuns.

“Do you sleep with those in your pocket? Isn’t that a fire hazard?”

“This whole building is a fire hazard.” Sheila lights up. “You know why we don’t have billiards anymore?”

“Because it’s not ladylike?”

“Good guess, but no.”

“Because… you were throwing the balls at each other and Miss Asp confiscated them?”

“No. One day I hit a break shot and half the balls exploded. Set the table on fire.” Sheila waits a beat, watching Susannah’s face as she tries to work out whether Sheila’s pulling her leg. “Then she confiscated the rest.”

Susannah giggles, then shuts herself up like she expects a ruler to the knuckles. Could be that’s what she got at that school she says she burned down. Or from her parents, who don’t much sound like they’re full of jokes, any more than that oh-so-wonderful boyfriend of hers. She’s got every bit of the picture perfect family Asp wants them all to have, and she talks like she’s trying to be Betty Anderson. What’s she really doing here with a bunch of delinquents, clinging to Sheila like her shadow when she’s the most delinquent of them all? (No matter what Judith says.) 

And how is it that Susannah sometimes looks at Sheila like she can see right through her, leather jacket and skin and bone all peeled back to show her beating heart? That keeps her up at night, worse than any thunderstorm.

(Put a number and two characters in my ask box and get a hurt/comfort drabble)

[waterfire1848]

could you do a blind azula with sokkla au

Hello, anon!!!

1. Azula is born blind. No one knows why but she is. Ursa tries to argue that Azula will be a strong child and capable of bending to her full capacity but Ozai doesn’t believe her. Azula is still a strong bender but Ozai thinks that her blindness will keep her from being a real firebender. Ursa, desperately trying to keep her baby alive, gives her away in the hopes that someone else can protect her. Azula is bounced around for a while until she ends up in the South Pole and found by Kya and Hakoda, who take the infant in and decide to raise her.

2. Azula never let her blindness stop her from playing, doing chores or fighting with Sokka. She and him would constantly run around the village, chasing each other with snowballs, and try to out do each other in different chores. Hakoda tries to go easy on the girl when it comes to fishing or carving, etc but Azula doesn’t like it and demands to be treated the same as Sokka and Katara. By the time she’s six, Hakoda gave up on trying to go easy on Azula and gives her the same tasks as the other kids. Kya, for her part, never treated the kids differently except to tell Azula that she wasn’t from the Water Tribe. Since she can’t see, Azula would have no way of knowing Kya isn’t her mother but Kya makes it clear to Azula very early on that she isn’t and her real mother is probably in the Earth Kingdom somewhere (this isn’t done in a malicious way more-so in a way so that Azula knows the truth). Azula also learns to see by “seeing” heat. She can basically see heat sources and therefore knows when people are around her.

3. When Kya is killed, Azula swears off firebending. Mother or not, Azula loved Kya and her death really hits her hard. No matter what Hakoda says, Azula refuses to bend. She keeps that promise for years afterwards even when they find Aang, Azula introduces herself as a nonbender. She even refuses to teach Aang any firebending for a while because she’s dedicated herself to not bending (Actually turns out to be a blessing because Ozai doesn’t identify her as Azula until after the North Pole siege). Speaking of, Azula sees Sokka in trouble during the siege and uses her bending to protect him. (Azula: Sokka?! Are you okay?! Sokka: I’m okay. I’m okay. You…you firebent. Azula: I guess I did. Sokka: To help me. Azula: Oh, no. Sokka: You like me! Azula: No! No, I don’t! Sokka: Azula likes me! Azula likes me! Azula: Hey! Is there any other soldier who wants to kill him for me?!!)

4. Ozai changes Zuko’s mission to instead capturing Azula and the Avatar and gives him Mai and Ty Lee as support. Azula is now using her bending so it’s a bit easier to track her (a blind firebender has got to attract some attention) but they can’t capture her. And, since Azula left the palace when she was a baby, she has no idea who Mai and Ty Lee are and she and Zuko don’t know they’re related. (Of course Ozai twists the story when he tells Zuko and says Azula was stolen from them by the Water Tribe which is why he needs to get her back). Throughout this, the Gaang really doesn’t know any of that and instead are focused on finding Aang an earthbending teacher: enter Toph. Toph and Azula would make every blind joke known to man and are constantly helping each other out with little tricks. (Sokka: Spirits, there’s two of them). Just a Toph & Azula friendship. (Toph: So, anything you want to tell me. Azula: About what? Toph: About you and Snoozles? Azula: What-are you-no. No, there’s nothing to say. Toph: Really? Because if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a massive crush on him. Azula: I do not! Toph: And you’re heartbeat increasing when you hear him voice, constantly going to his side, sitting right next to him at dinner and holding onto him when you can’t see is all…Azula: Shut up)

5. In BSS, Azula joins Zuko’s side (let me explain) and returns to the Fire Nation with him. She never mastered lightning but the Dai Li does being down a cave on Aang and Katara, believing them dead. The siblings, Mai and Ty Lee return to the Fire Nation and declare the Avatar and his friend dead. Unknown to them, but known to Azula, Toph was right behind them and kept them from being crushed. The Gaang now is able to travel with everyone thinking they’re dead and having Azula as a secret double agent (something Sokka isn’t too fond of but it was his and Azula’s idea). They’re reunited during the DOBS, a time when Zuko tries to tell Azula what Ozai told him and Hakoda, who is there, tells Zuko that some fishermen found Azula and dropped her off in the South Pole—they didn’t steal her—and he pokes a few holes in Ozai’s lie, but Zuko doesn’t want to doubt his father (since he spent most of his time under Ozai’s thumb and all). The invasion force is still captured, while the Gaang escape to the Western Air Temple, with Hakoda eventually being sent to the Boiling Rock. However, this time, he comes across a woman with a very familiar face who introduces herself as Ursa.

[propenseverbosity]

No Good Choices (WIP) - Rook/Lucanis

I posted a bit of this earlier in a reblog, but I actually have a lot more of it written. Will it eventually be a long-fic? Idk. But I'm still gonna write it!

Btw this is My Rook.

(Spoilers for The Decision in act 1)

Lucanis practically sprinted back to Treviso the moment Harding told him about the dragon. Of course he’d pleaded for Rook’s help, but he never actually expected her to show up. Minrathous was her home. The Shadow Dragons were her family, much like the Crows were his. He expected to face the dragon with the remaining assassins and either defeat it, or die trying.

So, when Rook brought Davrin and his pet griffon, armed to the teeth to help lead the charge, he couldn’t help feeling shocked. Happy, and eternally grateful she’d listened to his reasoning, but still shocked to his core when he realized they might actually have a chance.

After they drove off the ice-breathing monstrosity, Rook barely stopped to take stock of the battle before rushing back to the eluvian, determined to help Minrathous as well.

Lucanis only stayed to make sure the Crows had everything under control, before he took off to follow her. Contract or not, the least he could do was help her protect her home.

After what she’d done for him– for Treviso– he was fairly certain he would follow Rook directly into the Black City if she asked.

…

The second dragon attack left blight tendrils pierced through entire buildings. Countless innocent bystanders lied sick, or dying, in the streets. Even the Viper himself had been Blighted– an unfortunate consequence of taking on one of Ghilan'nain's monsters.

It wasn't lost on Lucanis that Treviso would have suffered the same fate if Rook hadn’t shown up to help. As he wandered through the streets in search of her, he silently vowed to do anything he could to pay her back.

Lucanis eventually found her with Neve and the other Shadows. Or at least, whoever was left of them.

“This is your city too,” Neve snarled. “I thought you… never mind.” she added, with a defeated sigh.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could be faster.” Rook answered. “I always planned to help Minrathous, but I couldn’t be in two places at once. If Treviso had-”

“Treviso?” Neve interrupted. “Don’t you mean Lucanis?”

Lucanis stopped in his tracks before either of them could notice.

“What?” Rook asked, verbalizing his own thoughts. “What are you talking about?”

“Rook, I’m not blind. Can you honestly say he wasn’t a part of your decision?”

“Hey, I made the call because someone had to.” Rook argued. “Don’t make it sound like this was easy.”

Neve wasn't convinced. “You knew the Venatori would take advantage of an opportunity like this. You made the Crow a priority because you’re sweet on him, and look what happened.” she added, gesturing to the devastation surrounding them.

Stunned by the mere suggestion, Lucanis waited for Rook to correct her. It couldn’t be true. Why would Rook sacrifice a chance to help her own city, just for him?

“Neve… I-” Rook began, but when she opened her mouth to respond, nothing came out. Her hesitation was enough to cement any of Neve’s doubts.

“I’m going to be here a while.” She turned away, preparing to aid some of the other injured Shadows. “You should go.”

The pain in Rook's expression as Neve walked away was enough to shatter his heart. Neither of them deserved this.

Before Lucanis could make his way towards Rook, Tarquin wasted no time in taking Neve’s place.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble since you came back.” He spat. “Half of us are dead, and the Venatori are coming for the rest.”

Lucanis had seen Rook slice through three Venatori with a single lightning bolt, stare down a blighted dragon, and taunt a risen elven god without even breaking a sweat. But under the scrutiny of a single Templar, all she could do was stare at the ground.

He witnessed the slow shift in her expression as shame and guilt gave way to rage.

“If it were up to the Shadows, I never would have come back at all! You were the ones who sent me into hiding, remember?”

“Because you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Tarquin stepped closer, looking poised to strike at any moment.

“If I'm so much trouble, then why did you need me here so badly?”

“You know damn well we needed the help. I thought you were trying to make up for Nessus, not make everything worse. So much for putting the cause first.”

Lucanis felt the demon itching to weigh in. Spite fought for control to step between her and Tarquin.

‘He. Will not. Hurt Rook.’

On this, they were in agreement.

Rook did a double-take when she noticed Lucanis appear at her side, staring daggers into the Templar. Her surprise quickly morphed back into the stern expression she wore when giving orders to the team.

Tarquin simply rolled his eyes at his intrusion, no longer interested in anything Rook had to say.

“Rook?” Lucanis asked, looking for her advice on how to proceed.

“Go find the others.” She said, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I’ll meet you back at the Lighthouse.”

[oogaboogasphincter]

Ezra's Elixir (dark!Ezra x f!reader) Snake Oil - Chapter 1

middle gif credit: @gracevanpelt collage by me!

summary: While trying to deal with the turmoil of your best-friend-turned-lover's disappearance, you come across an oddly welcoming stranger who might hold a solution to ease your pain.

warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY - reader is bisexual, was in a relationship with a f!oc, and is described as having a "womanly" shape; period typical medical misinformation, misogyny and gender role stereotypes; manipulation; themes of shame, grief and isolation; religious/christianity references and trauma; discussion about sexuality, queer repression and homophobia; stigma around doctors, mental illness and health; non con; drugging/drug use; unprotected piv sex; creampie | 5.9k words

a/n: oh my goodness i'm so excited to share this with you all! **i would like to reiterate that since this is a dark! series, i ask that you please do not read this series if the content bothers you. if you’re a regular reader of my work, please don’t feel pressured to read this if it’s not your cup of tea!! in the same vein, i ask that everyone adhere to fandom etiquette and not direct hate towards myself nor anyone who reads this material. additionally, just because i write about something DOES NOT mean i condone it. fictitious material is a creative outlet for exploring dark themes in a safe manner. lots of people heal from real life traumas through dark fiction by being able to rewrite their memories or feel a gain in sense of control over their memories. you are responsible for your own media consumption.** if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know in the comments! other than that, i hope you all enjoy!

You wrap yourself in a dark cloak and sweep through the night to downtown, coming to a shadowed corner and hiding in its obscurity as crowds of men file in before showtime. With your eye on the glowing clock across the street, you count through the first and second acts and watch as the moths try to dodge the raindrops to get to their sacred light. There’s one thing you’d fight to taste again…

When the time is right, you approach the ticket booth with your hood drawn and keep the waist of your coat loose so as to not silhouette and betray your womanly shape to onlookers. You put down the money and the clerk furrows his brow at the hand half as wide as the ones that usually come through here. Your heart beats so loud it nearly muddles the crashing thunder in the background. In a flash of lightning, he catches a glint of your smudged eyeliner. His pupils narrow, but not from the light. Without missing a beat, you take out twice the amount of admission and set it on the counter, trying to hide the fact that you’re finding it hard to breathe around your throat that has swelled to a pinhole. By some evil, the clerk pushes your money back to you… but by some grace, he holds your gaze and tilts his head back in the direction of the entrance doors. You depart with a mutual nod, a silent oath to your secrecy in this exchange, before you find your way inside. 

It had been two months since Sadie disappeared. Two long, ever-grieving months of trying to find your best friend turned lover. You had been the one to report her missing after she didn’t come home for two days, the one to inform her parents soon after, and the one to spearhead the search efforts — all to no avail, not even an anecdotal trace. 

Being in love with another woman was no easy thing in your environment of 1895 New Orleans, Louisiana. You and Sadie had bided your time chatting up men in the parlors downtown if only to deter anyone from getting too suspicious that neither of you had taken a husband yet. The lies were just too easy: the spark was lost on William, George wasn’t as cute as you remembered, and Henry was no Mr. Right. It was even easier to go home with Sadie and just be with her unconditional companionship, her perpetual love, her tender kisses. 

In your state of distress, you succumbed to the distraction of your more base desires and sought out the lurid company of a burlesque show. You keep to the back of the huddled crowd of men who are practically falling out of their seats with eagerness. Their hushed whispers of excitement waft in the air like their tobacco smoke, murmured sexist comments woven between the fleeting flicks of their lighters. When the lights brighten, their chitters crescend to whoops and hollers in time with your nerves as the dancer sashays onto the stage. 

Big band jazz blasts from somewhere unseen as she begins her striptease and you look on hungrily while taking on the unfelt guilt of every man in the room. A warm pit forms in your stomach as the silk slips off her body like water and puddles onto the floor. Her endless skin inflicts a hankering on your tongue for that of Sadie, for her glossed lips and the familiar, warm underside of her jaw…

Your pulse thrums so strong throughout your body that it carries your feet down the stained velveteen halls to the exit. Your greed kept you for too long and what was meant to be a quiet escape before the show officially ended has been replaced with the ambling footsteps of men that gain on you like a stampede. You keep your head low and your strides swift but bulky like any other patron here tonight, like a man rushing home to his wife who was expecting him three hours ago. 

A double take from two men as you shoulder by them makes your heart stutter so abruptly you choke on it and have to cover it with a cough. In your debacle, you nearly run into a streetlight advertising yet another reason why you shouldn’t be here, especially not this late at night: the Cajun Kidnapper, a man who has been surveying the downtown streets like a hawk awaiting pretty, young women like you to give him one second too many of courtesy before they disappear without a trace. No identifying details about his appearance or methods has been published, and yet his elusiveness makes him seem both a faraway threat and a waiting shadow at the same time. 

You pick up your pace as the rain pours down in buckets, thunder reverberating so loud it shakes the loose pieces of tar from the street’s edge. You stick to the sides and out of the way of racing horse buggies that splash through puddles and onto your clothes. You don’t have time to stop and pester, and can’t afford to be caught as a lone woman by anyone this time of night. 

To distract yourself, you think about the burlesque. The woman’s soft curves, her potent sexuality… 

Two women yank you from your reverie. They stand on the steps of a house just a few yards from you, holding their shawls tight around their faces as they look into the night. One of them notices you as you come closer, the street lamp shining just enough to illuminate the damning features of your face. 

“Madam! Please, get out of this rain and get home! It’s not safe for a woman!” she begs.

Another distraction comes; a whinny from a police horse that has been reigned to a stop in the street. 

“You there!” an officer shouts. “Where’s your husband?”

A third bystander gets involved, this time on the opposite side of the street. The back doors of a small carriage clap open and a man jumps down from the inside. His boots splash in the thick mud that has accumulated in the slope of the road, acting as wheel chocks to his parked vessel. His broad silhouette whips around, clearly looking for something in the dark. He stops when he pivots toward your direction and he beckons you over with his hand held high in the rain. 

“Right here, sir!” he yells through the thunder. 

The torrential downpour isn’t showing any signs of laying off and it’s waterlogging your clothes. The possibility of you trudging home before your dress becomes immovable is slim. Though you don’t know this man, he must respect a woman’s right to her livelihood since he’s covering for you without even knowing your name. You eye the cab of the carriage and it looks big enough for two people like he’s suggesting… and, if necessary, the blade of your knife tucked away in your boot reminds you of its presence as it presses coldly against your shin. If necessary, you think, you’ll be okay. Besides, would the Cajun Kidnapper be this obvious in trapping his prey?

Perhaps. 

You run over to the back of the carriage.

–

The stranger clambers into the back of his carriage first and hoists you up by your hands, gripping you tightly so your rain-soaked skins don’t slip from each other. The wind is spared from blame for the detestable weather outside, the culprit being the thunder and rain, so the stranger leaves the back doors of his carriage open for now — and for good reason.

An oil lamp illuminates that what appeared on the outside to be a spacious cab has severely narrowed due to the shelves of goods that line the interior. Your unnamed comrade sits with his back pressed to the driver’s box and his knees tucked up into his chest, reminding you of a young child. Yet, his words are almost chiding as he gruffs in an amalgamated accent, “For what irrelevant reason is a marvelous specimen such as yourself roaming forbiddenly about the streets of the South on this night?” 

You sit across from him, folding your legs underneath yourself and your hands in your lap. “I was visiting a friend,” you lie seamlessly, “We had an argument and I wanted to go back home.”

The stranger pauses his reply, drinking in your stoic expression with an analytic gleam. He says quieter, “Pardon my unsavory ideals, but a friend who lets a pretty lady like you go wandering off on her own just because of some argument is no friend.”

You shrug. A faint smile graces your lips at his sympathetic honesty. “People vary.”

“Indeed they do,” he mutters to himself, almost matter-of-factly. He leans forward and sticks his hand out to you, “I’m Ezra.”

You accept his introduction and shake on it, exchanging raindrops from your palm to his. Thin lines scar his skin from in between his knuckles to the center, almost like a firework… there’s a matching crescent on his cheek, too. 

“And whose unparalleled beauty do I have the immense pleasure of sheltering from the rain?” he keeps hold of your hand and raises his brow to tease you with the truth that you share no matrimony. Your gaze drops out of shyness, but the corners of your mouth turn up in amused betrayal. 

You tell him your name and he sits back with a satisfied exhale. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he nearly purrs, his voice becoming a little breathy as if he suddenly got tired. When you gather the courage to look at him again, you catch his eyes climbing slowly from your thighs to your face. There’s a comforting warmth that strikes through the darkness of his gaze, appraising and welcoming. If you weren’t imagining things, he appeared fond to have such a perfect stranger in these close confines. You think that you share the same fondness with the fact that you may as well have been hauled off to a holding cell by now for walking the streets unaccompanied. He saved you, and despite anything else he might do, you thank him for that. 

He’s dropped his legs from his chest, stretching them out to fill the length of the cab. His boots nearly touch your thigh and though he respects your space, he shows no intention of giving you any more. His hand rests on his thigh, dangerously close to what you hope is just a fold of the thick fabric of his pants… or do you?

Ezra’s handsomeness is hefty, you know this even without the filter of desperation shrouding your carnal restraint. His features are so masculine, so rugged yet somehow they’re pieced together in such a manner that he remains intriguing, not severe. Not like a symphony, but more like a ransom note in its plain mystery.

Thunder breaks you from your daze and lightning calls your attention as it snaps a tree in half outside. Before you know it, Ezra is reaching past you to pull the doors closed with his other hand steady on your shoulder. He complains with amicable distaste, “Damn torrents. I swear, Louisiana doesn’t give one poor soul much of a warning ‘fore she washes them through.” He retakes his seat and his ankle grazes your knee. 

You give him a soft smile to match the mulled noise from outside. “Thank you. For—”

He stops you short with a breathy, self-assured chuckle and a crooked smirk on his cheeks. “You’re mighty welcome.”

You tighten your smile before you drop your gaze. Eye contact seems far more intimate now without it viewable to the outside world. With the doors shut, your attention is pulled to study your new surroundings. 

Rows of shelves comprise the interior walls of the carriage, each one stockpiled with small glass vials with cork stoppers. You lean forward slightly and wipe through the raindrops on your lashes to get a better look at their scrawn labels. A bottle of purple sprigs reads “lavender”; another with dashes of green reads “thyme”… but the oddities grow as you peruse down the line. One vial of red liquid reads “Vampyr’s Solution,” another of yellow reads, “In Place of the Sun.” 

“What’s all this?” you inquire.

Ezra gives a sly grin as he explains, “I’m a medicine man. I travel the outskirts of the world, the parts where those privileged, techno-wizardry doctors,” he waggles his fingers mockingly, “of our modern times don’t dare to hang up their bleached coats. I provide antidotes to the pained, ailments to the healthy, and refuge to the weary.”

Sitting forward, he focuses his stare on you, waiting for you to connect your gaze with his before he speaks, “Now, if I knew any better I’d keep my mouth shut… but I think somethin’s plaguing that mind of yours, sweetheart.” 

Your nerves freeze the words in the air. Your reply starts to come out before you’ve approved it, fiending for release. “Yes, I… I’ve been feeling…”

You debate sharing your story with Ezra. He may have helped you evade the discriminatory eyes of the law, but where does it terminate? Coming across someone welcoming of “deviantes” was more rare than a feminist which, in these times, was scarce on its own. But, you don’t have to give him context. He only inquired, you just have to complete your sentence and nothing else. Plenty of circumstances are treated without probable cause. 

You wrack your brain for the right word to describe the hollow sensation you’ve been feeling. It didn’t hit right as Sadie disappeared, probably because you had faith in her to find her way back. She was — is, dear god. She is resourceful, determined, and utterly in love with you as much as you are with her. But maybe the stigma of your relationship that you’re trying to conceal now was just too much for her to bear… you would never blame her. “Disparate.”

Ezra gleans, sitting up on his thighs like you, “Well, by the looks of it the Maker has divinely orchestrated our meeting.” He closes the small gap between you two and takes your hand in his, covering it with his other. “Tell me your symptom picture. What have you been feeling lately, my child?” His tone is like that of a priest, who happens to be the last person that held your hand like this. The last time you stepped foot in a church was long before your parents thought you had stopped attending. You couldn’t find refuge in religion, not then and not now even with its doctrines overhanging your conscience. Maybe Ezra holds your salvation, or at least a temporary one. There’s no harm in trying, you think. 

You swallow thickly, your dry tongue cloying to the walls of your mouth. “I-I’m not sure how to describe it…”

Ezra’s hand gravitates toward the shelf behind him while his eyes remain on you, so well-versed in his inventory that he doesn’t have to see it to know its location. His fingertips rest on the cork of a bottle of chartreuse liquid. “Have you had any sort of cough?” When you shake your head, his fingers hover over another; this time, a lilac concoction that has been steeped with pink wilted petals and cinnamon sticks. 

“Your menses are regular? Not too painful or copious?” You silently indicate no, and he moves on again. 

“Any stomach aches?” A negative from you and his hand leaves a bottle of what looks like dandelion flowers. He sits back on his haunches with a deliberative exhale, “So it’s mostly mental.” 

Your posture stiffens with fear. Since your body is in working order, you find no reason that your mind wouldn’t also be in shape. Sure, you’re well aware of your inner turmoil, but the way society at large mentions it is as if you have an illness, some bothersome obstacle plaguing you like a virus that is incurable in its invisibility. Thoughts are just that, no?

Ezra must sense your nerves because he soothes his hand down your temple to your jaw. He gently hooks his finger underneath your chin to redirect your gaze into his own. His voice quietens to that velvety, comforting chord again, “Don’t fret, my dearest beauty. Mental distress is highly treatable.”

“It is?” you ask, hope crackling through your disbelief.

Ezra’s gaze earns a curiously dark gleam as he says, “Oh yes, the mind is very… malleable.” He asserts, “Under my supervision, I haven’t had one patient whose torment continued after I administered their treatment. We simply learn how best it is for them to… manage their woes.”

You nod, opening up to this prognosis, and gaze at the wall of medicine. If Ezra has all of these solutions, he’s bound to have one for your predicament. He recalls your attention as he asks, “Tell me, do you experience nervousness?” You nod.

“Are you fraught by it?” You think for a moment, then shake your head.

“Depression?”

From what you’ve heard, depression does sound like a fitting label for what you’ve been suffering lately. Feelings of emptiness, hopelessness… bouts of torrential tears equally twined with episodes of numbness that last for days… 

“Moments of it, yes…”

“But not fraught?”

Pondering, you face the blackened mirror in your mind. Sadie…

“...Yes. Yes, fraught.”

“Have you suffered the ramifications of…” Ezra’s brow quirks and his eyes lift up, as if he’s trying to search for the right word in the wood grain of the ceiling. The corner of his mouth raises just slightly in a peculiar grin as he utters, “female hysteria?”

You were familiar with the term, but only as a dark inkling on the edges of your mind. The sound of it made you tense up again as horror stories flooded your conscience of women who were sent away to mental asylums, forever shackled to routine doctor visits; or even more fearsome, their condition worsened and registered them in the eyes of the public as something worse than a deviante, a satanic pariah that was studied by religious officials like a zoo animal in the hopes of finding a method for salvation. 

Your mind conjures up the running tally of moments you sought company with your own hands for lack of physical intimacy with Sadie both before and after her disappearance. Touching yourself, your love for Sadie, the burlesque visits… sin after sin after sin. Guilt floods your veins like molten iron and poisons your windpipe as you can hardly squeak out a shameful, “Yes.”

Ezra puts his hands together quietly in prayer. “I shall keep your symptom picture confidential, my darling, and I shall craft you an elixir.” He takes a deep, steadying breath with his eyes closed, meditating… before he opens them and starts taking bottles off the shelves with a fluidity that he must have visualized. He clutches the ensemble to his chest and opens a loose floorboard with his free hand, fishing out two glasses. 

With rampant curiosity, you crawl over to him to take a seat by his side. He looks on your position disapprovingly before he grunts, “Come, watch me concoct your personalized antidote.” He parts his legs on the floor, making room for you to sit between them. You eye the space with hesitancy, but his smile welcomes you in. You crawl over his leg and sit between his thighs. 

Ezra looms over your back, his arms reaching around you and his chin hovering above your shoulder, as he ladles warm whispers into your ear.

“With a dash of this,” he tilts a green liquid into the glass, “and a sprig of that,” he takes out a pod of purple flower and crumples it in his palm before he forms his hand into a siphon and lets the pieces drain into the glass.

“And a few drops of this,” he takes out a bottle dropper and adds ten drops of a clear liquid, “...with a few extra for your added hysteria.”: three additional drops. He picks up the glass by its base and swirls the ingredients inside until they combine to form a dark purple slurry. “This elixir promises to relax you, satiate your desires, and, in the morning, you will forget that you ever felt so poorly. No hangover. No more pain, no more suffering.”

“There has to be a catch.” You implore, eyeing the concoction with hopeful caution. 

Ezra huffs out a soft laugh and purrs, “Smart girl.” He reaches behind him and reveals a bottle of whiskey. “The taste,” he says with a grimace, scrunching his nose with unfeeling eyes, “is near unbearable.” Ezra uncaps the bottle and pours one part whiskey for one part concoction into the glass. He puts the whiskey down and swirls the drink again, mixing the two. “The elixir acts on its best behavior when mixed with liquor. It makes it easier to drink, too.” Ezra offers you the glass and you take it, too enthralled in the swirling shimmers inside to notice his hands settling light as feathers on your waist. 

You glance over your shoulder at him and ask with quiet caution, “I drink all of it?”

He nods. In this close proximity, you try not to focus too much on the way his soft lips dance alongside his bristly mustache as he speaks. He tries to not let you know he’s taken notice of your staring.

“Yes. If you drink too little, your body will grow a tolerance and it won’t fight off your ailment properly. Tuberculosis isn’t cured by a minute’s worth of fresh air.”

His logic impresses upon you. You glance at the shelves again, thinking about how he knew the exact ingredients to procure after listening to your symptoms like it was fluent to him. You agree with him, too, that modern doctors tend to fall to the wayside when it comes to the populations that can’t provide with coin, or the legitimate ailments that are left unseen by the naked eye. You know if you sought professional help, they would immediately turn you away; god forbid you tell them the honest reasons behind your distress and they would report you to the authorities before taking their pick of shipping you off to a sanitarium or a prison. A life for queer, mentally distressed women in the South is a life in solitary apprehension. Though Ezra doesn’t know the full extent of your story, he has taken on your case with exceptional acceptance. 

You swallow your pride and worry with a sharp breath as you lift the glass to your lips, tilting your head back. The immediate reaction is that Ezra was right: the taste is remarkably foul. An unexpected salt creeps up your nose and sparks like bang snaps. You splutter but he rests his hands on your shaking shoulders, murmuring soft encouragement, “Good girl. Don’t let one drop go to waste.” 

You chug the four swallows it takes to empty the glass and set it down before launching into a coughing fit. Ezra rubs up and down your arm and turns you into his chest, soothing, “Good girl, good girl… that’s it, just breathe, honey.” He presses a kiss to your temple, resting his lips against your hair and… his inhale is soft but it lasts, almost like he’s trying to flood his brain with your scent. 

Your senses are already muddled by the adrenaline rush of the whole ordeal. The anticipation inside you builds as you know that there’s no turning back now: it’s only a matter of time before the elixir seeps into your bloodstream and starts to affect you. 

Ezra lays you down on the blanket behind the driver’s box he was sitting on earlier, presumably his makeshift bed for long hauls across the country. He winds a shirt around his fist into a bunch to act as a pillow that he puts underneath your head. You have started to feel something because you don’t know how it got there — you don’t remember him lifting your neck, asking you to turn over, or anything, it’s just here now…

His voice is a clear contrast to your vision that sees the wood grain of the ceiling errantly swimming like fish, “You shall rest right here, under my care, through the night. I’ll watch over you and treat any abnormalities that may arise, though highly unlikely.” 

He pets your hair and your head lolls towards his hand, hungry for touch and unyielding to any opposing thought. 

Your lips part around your heavy tongue that has begun to feel dry and thick, and your eyes glaze over as you focus in the distance on nothing in particular. 

“Think soft thoughts. The elixir can penetrate more easily when your mind is soft and pliant.” Ezra.

In your mind you nod, but your body doesn’t express it as it solidifies into the bed. The last thing you settle on is Ezra’s thick, scarred fingers before your eyes shutter closed and you succumb to the effects.

You don’t realize until you come to that you had drifted off into blackness for some time, you aren’t sure how long — it could’ve been hours, minutes, or seconds. Your eyes feel like they can barely open but when they do, they’re dizzy and blurred around the edges. You’re in the carriage still, but the size of things and your depth perception are all wrong and distorted to unreal proportions — you must be dreaming.

You roll your head about face and Ezra is above. He’s straddling you, but below his hips blurs to an infinity you can’t decipher. What you can see and feel like weights are his hands around your waist, gripping your flesh squarely. The slope of your body fits so perfectly in the curve of his palms, like a lock and key…

Somewhere, Ezra’s disembodied voice speaks, “Are you starting to feel the effects?” Above you, in your dream, his lips remain sealed.

“Uh-huh,” you hum, suddenly self-conscious of what your body might be doing outside of your delusion. Your ability to use your voice is a surprise and you flinch back from the sound like a frightened animal. An invisible weight, presumably Ezra’s hands, settles on yours and brings them down to your chest again. 

Ezra quietens you, “Shh, think soft thoughts. Soft thoughts.”

You nod but again, you don’t think your body received the signal from your brain to do so. 

Ezra has started to lift up your skirts, reflecting them away from your legs that part of their own accord. Your thighs fall back helpless and… wanting. 

You knew you liked both sexes in the same manner. Despite this, men always drew a specific curiosity from you. You fawned over the handsome ones in the streets, joining in on the teasing that your friends would throw back and forth about swooning crushes. But you found yourself possessing a sort of… fear of them, in a way. The men around you always seemed so tall and imposing, like you could never possibly reach their heads to hear the exact words that would come out of their mouths. Their thoughts seemed to be in an unbreachable part of the atmosphere, high above your own, and too many experiences had instilled an aversion in you that your naivety wouldn’t protect you from them abusing it. When you got to talking with one, all of them to some degree — some more than others — looked down upon you as if you were some equally unintelligible, less-than creature. Their faux awe at your femininity would quickly fade to robust aggression once they had the slightest notion that they could claim you, own you…

But Ezra is bathed in plum-hued sparkles that do more than lure; they accept and nurture. His covetousness is bound by intimacy to please you. 

You whimper in need and he looks up, his eyes dark and taken aback by your pathetic sound. He grabs the back of your neck and leans down to kiss you deeply, robbing you of air. Surprisingly, you are able to lift your arms, though they feel like they’re traveling through water, to drape around his back. You pull him closer, tongues licking into the other’s mouth, and get drunk on the hypoxia. 

Ezra unhooks the eye closures of your corset blouse. Shock riddles his expression when he sees that you have nothing underneath; you couldn’t afford the finer undergarments that the upper class women would wear to accentuate their figures. Ezra growls lowly, but the sound only draws you nearer instead of repelling you away. It’s almost like the elixir has taken your fight or flight response and flipped it on its head. 

This time, his lips match the sound that travels to your ears on a lithe crack of thunder. He utters five syllables that you can’t quite make out under his breath, you just know that he sounds hungry. 

With a reluctant expression, he sits back on his haunches, rips off his overcoat and flings his worn suspenders from his broad shoulders before he pushes his trousers down with haste. The fastened waist cuts into his thick thighs, but his strong forearms tear the obstacle away swiftly to push his underwear down too. There, settled between sturdy hips and beneath a dark thatch of hair, stands his cock. He grips it with a hold that only angers the reddened head and makes it drip something silky and clear from the tip onto your navel. Ecstasy ripples from the spot it lands, spreading all the way to your brain and slithering sensually between the folds rendered malleable from his medicine. 

Ezra goes at your underwear, nearly ripping the fabric in his attempt to get you bare. He pulls your panties all the way down your legs, lifting your feet up one by one to strategically extract them around your shoes, and tosses them carelessly behind himself. He settles one of his meaty hands beside your waist, his wrist brushing against your skin and it makes you moan breathily. 

Ezra nudges your engorged clit with the tip of his cock, drenched with his self-lubrication. You want to hiss at the sensation, but your body remains still and willing as it seethes in hot nerves. He directs a line of spit onto your puffy folds and spreads it around with his hardness. 

He notches himself at your entrance and pushes inside your cunt, slow but determined. Your moan builds as he slides inside and it breaks off in a gasp when he’s fully sheathed. His eyes flutter closed as a shiver runs up the length of his neck and makes him tremble above you, nearly shivering with carnality. Your core quivers at the intrusion; it feels like he’s tickling the bottom of your lungs. 

“Good girl,” sounds somewhere, elsewhere. 

Ezra rocks his hips just once and it’s so much. Your eyes water from the overwhelming stretch, though it isn’t painful, just so different. He retains patience, giving your tight cunt time to adjust on each in and out. When the crease between your brows starts to relax, his thrusts get harder. His groans are divine to your ears, the perfect mix of blissfully satiated and ravenous for more as he continues to fuck you. 

He grips your waist and pulls your compliant body into every surge of his hips, his cock reaching further inside you each time. Sweat starts to accrue on his brow and tears start to roll quietly down your cheeks as your pleasure builds. You don’t know if it’s the catharsis from heartbreak, finally getting some respite from your repressed desire, or the strange longing for Ezra himself, but the tears fall and fall. He wraps one of his hands around the side of your face, his thumb on your cheek, as he holds you steady. 

“Let it cure you,” drifts past his lips.

Your breaths come short and sparse as the elixir’s euphoria settles heavy and festers in your veins. Your nipples peak against the cold, damp air so hard that they ache. Ezra’s hand moves from the side of your face to settle around your neck, his thumb and forefinger creating a column for your moans to escape from as tight as your pussy. 

Without warning, your orgasm steps forward from a dense mist in your mind. Your jaw drops and saliva spills out of the corner of your mouth as you try not to swallow your tongue. Moans gurgle out of you like vomit, relentless and vile. The fluttering endorphins that whirl inside you play with your eyes like puppets on strings. 

Ezra groans deeply and a warmth spurts inside you. He pulls his cock from your plush walls and you whimper instantly at the loss, reaching to put him back, but he evaporates into the darkness that swallows him from behind, leaving you alone. The sticky warmth seeps onto your inner thigh before you meet the blackness again, slowly spinning like vertigo until there’s nothing…

Ezra’s voice sounds assured but weary, “You did amazingly well. Now your mind needs to rest to reform without your depressive quarries. Sleep.”

–

In the morning, you wake from light streaming in between gaps of the wooden boards that make up the carriage walls. You’re settled on the blanket, yet Ezra is nowhere to be seen. You sit up too fast and everything spins with the force of a wheel. But, in your effort to try and locate him, you notice that one of the carriage doors is slightly ajar. 

Outside is damp, everything powdered over with pale blue fog. The puddles on the street remain unflinching in the stillness of your surroundings; no carriages, no people, nothing.

The first thing that lets you know you’re not completely alone in the world is a bird chirping as it soars in the sky overhead. You step out onto the ground to follow its path through the clouds and see that… the carriage is parked outside your house. You don’t remember making it anywhere close to home on your walk of shame after the burlesque last night…

To thank Ezra, you walk up to the driver’s box but he’s not there either. The carriage is completely devoid of his presence, save for the medicine in the back arranged like the night before and his coat neatly folded on the leather driver’s seat. You dig in your pockets for some money and, not sure how much the elixir and the ride home will cost you, you leave more than you think is necessary — after all, he gave you shelter from the rain and the thunderstorm of your mind. 

When you get inside your home, Sadie’s absence seems more poignant than usual. Though you slept the night before, your exhaustion tells differently. To bypass the impending pain of remembering her loss, you head upstairs to the bathroom to freshen yourself up before you go to sleep. 

Stripping from your dress is unusually quick, almost as if some of the fastenings weren’t done up. You had specifically tightened them to remain slender under your overcoat, hiding your form from any onlookers as you left the burlesque, but the cold sweat dappled on your chest hints that you might have unbuttoned it yourself subconsciously while you were under the influence. Ezra had said there could be some side effects, and you were so out of it that there’s no way you would remember anything you did besides… how glorious you felt. Finally at peace for the first time in weeks.

You wash up quickly and lay down in bed, attempting to regain with only the power of your mind a sense of the elixir’s potent high to lull you to sleep. Ezra had given you an experience that the more you reminisce, the more you think you’ll seek out his services again. If only it weren’t for the nagging feeling that you were doing something you weren’t supposed to… but maybe a little measured rebellion is just what you need to break free.

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[flambo19]

Finally drew new refs my original ocs. My four little guys who live in my head. An autism creature, "someone has to be the tank in this party", catboy werewolf, and Fantasy Catholic Guilt™.

Bios below the cut (kinda long) ⤵

General gist of the setting is Hazecity a city that is slowly being overtaken from the bottom-up by a shadowy substance that destroys and corrupts, creating monsters that people call demons. Soldiers known as angels fight back but inevitably as the city builds up the lower levels are left more and more to their own devices. And also a shady government controlled by a god-like being with Issues.

It's somewhere between fanatsy and cyberpunk and is always flip flopping around where it lies on that spectrum. I have a vague story in my head but it needs a fair bit of work. Meet me in a year where this has all been redesigned (again)

Argo

Argo is an amnesiac found by Kat one day by complete chance. Despite their lack of memories and youthful appearance, they are incredibly skilled with anything mechanical and is curious and quick to pick up on new concepts. Whether due to their amnesia or just their personality as a whole, Argo is a little awkward and unsure around others, usually using Kat as a shield when things become too much. Assumed human, but their ability to channel lightning and occasionally glowing eyes brings that into question. They search for any connection to their past, even if the idea sometimes fills them with dread.

Kat

Kat is a mercenary who hunts demons in the lower city and is highly respected for her skill with a shield. She will help a person in need to matter what and is easy to get along with despite her slightly intimidating appearance. She is willing to face any challenge head on and is usually level headed in a fight. However, she hates danger coming to her friends and will throw herself into harm’s way to protect them no matter what. Essentially saved and adopted Argo as a little sibling after finding them. While hunting, Kat searches for hints about what happened to her missing childhood friend.

Fenrir

A victim of human experimentation, Fenrir was turned into a demon and subsequently locked within a laboratory that was swiftly abandoned. After being freed by Kat and Argo, he promises to repay the debt by helping them on their search. Due to experimentation, he is able to transform into a shadowy, monstrous werewolf with immense strength, although he lacks full control over this form. Despite his past, Fenrir keeps a devil-may-care attitude and isn’t afraid of stepping out of line and causing trouble. Also enjoys pulling others into his chaos (mostly Argo) or riling up others for a laugh (mostly Judith). Fenrir pretends he doesn’t really care about the others until he realises he does.

Judith

Judith is an angelic-looking soldier tasked with keeping the peace of the city through sheer force. Taken in and trained for this role since she was young, her limbs have been replaced and enhanced with mechanical ones, along with giving her the ability to summon wings and swords made of golden light. Judith is a strict follower of the law and is stubborn and resistant to change, believing that it is the safest way to live. She has spent much of her life with the looming threat of losing the function of her limbs as consequence for disobedience or failure. At first, she fights against Argo, Kat, and Fenrir, but after a battle where she pushes herself past her limits and is subsequently saved by the three, she joins their group.

---

If you read all that, your reward is this silly redraw :)

[bwat5-blog]

Letting Go... Going Home: Chapter 8

*Non-Canon Arcane Fanfic*

*Warning for Blood/Gore/Big sadness*

*Long*

Back In The Hideout As The Battle Commences:

This deep into Zaun, Caitlyn can almost pretend the far distant rumbling of explosions and the bark of gunfire are just thunder and lightning. A storm come to wash away the old and make way for the new.

It wasn’t completely incorrect, she has to admit.

Loris sits quietly, his gun resting across his lap, his chair facing the door just out of view of the window. He’s been there since the others left. Caitlyn had offered to take shifts keeping watch so he could rest, and he’d refused.

“I’ll rest when it’s done. One way or another,” he chuckled, leaning back and sighing.

Her rifle lies on the table in front of her, shining and lethal. She’s checked it over half a dozen times since the others left, trying to take her mind off what was going on across the water.

Off of Vi…

A particularly violent explosion sounds loud enough that it isn’t as easy to pretend. Caitlyn’s eyes snap to the window involuntarily, and even Loris sits up a little straighter.

Caitlyn hears a muffled cry from the small room in back. Oh, you selfish fool. Here you are worrying about your own fears, and there is a child in this place.

Caitlyn stands slowly, wincing and bracing herself on the wall as she walks back into the shadows and the small door in back. She hears the crying forcibly muffled at the sounds of her approaching steps.

She doesn’t want to look weak.

Caitlyn knocks. “Isha. It’s Caitlyn, I’m coming inside.” She opens the door slowly.

There are no windows. It’s a small storeroom more than anything, with a toilet behind a privacy curtain and a large pile of cushions and blankets in the corner. The only light comes from a small lamp casting pale yellow waves over the gloom.

Isha sits huddled in the pile of blankets, holding a scraggly stuffed rabbit tight under her arm. Caitlyn shuts the door gently.

“May I join you?”

Isha wipes a thin trail of tears from her face and nods. Caitlyn smiles and walks forward carefully.

“I know you are afraid for them—Jinx and Sevika.” Isha signs something and makes a fearsome face. Caitlyn barely contains her smile.

“It’s okay to be afraid for people you care about. You care for them, don’t you?”

Isha is still for a while. She hugs the rabbit to her chest and looks off into the corner.

Caitlyn nods before continuing in a light-hearted tone. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m afraid. Someone very special to me is in the place Jinx and Sevika went to save her. I’m afraid because I love her and don’t want her to be hurt. Is that how you feel about Jinx and Sevika?”

Isha grunts tentatively and nods.

Caitlyn smiles. “Does your friend there help you feel brave? May I see?”

Isha turns toward her and cautiously extends the rabbit.

Caitlyn gently runs a finger along the rough edge of the toy. Her finger catches a stained and faded tag, and when she turns to the small lamp, she fails to catch the small gasp before it escapes her, nor the tears that fall from her eyes. “Vi.”

Another boom sounds, and Caitlyn cannot help but think of the last time she saw Vi—looking up at her with tear-filled eyes, stunned by her betrayal. And the same thought Caitlyn has been trying to drive away since this started wriggles through her defenses:

What if it’s too late?

She feels something rough and small pressed into her arms and looks down to see the scruffy little bunny, pushed into her arms by Isha, looking resolute.

Caitlyn smiles warmly. “You are very kind. But I wouldn’t want you to be without your friend here.” Isha presses harder until Caitlyn takes it, then traces Caitlyn’s own tear with her finger and signs, It’s okay to be afraid.

Caitlyn smiles and nods. “Why don’t you come into the main room with Loris and me? I’m sure there’s an inch of his gun you haven’t festooned with bright colors yet.”

Isha scrambles off the pallet, nodding and reaching for her markers, her enthusiasm making Caitlyn laugh as they walk out into the room.

What Caitlyn sees makes her go immediately stiff and silent, sweeping Isha behind her with an arm. Loris stands to one side of the window, the shades still drawn, his massive gun in his hands. Every latch on the door is thrown closed, securing it like a fortress. He turns back to them and cocks his head to the window.

“Looks like your friends from the estate found us,” he whispers.

Caitlyn nods. She quickly turns and gently presses the bunny into Isha’s arms.

“Go in back and don’t come out until we get you.”

The little girl, thankfully, understands this sort of tone after months of life with Jinx, and fades back into the small room, clutching the small knife she carries and the rabbit under one arm.

Caitlyn moves as smoothly as she can. She lifts her rifle and takes up position on the other side of the window, looking cautiously between the wall and the shade.

Her stomach drops.

Lt. Shaim—tall and lean, his pale skin almost shining in the sun—looks up at their hideout. At his side are two Noxian trackers and their hounds.

“Commander Kiramman. Please surrender yourself at once so we may put an end to this unpleasantness.”

Caitlyn swears and flattens herself against the wall.

“Commander. Your rescuer was quite careful in your escape, but you know well these hounds cannot be lost when they have the blood of their prey. And your blood was as rain to the soil of this land. Even in the waning storm. I know you are inside. If you surrender, I will grant your allies a clean death. If you do not, I make no such promise.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widen and she sighs. She should have known… should have foreseen. She considers their options. Those are Ambessa’s top trackers out there. They weren’t getting away. Loris, hobbled with a leg wound, and she, still wounded herself, had no chance of outrunning them. And there was Isha to consider.

Caitlyn swears. Her mind rages. She would throw herself on Ambessa’s blades rather than see anyone else hurt for her mistakes. She takes a deep breath and calls out,

“Lieutenant. I will surrender myself if you grant the people in this building mercy!”

Shaim bows his head. “Alas, I cannot. The General’s orders were quite plain. But you have my word: no savagery or cruelty will be shown to them. A clean death.”

Caitlyn stills. She thinks desperately for options but can find only one. She thinks of the little girl in the back room. And of her own gun shoved in that same child’s face.

Never again.

Caitlyn takes a deep breath and turns to Loris.

“The trackers are fast. They normally only carry hand-crossbows to bring prey down and short swords to finish them. They only wear light armor under those cloaks. The hounds are a different problem. Kill them first. If we have any hope of getting away, those damn things cannot be breathing when we run.”

Loris thumbs back the hammers of his gun.

Caitlyn lifts her rifle and inhales slowly.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5…

She exhales.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

She spins in one smooth motion, driving her rifle through the windowpane in a shriek of shattered glass and fires.

The shot that should have taken Shaim’s head is so close the heat of it singes his skin as he spins out of the way.

He grins and nods in respect.

Smoke grenades crash into the room through the window from hidden Noxian scouts further back in the shadows of the streets, and the room quickly fills with choking dark smoke.

Caitlyn covers her mouth and backs up, flipping the table as she does and firing over it, dropping a sprinting scout with a clean shot through the heart.

Loris’s gun roars. A hound in mid-air is blown back through the window in a spray of viscera. He chokes down a scream as a crossbow bolt hisses through the air, burying itself in his side.

Caitlyn leans up over the table, laying down fire through the window as something heavy impacts the door.

“Loris, move back!”

Loris nods, heavy footfalls thudding back through the room, growling as another bolt pierces his shoulder. He falls, diving behind the table. He crashes down as Caitlyn continues to fire, loading another shot into his gun.

“Commander, this wasn’t needed,” a voice calls loud and strong from the street.

“I’ll see you bleed before this is through!” Caitlyn roars.

A blur of motion, and a Noxian tracker dives through the window, coming to their feet with terrifying swiftness.

Caitlyn falls back, firing but narrowly misses.

The tracker lunges, short sword in hand, only to be grabbed by Loris’s massive strength around the neck and thrown back into the wall.

Loris draws a large, thick bowie knife from his belt and stumbles forward, bleeding from his many wounds and roaring like a bear, driving the knife into the scout’s neck and slamming the body down in front of the door before sliding down next to it.

Caitlyn’s breath is ragged and her eyes wide. She sees movement through the smoke and lays down fire but can barely breathe at this point. She hears sobbing from the back and looks for only a moment when a savage growl breaks through the tumult as the second hound scrambles through the shattered window.

Caitlyn puts a shot into its flank, but it turns and leaps, teeth bared, landing on the lip of the table, jaws snapping only inches from her. She scrambles back, hitting the stone hard and brings her rifle to bear, firing so close it blinds her momentarily.

The steaming neck of the creature hangs over the table, limp and terrible.

She wipes the blood from her face and leans on the wall, standing on shaking legs.

“Go, Caitlyn,” Loris says, chuckling in a hoarse tone.

She looks at him in confusion as she moves closer.

“I think I’m done runnin’,” he says, smiling.

Her eyes travel downward and she stifles a sob. The tracker’s short sword is buried in Loris’s belly up to the hilt. The man is so strong he didn’t buckle, but Caitlyn can see it now. He is dying.

Tears sting her eyes. “I can’t leave you here.”

He smiles again. “You gotta live, boss. You gotta be here when Vi comes home. And you gotta get that little girl out. You’re the only chance she has right now.”

He braces himself and rises slowly, clearly biting down on the pain. “They aren’t coming through the window. They’re regrouping. We’ve got two minutes, tops. You have to get her out.”

Caitlyn stands, looking from the back room to Loris, wanting to scream. “Why did you trust me? After all that I did?”

He shakes his head. “I helped ‘cause I knew who you really were. I saw you lose your way, sure, but I also saw how you cared for us and fought for us. I just couldn’t be there to watch that bitch twist you up. But when you came to me, I could tell you found it again. It’s been an honor, boss. Now save that girl’s life.”

Loris growls, yanking the tracker’s body over and taking the hand crossbow, leaning and firing out the window, grinning when he hears a scream. Caitlyn forces herself to her feet, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.

She stumbles through the smoke to the back room, kicking in the door.

“Isha! Come on, we have to go!”

Isha springs out from her shelter, sputtering and coughing.

Caitlyn lifts her onto her shoulder and moves as fast as she can to the escape hatch out into the ventilation. She tries not to look through the smoke to where Loris is still acting as a bulwark, firing bolts, bullets, and anything he can get at anyone who tries to come through the window while the door continues to buckle.

Isha looks, seeing him, as Caitlyn starts frantically turning the wheel to open the hatch door.

She signs, Tiny?

He grins. “You go on, kid. I’ll be fine. I’ve got your protection after all,” and he flashes the colorful handle of the gun.

But Isha has seen far too much death for one so young, and her eyes fill with tears, realizing what’s happening. She cries out as Caitlyn lifts her into the air, reaching for Loris, who grins warmly. Caitlyn pushes Isha up and levers herself into the hatch after, reaching and slamming it shut.

Loris nods as they vanish from view. He’d lived a long, hard life. But he figured dying protecting those he’d come to care for was as good a reason as any.

He loads another shot into the blunderbuss and forces his bleeding body back to the shadows as the door starts to shudder.

Boom.

Boom.

BOOM!

The door flies open in an explosion of wood and steel.

Loris’s shot turns a scout’s head into pink mist.

The next man through the door dies with a bolt to the neck.

Down to his knife, Loris growls, holding it in one hand and rushing forward, lifting the table even though blood runs from countless wounds at the exertion, slamming it into the breach where the door used to be, holding it for all he’s worth.

A blade lunges from the smoke, cutting deep into his ribs. He forces his shoulder into the table to pin it and reaches over it, grabbing the arm of his attacker and yanking hard. Popping bone and rending tissue are heard with a screech of agony.

His feet slide on the blood-slicked floor from the strength of his own form holding the table in place. Another tracker dives through the window, sprinting back toward the hatch opening.

Loris swears, turning and chucking the knife for all he’s worth, smiling as it slams into the scout’s back, dropping him twitching.

A long blade punches through Loris’s back and out his belly.

He gasps, dropping slowly to his knees.

Other attackers flood in around him—lesser in number than before, but still too many. The blade is ripped clean, and he crumples slowly, his vision swimming.

The tall, lean man Caitlyn had challenged walks slowly into view, leaning down over him, wiping his blade. There is no sneer, no smirk or grin. Only reverence. He drops to one knee in the pooled blood as his men flood the room.

“Would that you had been born Noxian, great warrior. You would have been revered,” he says softly.

In his last moments, Loris chuckles, spitting blood.

“Never would have worked. You people talk too much.”

Shaim looks genuinely surprised, then laughs. He takes the squat, shorter blade he keeps at his other hip and levels it to Loris’s heart.

“Go in peace, brave one.”

And drives it home.

Caitlyn and Isha emerge from the ventilation system that connected the hideout out onto a long stretch of rooftop. They are several buildings down, but not nearly far enough.

Caitlyn chokes, still sputtering from smoke, and turns to Isha, who’s been crawling behind her.

The little girl’s hair is wild and coarse from the smoke, her eyes red and teary, holding her knife aloft like an enemy could spring from anywhere, her precious rabbit tucked into her belt.

She isn’t wrong.

Caitlyn goes to her quickly. “Hey, it’s… it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. But I need you to come with me now, alright? It isn’t safe.” Isha looks at her, breath ragged, but she nods. Caitlyn sighs in relief.

“Okay, we need to move. Let’s—”

Caitlyn grabs Isha and spins, putting her own back to the dark figures she saw in the distance, crying out as a bolt grazes her cheek.

At the far opposite end of the stretch of rooftop, three scouts and Shaim himself have emerged.

Fear grips Caitlyn. She slings her rifle up and fires, dropping one and pinning the others down. She turns to Isha.

“RUN!!!”

Isha takes off behind her as Caitlyn backs up, the enemy returning fire, only narrowly missing. Caitlyn shuffles back. Everything is pain and heat.

She can hear Isha’s footsteps growing fainter and prays the little girl gets away.

Caitlyn’s rifle is a superior weapon at a distance, so the Noxians are unable to advance. But more of them are coming. Caitlyn continues to fall back, hoping, praying for a tactical position to take advantage of.

She shears away one man’s jaw.

She blows a hole through another’s stomach.

A bolt whistles by, grazing her cheek and making her stumble for just a moment, and in that hesitation, their pursuers are moving.

Sprinting low, firing, Caitlyn turns and forces herself on, lungs screaming and muscles feeling as if they’ve been wrapped in briars.

She comes to a tightly spiraled staircase from the rooftop up into a narrow path of rigging. There is no sign of Isha as she climbs.

Please be far from here.

Another bolt soars wide of her, and she fires straight down the stairs, leaving a man choking on his own blood.

She comes out from the staircase onto the rigging, turning and firing as she goes, but she can hear the footsteps drawing closer.

At the end of the rigging is a flat rooftop looking out over an open expanse of Zaun. From behind a large shipping container, she sees Isha peek out.

Caitlyn pushes herself.

Faster—you have to keep her safe!

Caitlyn thunders down the rigging and turns as she spills out onto the platform, placing shot after shot.

The first man dies.

Then the next.

Another leaps and is driven back as his left leg is blown off from the knee down.

Caitlyn stands, dropping her rifle, seeing the others across the rooftops, and draws the knife she’d threatened Jinx with, quickly slashing at the ropes.

The rigging groans, and in a squeal of metal and snapping cable, falls.

The men still on it scream as they plummet, and Caitlyn raises the knife in challenge.

They did it.

Caitlyn turns to face Isha and sees horror in the child’s eyes.

She turns back to see Shaim levering over the lip of the platform.

He’d come under the rigging.

Her rifle is on the ground where he stands. All she has is the knife. She backs up toward Isha, keeping the blade raised.

Shaim looks at her calmly. “I expected no less of a defense from one the General has personally trained. You should be very proud. But this is over now. Your friend has fallen. Submit, and I will still grant the child a merciful death.”

Caitlyn snarls. “You will die for Loris. And for my father.”

Shaim walks closer. “To die courageously in battle is a gift, Commander. One I was honored to bestow upon them.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. “You snuffed out lives. Killing isn’t mercy, and it certainly isn’t a gift.”

Shaim advances even closer, not even drawing his sword. “You are wounded, you are tired, and you are young. I have my orders, but if you force my hand, I will not spare you.”

As he approaches, Caitlyn slashes out with the knife.

He steps in quickly on the balls of his feet, catching her wrist with one hand and slamming a fist like iron into her belly. Her knife clatters to the ground.

Caitlyn groans as breath leaves her. She tries to remain standing, and he follows with a brutal hook to her chin. The breaking of bone heard from her already wounded jaw almost makes her vomit.

She crashes to the ground, seeing stars.

He sighs, drawing his sword and walking toward her. Suddenly he cries out and turns, giving Isha a brutal slap across the face, knocking her to her back, her small knife buried in Shaim’s calf.

Caitlyn roars, forcing herself to her feet and tackling the taller man to the edge of the platform, locking one hand on the knife in his calf and twisting, making him scream.

On impact, his sword leaves his hand and Caitlyn frantically shoves it over the edge.

As they land, she screams in rage and desperation, sinking her teeth into his cheek and ripping away flesh in a spray of blood.

He screams, throwing her as her hands lose their grip, drawing his own knife and slashing her twice on her outstretched hand and arm, making her cry out.

She scrambles back, hand grasping her fallen knife as she forces her body forward and stands, trying to back away from him as he rises. He throws his body forward into a roll and lunges at her. She feels the air knocked from her as a horrible, sickly pressure impacts her stomach like a hammer blow.

She looks down. His knife is buried to the hilt in her stomach.

She buckles, stifling a sob of pain, and screams, trying to drive her blade into his chest—only for him to step quickly into her range, twisting the knife out of her hand and bringing it down hard across one of her eyes.

Caitlyn’s world is fire and pain.

She falls, her back slamming hard into the stone rooftop, gasping for air.

Shaim stumbles forward—bleeding, bruised—and lowers down, straddling her waist, raising her own knife high.

“You are worthy of your father’s sacrifice. Go in peace.”

Caitlyn bites down on the sob of pain and fear inside her and snarls.

“He deserved better than to be ended by you.”

Shaim nods. He arcs the blade downward only to be driven off course as a small blur of howling rage smashes into him, just hard enough for the blade to go to the side. The desperate fear and bravery of the small child saves Caitlyn from certain death yet again.

Isha tears and bites at him with all the fury and terror in her body. He lifts her by the shirt collar, tossing her through the air and sending her rolling.

Caitlyn snarls and bucks her hips, driving him forward enough to get a foot onto his hip, pushing herself to the side and sliding to his back.

She locks her long legs around his waist, digging her heels into his hips and locking her arms around his neck in the distraction.

Her vision blurs from the weight of him, blood seeping from her terrible wounds. She bites down so hard her lips bleed, desperation and rage fueling her.

He wheezes from the sudden pressure. He tries to roll, and Caitlyn pulls the knife from her own waist, screaming and slamming it into his neck.

He stiffens. His blood runs over her as she rips the blade free and slams it home again and again as he dies.

Adrenaline firing in her muscles as she twists the blade and rips it free, jerking his ear to her as the light leaves him.

“For my father.” And rips the knife through his throat from ear to ear.

For a moment, all is still.

She tries to push him off of her, but she is just… so tired. Her head lolls to the side as her remaining eye blinks slowly, trying to see through the blood.

She hears small footsteps and panicked grunting as she feels Shaim’s body shifting slightly.

Caitlyn summons the last of her strength and the corpse is rolled off of her. Caitlyn smiles weakly.

“You’re okay…”

Isha nods. Her face is fairly bruised but otherwise she is unharmed. She looks at Caitlyn, her big eyes filled with panic at the terrible wounds.

Caitlyn takes her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Isha takes off her small coat, pressing it to Caitlyn’s stab wound, making her wince. Caitlyn coughs roughly.

“You need to find your way down when it’s safe. But f-first you need to hide. I don’t know if they can get up here, but they may come looking for him if there were others.”

Isha frantically cries, trying to stop the bleeding, and Caitlyn takes her hand. “Remember… it’s okay to be afraid.”

Caitlyn’s vision darkens around the edges. Although she cannot see it, she feels a small, ragged little bunny shoved into her arms as a terrified little girl tries frantically to save her.

The last thing Caitlyn feels as unconsciousness takes her is a calloused hand cupping her cheek,,, soft sheets, and the feel of the one she loves in her own hand.

As in her mind’s eye, the beautiful blue-grey eyes of the person holding her cheek stare at her quietly, full of pride.

[happyk44]

Waving Koneko off, Renzou plunged his hands into the warm inside of his pockets and sat down. He gave it a breath or two before tilting his head back and laughing. “You don’t gotta spy on me, you know.” He turned to face Light as he perched on the arm rest of the bench like an overgrown imp. “That’s kinda my job.”

Light cocked his head, shooting Renzou a smarmy grin. “And here I thought I was doing a pretty good job.”

Renzou shrugged and tilted his head back. The clouds were overcast today. The sun drifted low. He closed his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be botherin’ Bon or something?”

“Research requires a clear head.” Light hopped off the arm rest and circled around. His poncho fluttered with the breeze. He didn’t sit. “What better way to clear one’s head than some fresh air?”

“Bon gettin’ some fresh air too then?” Renzou gestured loosely above his head. “Or that only apply to you?”

The barking laugh he gave was nothing but delighted. “And here I thought spies weren’t capable of caring for their marks.”

He’s not my mark, Renzou thought. But Light likely already knew that. He hunched forward. “He’s my friend. Of course I care about him. I’d be a pretty shitty person if I didn’t.”

Light regarded him with a curious gaze. As though Renzou were some kind of creature trapped under a glass and zoomed in on under microscope. Renzou stared back, undaunted.

“I’ve asked around about you, Shima,” Light said, tone nothing but pleasant. “Life you’ve lived so far - this choice seems pretty outta the blue for a guy like you.”

Renzou didn’t answer.

“Ryuuji-“ Light gave an exaggerated sigh, flashing too many teeth for his next words to be any genuine concern. “You really hurt his feelings, kid.”

“I know.” It doesn’t bother me felt as clear as it was unspoken. He stood and shrugged. “His feelings are his feelings. Not much I can do about ‘em, yunno?”

Light took a step back, allowing Renzou to circle around him. “Why’d they really send you back, kid?”

Renzou glanced over his shoulder and grinned, easy as ever. “Just ‘cause we’re similar don’t mean we’re the same, Lightning.”

Another delighted bark of a laugh. Light’s eyes were full of mirth. “And here I was thinkin’ ya had no clue about yourself yet.” He gestured out to Renzou with undisclosed glee. “You keep surprising me!”

“I’m not a complete idiot,” Renzou said. “Figured it out long before I become a spy.” He flashed a wide grin. “Not that hard once you realize everyone else ain’t lying just for fun all the time.” He tips his head towards Light. “Must be nice being your way though.”

“It ain’t bad,” Light agreed. He eyed Renzou carefully. “But I can see why someone would rather go your way.” A brief lull as a bird crowed overhead. Then, “You’re still coping to shit, you know? Just ‘cause you’re being vague don’t mean you’re not admitting to anything.”

Renzou’s grin widened. “I’m a heartless bastard who lies for fun and doesn’t always totally understand why people care about one another.” He laughed. “That make it less vague for you?” He shook his head. “This ain’t a trap, Lightning. You’re not gonna go around telling people I’m broken.”

Light raised a brow. “I’m not?”

“You like experiments,” Renzou said easy. Light’s brow arched higher. “I’m an experiment. Besides. Only people you’ll hurt are the others. I’m fine with it. Don’t know how else to be.” At Light’s lack of response, Renzou snorted. “You think you’re the only who can ask around?”

“Nah.” Light shrugged. “Just surprised.”

“Was more interesting than homework, I’ll tell you that.”

“I bet.” Light’s easygoing face fell. “Who told you you were broken?”

Renzou just raised his hand over his head. “Have a nice one, Lightning.” As he walked backwards, he shot him double fingerguns. “Don’t work Bon too hard now! Otherwise he’ll get even more on my ass about not doing my homework.” He spun around on his heel and headed forward. “See ya!”