#imagine making KNIFE SHARPENING SOUNDS ALL NIGHT.

[kellystar321]

.

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover - dbf!hotch x reader

for @hotchnerholic who requested: your dad went out of town so you’re staying at aaron’s place because you don’t like being alone <3

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Honey?” a warm voice whispered in your ear, and a hand shook your shoulder softly.

Your eyes were way too heavy for you to care, so you buried your head further in the sofa cushions and tried to fall back asleep.

The voice insisted. “Sweetie? Let me take you to bed.”

“Let me take you to bed.”

The Aaron Hotchner just offered to take you to bed and you were sleeping?

Using your hand to cover up a yawn, you opened your eyes and found his beautiful brown ones already looking at you. You blinked at him slowly as if you were a cat trying to communicate that you loved him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the side of your face. “Your back is gonna hurt in the morning if you spend the night on the couch.”

“Yeah…I…I fell asleep watching TV.”

“It’s admiring that you managed to fall asleep while a thriller is playing,” he joked, and offered you a pretty smile.

You turned your head towards the TV, and caught a glimpse of a guy in a mask sharpening a knife. “Now that is exactly the reason why I didn’t wanna stay home alone.”

Aaron chuckled and placed his hand on top of yours. “You’re safe here.”

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he was this close to you, so you tried to change the subject.

“I fell asleep while watching Shrek. I guess the thriller started after that.”

“Hm…You wanna watch it with me? Or do you wanna go to bed?”

Yes to the bed option, but only if it’s with you, you thought. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen so watching a movie with him was the next best thing.

“Sure, let’s watch it.” You smiled, and he smiled back. “Only, I’m warning you, I get scared very easily.”

“You don’t say.”

“Don’t make fun.” You pointed at his face.

“I would never,” he said, and leaned back on the couch stretching out his arm.

The space next to him looked so inviting. You could just curl up in his arms and not worry about anything else.

The fact that you were staying at his house was heavenly in the first place. But watching a movie with him? That was beyond your wildest dreams. You expected him to be gone all day at work. This? This felt like staying over at your boyfriend’s house and having a movie night with him.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I have popcorn.”

“Oh…yes please!”

You followed him to the kitchen, and observed him while he was filling a big bowl with popcorn.

His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough for his forearms to drive you crazy. A man his age shouldn’t get this type of reactions from you, but he did anyway. As your father’s best friend he was forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to want him in secret.

“How was work?”

“Could’ve been better,” he sighed. And then he looked at you with a grin that made him more irresistible than you could’ve ever imagined. “But I have you here so it’s not too bad.”

What was breathing? “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe,” he said, and signaled you with a head movement to follow him back to the living room.

“I mean…you’re an FBI agent. Who would have been better for the job?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The movie had started for a while now, so it was hard to follow the plot. Not that you necessarily cared about it – the only thing that was occupying your head the entire time was Aaron sitting next to you, his cologne, and how your fingers brushed a couple of times while you were getting popcorn.

Zoned out as you were, a loud sound coming from the movie made your heart almost stop and you hid behind your hands with a squeal. “Shit!”

Things only got worse, as the killer on the screen seemed to be unstoppable, chasing one character after the other. You curled up in the corner of the couch, grabbing a cushion to protect yourself.

“Hey…” Aaron said, looking certainly amused. “Come here.”

Careful not to look too eager, you went close to him and let yourself into his embrace. His arm rested around your shoulders, and he pulled you in close enough for your head to rest against his.

“Better now?”

“Mhm…” you could only say, as your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear. “I won’t let him get to you.”

“Promise?” you whispered back and looked up at him.

“Promise,” he said and kissed your forehead.

part 2

[comfortless]

*ೃ༄ Some thoughts on a lighthouse keeper König with a fem, harpy reader! 18+ MDNI.

Signing away months of your life for routinized labor comes with little internal protests for him, he’s done it before with military work. He’ll do it again without question; anything, anyplace to keep him away from a house that’s never felt like home.

König’s blessed with an abundance of skills and the strength to perform hard labor. He’s disciplined enough to embrace the solitude, maybe even thinks of this contract as a reprieve from other people, from creature comforts and the hustle and bustle of ordinary life.

He packs only the bare minimum for himself— clothing he doesn’t mind lantern oil spilling onto, thick books ranging from myth to histories, a trusty hunting knife he’s been keening for the time to polish and sharpen to bring back to its former glory. Food and shelter are already provided for him in a cabin battered by sea breeze and saltwater just a bit too small for a man his size mere paces from the pillar of light that he’s resigned himself to tend to.

Each day is spent checking systems, keeping the haunting yellow light clean and functioning well, jotting down weather readings, and meticulously keeping things orderly. The occasional sound of a boat’s horn would bellow out, as close to a voice calling it’s thanks as it could get from his self-sought isolation. The ocean is lively enough for him, anyhow. The sight of a whale a short distance off shore isn’t an uncommon one, pods of dolphins flipping up into the air like performers, a show just for him. Even the sky above is a sight with flocks of birds he could not name passing by, or sea gulls flying high above only to ground themselves on the rocky shore to cock their heads at him; he imagines that if they could speak their small, shrill voices would ask him ‘What are you doing here?’, and he’s thankful he would never have to answer.

Each night, he reads. The bed is a bit small for him, a cot, really. He has to curl in a way that makes him feel like a dog left to waste away outside, knees nearly tucked to his chest and an elbow propped to keep his head up while he turns to pages of his books. He always wakes to his head resting on a page, the scents of old ink, amber and cedar fill his nose when his eyes flutter open.

He makes himself simple breakfasts, the scent of black coffee lingers throughout the cabin each morning. Occasionally it’s bacon, occasionally eggs in a basket, something as simple as his life has become. He thinks about his days of war when he walks to the shore with his mug in hand, wistfully watching the waves, haunted and volatile, so very much like the ocean of his eyes.

It’s never quiet. The gulls call from above, their wings outstretched as they sail through the air, and the waves make raucous noise as they crash against the rock, wearing down every fine point to something softer. A part of him longs to be worn down too, to pry that aching from his heart, the scars tarnishing his body, the callouses on his hands, dissolve them all in dark, salty waters with a gentle ebb and flow. He’s never thought himself to be one deserving of gentle things, but he greedily yearns for them anyhow.

He admires the sea shells that wash up on the sandy patches of the shoreline, some are pearlescent and untarnished, he dares not touch those. The ugly ones with splintering cracks remind him of himself, he’ll allow his hand to reach for those, toss them back into the hellish abyss where they belong. He doesn’t need a reminder of what he is, why he’s here. He wants to surround himself in pretty things that no one can dirty with their fingerprints, not even himself.

A torrential rain breaks up the monotony of his duty for a few days. He’s soaked to the bare bones running back and forth from the cabin to keep the light functioning, wiping away condensation from the glass that confines it and fiddling with the old machinery to stop the massive light from flickering. He holes himself up there, in that old tower for two long, sleepless nights. He imagines ghosts, ghosts of the people he’s killed without remorse dancing at the corner of his vision, taunting him endlessly from purgatory with their frantic dances and unnatural jolts. When he turns his head, their faces are gone, carried away by the ocean breeze that rattled the walls of the lighthouse, yet can not touch him.

He’s hardly able to keep himself upright when the rain finally stops. Addled from a lack of sleep and an ache from hunger, he slinks down the steps to the wet ground outside. There are no gulls fluttering about with their squeals and questions and begging, and for the first time since he’s come here, the water is calm. The sun beams down from a cerulean sky, not a single cloud fattened and gray with rain water in sight.

Only a bird.

König’s taken note of the wildlife since he’s come, all of the sea creatures that would swim about, the pelicans, petrels and gulls that would make their rounds. He’s never once seen a bird this big. It’s wings stretch wide, gracefully flutter to soar higher only to rear back, knees kicked up to its chest in its graceful descent. It doesn’t ground itself to beg him for a crumb of toast or shriek at him, it only perches atop the lighthouse, looking down at him as if exacting some strange, silent retribution.

The bird shifts in place for a moment as his eyes squint to get a better view of it. He’s mesmerized when he takes note of a very human face, soft nude flesh in place of feathers right down to the ankles that house plush, downy feathers and the coarse skin of scales leading down to brutal, curved talons. Her breasts heave and legs tense as she stretches her wings out to take flight. With a single leap she takes back to the air, twirls in it effortlessly as if she’s in the midst of the most elegant, seraphic dance to return to whichever whisper of heaven she descended from.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The salt and foam must play their tricks, because he’s no where near deluded enough to believe he’s seen an angel in a place like this, that one would think to visit him at all.

Still, he’s an awful bastard, because his cock twitches in demand from the sheer sight of her flying far, far away from him. He doesn’t allow himself to touch pretty things, but god he wants to touch you. He settles for returning to his cot and tugging down the zipper of his pants to rest his length in his hand, slow, deliberate strokes with his eyes closed, bringing himself to ruin from just a fleeting memory.

He chalks it up to sleep deprivation the next morning, a waking wet dream. Even before coming to this little island, it had been well over a year since he had been in the presence of a nude woman. Work quickly makes him forget, keeps his hands tied and his mind emptied of softer flesh and beautiful skies.

She comes back with the next storm, a shivering mess in the rain. A rough gale struck her down and he watched her spin out amongst thick, wet clouds, her form aglow with the backdrop of thunder. She falls to briny water, and without thought he’s left his cabin to dive right in after her, scooping the poor thing up to haul her back to the safety of a warm home, a roof above her head.

König wraps her in the only blanket that he has, feels her gaze on his back while he stokes a fire all for her as she sits and shivers, trying to gather her bearings. Human kindness is unexpected, unwarranted, really. She signals great storms, her talons cruel. He looks at her in awe when she nestles against his shoulder, her eyes locked to his, both faces warmed by the glow of crackling flames and comfort.

He tells her he isn’t worthy of an angel wasting her grace on him. She tells him that nothing sent barreling out of the sky like she had could be as pure as he believes.

[neteyamshoney]

Similarities

(This was kinda, very loosely, inspired by the song My Ex's Bestfriend by MGK)

Hey y'all. I had this idea in my head for awhile and I'm currently drafting a Neteyam x OC AU but I just had to get this out. After I'm done with that one, I'll expand on this one-shot. For now, enjoy a little fluff with my favorite blue giant :) Gif is also not mine. (I'm working on making pretty pics for the AU pic if anyone has tips to get those super cute ones I see on here lol)

Neteyam Sully x f!OC

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff

Ever since he could remember, Lo’ak had known his older brother to be everything he was not.

Brave. Strong. Intelligent. Accurate. Deadly. The perfect son.

They were so different. Day and night.

Though he loved to give him shit for it, Lo’ak understood the pressure his brother was under. Being the perfect heir to the clan, always having eyes on his every move, sounded like literal hell for the second son. He was secretly so glad that Neteyam was the oldest and not himself. He couldn’t imagine the mental stress that kind of pressure would put on him. How Neteyam didn’t have the urge to runaway from home and never return was a mystery to him.

It was only natural for Neteyam to focus solely on his duties as the perfect warrior and heir. It was all he had ever known, as soon as he was crawling (which of course was months before the average baby because of fucking course he was even advanced as a literal infant). As soon as the light lit up their world, Neteyam would be out - sharpening his knife, tuning his bow, practicing his hand to hand combat - before Lo’ak even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The poor thing didn’t even have a social life outside of training with the other boys their age. There was no room for him to have any free time, even less to mingle with the young women of their age in their clan. 

It was painfully obvious that the girls of their clan favored Neteyam over his baby brother. The way the girls their age would huddle together, giggling with a hushed voice as the brothers would pass them at first was an ego boost, definitely. It became glaringly obvious that they were casting their love-struck eyes at his older brother, and while disgruntled at first, he could understand. However, his big brother was too busy living up to their father’s expectations to find love, much less a crush.

So, when Lo’ak was sitting next to Tsireya, listening to Roxto explain how to spear fish underwater, he noticed how Neteyam’s amber eyes glanced passed the Metkayina boy and his back straightened up. It wouldn’t have been odd, until Neteyam’s face softened into an expression he didn’t think he’d ever see on his no-nonsense brother. An expression he’d seen on his father whenever their mother would walk into his line of sight.

Love-struck.

With wide eyes, Lo’ak whipped his head to the side, following his brother’s line of vision without shame of being caught. Subtlety was not in his vocabulary and he wasn’t about to start now. The others around them, surprised by his sudden movement, followed suit.

Almost twenty feet away, there was the subject of Neteyam’s distraction. Staring right back at the oldest Sully boy with a bashful smile as she walked with a few of the other girls of her clan.

Yana.

Ao’nung was the first to recover from the shock of the new information, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously at the forest prince. “No fucking way. Not Yana. Pick another girl.”

Tsireya smacked the back of his head, glaring. “Stop using the sky language to curse. And Yana passed her trials. She is older than you, and can decide who she wants.”

Neteyam didn’t bother replying, probably not even listening as his eyes still trailed after the older girl. Bright eyes wandered down her back, hypnotized at how her long spiral curls swayed in time with the swing of her hip. She glanced back to him once more, wiggling her fingers with a wink that nearly sent his heart into cardiac arrest.

Lo’ak snapped him out of it, tugging on his arm band with a teasing glint in his eye. “Really? Tsireya’s older cousin?”

He had to hand it to Neteyam though, he sure knew how to pick a crush. Yana was arguably the most beautiful girl in the clan, second to Tsireya in Lo’ak’s personal opinion. They had met her family last night during the communal celebration. Ironically, it was in celebration to reward the newest members of the clan passing their trials; Yana being one of four. She was now recognized in the clan as an adult - the dark ink of a fresh tribal tattoo wrapping around her shoulder the first indication of her new status. There were many young men in the clan that had showered her in attention last night, but she had stayed close to the Sully family after being introduced by her parents.

Too wrapped up in Tsireya, Lo’ak hadn’t even paid his brother any attention last night. Seeing how love-sick he looked as Yana disappeared from view, he was slightly glad he didn’t witness anything that might’ve corrupted his innocent mind.

Kiri giggled to his side, “You’d better hurry and finish your trials, Neteyam.”

The chuckles around them made the topic of conversation duck his head, hiding the heating of his face by looking at the soft sand beneath them. It was common knowledge that only those who were seen as adults in the clans could pick a mate, and they didn’t need to voice it for him to understand the innuendo.

They poked fun at him for a few minutes until a shadow fell over Ao’nung. “You don’t mind if I steal the mighty warrior for a while, do you, little cousin?”

Yana grinned at the surprised faces of the younger teens, and felt her smile widen at Ao’nung’s pout. Her baby cousin was too protective for his own good. She placed a hand over his damp braids, feeling him relax slightly. “I promise to bring him back before dinner, hm?”

While the others had turned their attention to the newcomer, Lo’ak took this time to examine his brother. How his eyes light up when she first spoke, braids swishing around his head as he turned to give her his undivided attention. The look in his gaze was as if this girl had put the sun in the sky herself. As if no one around him mattered when she was near. The two love-brids made eye contact and Yana held out her hand.

Neteyam didn’t even hesitate to stand, sliding his larger hand into hers so the shorter Na’vi could pull him any which way she desired. Which was apparently somewhere only the two of them were going. They didn’t even bother with a wave goodbye.

As if in sync with each other, Lo’ak and Kiri made identical gagging noises. Neteyam was so whipped, it was downright nauseating.

Tsireya nudged him, laughing at the Sully’s immature reactions before trying to get them all to focus back on task at hand. A soft teal hand on his upper arm was all she needed to get his attention and those dimples made his heart do flips. He felt those sparkling blue eyes take all of his focus, not even bothering to stop himself as he smiled at her.

Maybe he and Neteyam weren’t that different after all.

[merakiui]

I’ve been thinking a lot how Jade would become fascinated by the human body. His darling can just be minding their business (or napping :0) and he takes their hand and studies it intently. Humans are so weird and so… interesting?? Soft noncon with Jade orz ^^

Also your tags on pregnancy with Floyd oml — imagine being his assistant as he’s a crime lord who has been with him through thick and thin. You’re essentially a glorified secretary and maid for him but the pay and security is good so you can’t complain too much. Being with him for years has allowed him to develop an unhealthy obsession with you. Even more so when he starts viewing your body as something enticing. And he’s a greedy, spoiled eel who always gets what he wants :)))

:0 omg Little Mermaid concept where you’re caught in a terrible storm and Jade saves you and brings you to shore, but you’re just such an interesting sight. He’s never seen a human this closely before (at least a human who’s alive and breathing and isn’t decaying deep within the sea…), so naturally he’s overwhelmed with curiosity. Your hands are so small and soft, and they don’t have any webbing or claws! Your teeth are far more blunt than his sharpened, needle-pointed ones.

And of course the strangest part of all is your legs. He pokes and prods at them while you’re unconscious, his head tilted the entire time he tries to work out what these things are used for. Your feet don’t seem as strong as his tail fin, but then maybe they aren’t used for swimming? Maybe, since you’re a terrestrial creature, it’s for walking. That sounds reasonable! He couldn’t ever imagine walking himself! That feels impossible, but if he ever got the chance he’d try with sheer determination. >:) in the end, Jade’s so curious he ends up sticking a few fingers in your hole, spreading it wide to look inside. Curiosity is a nasty vise, but the way you squeeze his cock when he pushes in so gently is even tighter. He’s gone before you can wake up, hiding amongst rock formations, invigorated with a feeling he’s never felt before. He’s fallen in love.

And crime boss Floyd with his cute, powerless assistant!!!! He adores you, even if you’re so focused on finishing your work as quickly as possible so he won’t find fault and get upset with you. But Floyd could never be angry at his favorite secretary. He loves teasing you. After you’ve cleaned up the blood from a previous…disagreement he’s had, he makes you service him. Give him a kiss or give him head. >:) your technique may be sloppy or inexperienced, but Floyd loves it. He’ll give Shrimpy lots of praise and compliments—and the occasional teasing, degrading remark—but he means well. And since you’re so obedient for him, bound to him via a contract Floyd could care less about, you’ll spread your legs like a good secretary and let him cum inside, right? You’ll come to his room every night so he can fuck you until you’re finally pregnant, right? You don’t have much say either way, and if a loaded gun or a knife is pointed at you… Obviously the only answer is to listen to what he tells you. <3

[oftenwantedafton]

Trapped - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Detective Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

CW - blood and violence

Excerpt: You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

Also available on AO3

The cracked mirror divides the man’s face by a jagged line, a dark scar that partitions his features. Blood spatters freckle skin and stain the creases that bracket icy blue eyes still illuminated with an inner light from the thrill of the murder he’d just committed. The crimson liquid mixes with perspiration, tracking down stubble coated cheeks, a lover’s caress tattooing a salted blood trail across pale flesh. He can smell the metals of that crimson life force, nearly taste it, even. The knife resting on the edge of the chipped porcelain sink is still dripping, rivulets painting spidery paths like blood vessels. A pair of gold framed glasses perch nearby, temporarily abandoned as they were unnecessary with the enhanced vision of the rabbit suit he’d worn.

He cups his hands under the spray of water from the faucet, letting it run cold over the long digits for a few moments before he bows down and splashes his face, rubs it over the back of his neck and lets it trickle over his upper body. He can still hear the symphony of screams, the fear and terror echoing in Parts and Service. He’d nearly forgotten how sweet that melody sounded.

He pulls an undershirt and dress shirt on, slinging a tie around his neck and sighs, almost regretful at concealing them again.

Suddenly the man leans forward, squinting and frowning at a stubborn bloodstained fingerprint on his shirt collar. It seems he’d been a bit careless cleaning up the evidence of his crime. He’ll have to use peroxide on that when he returns home. Home, he thinks, sneering. Well, not really his true home, but what he calls his dwelling. It’s a front, just like his position as a career counselor, just like the false accolades framed in the walls of his office and the name placard on his desk. Lies, all of it, but they all believe him, so gullible, so trusting. Adults or children; it makes no difference now.

He smiles humorlessly, eyes flickering to the mascot head he’d carried into the employee bathroom with him, its counterpart suit already stowed away securely. It’s deteriorating further, the fur and fabric wearing away with time, exposing metal and wires, lights and circuitry. Damaged, but still very much of use to his purpose, even after all this time.

Just like this old friend here. He caresses the blade for a moment, reliving the feeling as it had sunk into soft flesh. The possessed animatronic had started the bloodletting, and he had continued, long after the trap had mauled with razor sharp blades. He’d carved until there’d been very little left that was recognizable as a human being, let alone the middle aged security guard he’d hired earlier that week.

He’ll need to replace him, of course. There was still the problem of unwelcome intruders. But he had no doubts some other desperate soul would come along, eager for work, willing to do anything. Fate always provided.

He shuts the faucet off, wiping damp hands on his trousers, then drags a rag over the knife until it gleams in the floursescent lighting. He’ll need to sharpen it again, but that can wait for the morning.

Hooking two fingers inside the rabbit’s head he’d worn earlier, it lifts easily and William Afton begins humming as he exits the restroom.

***

You’ve heard the stories. Everyone who’s ever lived in Hurricane has. Perhaps they’re whispered late at night by a campfire, or uttered as a threat to misbehaving children, no mere ghost story or tall tale but a dark history of crimes committed by a killer who’s left no trail.

This was the terrifying legacy of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

Never go near the abandoned pizzeria.

Everyone knew it. Back when the business had been operational, multiple children had consecutively gone missing, and even though authorities had searched thoroughly, multiple times, no trace of those kids had ever been found. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air, leaving their parents forever worrying and wondering, imagining the very worst had happened. Perhaps it had.

Perhaps the reality was even worse still.

Despite all of this, it didn’t stop occasional break-ins. Teenagers on a dare, thrill seekers, people looking for a way to earn money. There were bound to be plenty of copper pipes and wires, valuable sources of metal for construction. Arcade and change machines still loaded with cash. The animatronics themselves, with their complex inner workings, must be worth something.

Some trespassers had made it out, but they never seemed any richer. There were only more stories. The place was haunted. The animatronics moved, not in their preprogrammed state but of their own volition, wandering the halls, investigating the rooms. Sometimes people saw a yellow rabbit, taller than the other mascots, the costumed individual moving fluidly. Its eyes were silver and it laughed, low and mirthless.

You believed them, because you’d been to that restaurant, years ago as a child, to play the arcade games, to attend a classmate’s birthday party. You’d known even then something was wrong. You could never explain it. It was just a feeling. You could hear the establishment calling you, beckoning you, imploring you to explore further, to become a part of the wonder, the mystery within its depths.

Maybe it was the yellow rabbit trying to lure you in.

You’re an adult now with several years of experience as a police officer behind you and the gun at your waist is a small comfort when you patrol the area. You shiver as your eyes scan the vacant lot, imagining shapes in the shadows where perhaps there are none. You are grateful it is closed, the front entrance encased in rusting steel bars and a thick padlock. You do not know if it is enough to keep new thieves out.

You pray it is enough to keep the evil inside.

***

As it turns out, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza has a new employee.

You see the car one morning as the sun is just rising, a rusted sedan seated in front of the main entrance. Parking nearby, you keep the engine running, watching as a young man likely in his 20’s emerges from the depths of the building, securing the heavy lock and chains before trudging to his vehicle. You can see smudges beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted, awkwardly fumbling in the pocket of his hoodie until he locates keys for the car. It’s then that he seems to notice you, his right hand frozen while inserting the key into the lock, the other hand clasping a worn looking copy of a book entitled Dream Theory.

You step out of the car, still not shutting off the engine, and introduce yourself, one hand still resting on the open door, as if you are ready to make a quick escape, to bolt from this wretched place once and for all. The other hitches in your belt, within reach of your firearm, the holster snap already unfastened.

The man nods cautiously, telling you his name is Mike Schmidt. He’s the new security guard working the night shift, he elaborates.

You ask if he’s seen or heard anything unusual, noting the hesitation before he shakes his head. Upon inquiring who hired him, you receive a name you don’t recognize, accepting the business card he digs from the pocket of his jeans. Steve Raglan, Career Counselor.

You warn him to be careful, eyeing the creased spine of the dog eared paperback one last time before you settle back inside the car, tapping the business card against the steering wheel thoughtfully. You follow the security guard out of the parking lot and then turn onto the freeway.

Perhaps you should pay this career counselor a visit.

[elliespuns]

Ellie and Joel sit at the campfire. It's a quiet night, and they've just finished eating. Joel's about his business, sharpening his knife, and Ellie is bored to her bone. Listening to the sound of the crickets and the nighlife around them, she shuffles her foot on the ground before she glances over at Joel with a smirk on her face.

"Hey, Joel?" 

"Hmm?" He doesn't bother looking at her; he is busy with his knife.

"What does the receptionist at a sperm bank say as clients leave?" She asks, ready to annoy his ass with one of her adult jokes that she knows will make him unconfortable.

Hearing the words, he's quick to lift his eyes on her. "Ellie!!" The thin line of his brow jumps in surprise. "Where did you—"

"Thanks for coming!" She blurts out and falls quiet, just like him.

There's a suspended moment of silence for a while, as if something had momentarily stolen the very sound of their voice, before Joel finally breaks the silence by letting himself fall victim to the funny look on Ellie's face and bursts out into a big, booming laugh, causing her to do the same. They both guffaw. Laughter bubbles up from deep within him and her—a contagious joy shared between them that infects the air—as they can't stop their hearthy laugher from howling through the woods.

For once, they worry about nothing. They don't worry about the infected. They don't worry about the hunters. They don't worry about how they're going to cross the country, scavenge enough food, or find supplies. All they worry about is how to stop the giddy delight, unable to contain the sheer joy that radiates from both of them as their tummies hurt.

I've always loved this picture. This moment between Ellie and Joel holds so much emotion: contentment, love, and joy. We never got to experience it in the game, and so with just the existence of this picture, there was nothing left for me to do but imagine this heartwarming moment in my mind and interpret it for myself.

Judging by the picture itself, this must have happened between Pittsburgh and meeting Henry with Sam. They already have to know each other a bit, and they both still have their summer clothes. Ellie and Joel aren't that close just yet at this moment. But Joel is already far enough to let this girl make him laugh out loud.

I've always imagined that Joel cracking up could only be caused by one of Ellie's inappropriate jokes. We already know from the car scene that she's good with those, isn't she? And he'd never laugh out loud at her silly puns. She'd just make herself laugh, and he'd usually just find it cute but wouldn't let it show.

Who would have known that an adult joke from a quirky teenager would make his night?

[keialuma]

So @robyn-reliant made this really cute post about Hancock/SS dancing during a radstorm and I felt super inspired so here's my latest brainrot.

Some Enchanted Evening [1.3k words/fluff]

“Whatcha got, sister?”

He felt a little lightheaded as her gaze lifted to his. “Gonna rain soon.”

Hancock looked around. The sky was perfectly clear, not even a breeze. “Yeah… what makes you say that?”

Concern clawed at him as he watched her lightly limp his way. “My stump’s getting achy. We should get somewhere with a solid roof. It’s likely going to be a doozy.”

Hancock heard a groan from his partner. Concerned, he whipped around to see if she’d been hurt. 

They were on their way to the Pickman Gallery, Hancock finally following up on some concerning rumors. He needed to get out of the state house and get his hands dirty; stop living so comfortably. 

Reconnecting with his inner low-life. Playing in the mud and blood. Sharpen his killer instinct.

These were the reasons he told himself, and her, when she suggested they go together. He had planned on just paying her to check it out…

But could he pass up the opportunity to see her in action? The enigma that had been lingering in his town, distracting him from his mayoral duties. If only in his mind. 

He was constantly reminiscing on their conversations. They were usually brief; a whimsical story here, some flirtatious jokes there. The sound of her voice a gentle melody, the drawl of her accent reminding him of lazy guitars and campfire song. Hoping she hadn’t noticed his lingering looks. 

Imagining catching her eyes drifting across his form. 

But clearly she was out of his league. Drop dead gorgeous, even deadlier aim, tongue sharper than a knife. Even with all the power behind his title, the bravado of his public image, he could never hold a candle to her brilliant shine. 

Sunshine, he’d called her once. Completely by accident too - he was about to take it back when he could have sworn her cheeks reddened a bit.

Probably just her drink at work.

Shaking away the thought, it didn’t take long to spot her. He chuckled as she grumbled further, kicking a rock with unbridled annoyance. 

“Whatcha got, sister?”

He felt a little lightheaded as her gaze lifted to his. “Gonna rain soon.”

Hancock looked around. The sky was perfectly clear, not even a breeze. “Yeah… what makes you say that?”

Concern clawed at him as he watched her lightly limp his way. “My stump’s getting achy. We should get somewhere with a solid roof. It’s likely going to be a doozy.”

He could tell from a glance she knew he didn’t believe her. She boldly took his arm, leaning a bit as she struggled along. “Whatever you say.” He mumbled, not complaining about the sudden closeness.

He could easily lift her, carry her in his arms to safety. Knowing her penchant for violent vitriol, especially when drifters got handsy with her in the Third Rail, he opted to simply guide her to a nearby diner.

Sure enough, just as they finished sweeping the premises, the wind picked up and the soft splatter of raindrops on the metal roof confirmed her suspicions. 

She should feel vindicated. Instead, she was feeling a bit sour.

Hancock hadn’t even reacted when she grabbed his arm. She shouldn’t be so surprised; the mayor was well known for his detached lifestyle. Floating from chem to chem, and lover to lover. Drifters and regulars alike propositioned him daily. He had his choice of anyone. 

But for some reason, he didn’t seem to notice her. Sure, he flirted, she’d caught him looking more than once. But it clearly meant nothing to him. He never crossed the line into… something more. The something she craved.

Always cut short, always a gentleman at the end of the night. Leaving her to her thoughts. Leaving her wanting.

Needing to keep her hands and mind occupied, she detached her metal leg to do a tune up. Absentmindedly she rubbed her thigh, sore from the change in barometric pressure. It would let up soon, the front already moving through meant relief was in sight. 

Her PipBoy crackled with the lightning. Sure enough, the air had a sting to it. She dug around in her pack, popping a couple Rad-X as she got back to work. 

She didn’t notice he had joined her on the ground until she heard him messing with the radio.

“Don’t like the quiet?” She asked.

“‘S much as I like hearing myself talk, I don’t really enjoy being left to my thoughts.”

She chuckled. “I can relate. Couldn’t even sit here without needing to do something.”

The announcer finished stuttering out the news, before a soft tune floated out the worn speaker.

She smiled as she bobbed her head. It was familiar to her, but not the voice she was expecting.

“Didn’t know Bing Crosby sang this.” She said softly, listening to the lyrics.

He hummed along as he rose to his feet. “One of my favorites.” Then, unexpectedly, offering her a hand.

She looked up at him, unsure what he meant by that outstretched hand. Clicking her leg back into place, she took his offering. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

His grin was wide, a soft laugh rumbled in his chest. Their height difference made things a little awkward, her short frame forcing her to reach a bit further than another partner would need. His hand a little higher on her back than she’d like. 

At least he was finally in her arms. Away from prying eyes, away from the competition. 

And night after night,

As strange as it seems

The sound of her laughter

Will sing in your dreams.

Not strange at all. He thought to himself. She already did, the handful of giggles and laughs echoed in his mind as he lay awake thinking of her. Tucked away in his heart, reserved for the nights the loneliness for her ached in his chest. 

Who can explain it?

Who can tell you why?

Fools give you reasons,

Wise men never try.

Perhaps she was a fool, falling for someone so out of her reach. Making up excuses to herself, reasons he could have to keep her at arms length. Was it the scars? Or the leg? Or, perhaps the worst, he simply didn’t like her?

Some enchanted evening

When you find your true love,

When you feel her call you

Across a crowded room

He must have imagined the clench of her fist in his coat. Timed too perfectly to the lyrics. He looked out the broken windows, at their hands where they were joined. Anyare but her face, lest his own betray him. 

Then fly to her side,

And make her your own

He wouldn’t even look at her. Doing this charade to distract her from her pain, maybe. A friendly gesture, a platonic kindness. All while she wished he would forgo the distance and pull her up to him.

For all through your life you

May dream all alone.

He grit his teeth. He so badly wanted to scoop her up in his arms, tell her how many sleepless nights he had dreamed of her, imagined holding her. Dancing with her had been a mistake, he should never have been so bold, she-

His breath was caught in his throat when he chanced a glance at her.

How her brows bunched tight, biting down on her lower lip. Desire burning in her eyes, no mistaking that.

Once you have found her,

Never let her go.

Despite the way he seemed pained, his look softened as he looked at her. Something akin to hope fluttered in her stomach as her hand on his shoulder raised to the nape of his neck. As his hand on her waist did so in kind, gently smoothing her hair from her face.

Once you have found her,

Never let her go!

Her breath warm on his face. So close he could smell the floral soap and gunpowder that lingered around her. A flash of lightning illuminated her perfect face, the rolling thunder concealing the moan he couldn’t suppress any longer. All the rads around them buzzing through him, setting him on edge and nearly driving him feral.

The tension between them snapped.

She leaned in, closing her eyes.

And he met her halfway.

[multipleheartbreakhotels]

I Sing You Joke

The Joking Starts When I Listen To The Music

February 25th 2006

Laughter. It's such a powerful thing especially when you make people laugh more particularly when you make your favourite band laugh. The first time I listened to them, was in 2004 on the radio covering some songs, I fell in love with them in an instant, the bass, the electric guitars, the drums, and the voice, especially the voice. Later in 2005, I heard them again, but this time with their songs. When I searched my local record shop, I had to dig very deeply since they were local artists. Once I found their single titled “I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor” I bought them immediately with a CD player. The moment I reached home, I listened to it non-stop, but there were unfortunately only 3 songs, until 2006. The beginning of the year with a new album by my favourite band is an excellent start the year, and to my delight, it was much longer than the other album of course, they also shared the same song which was one of my favourites at that moment, I brought the record home and listened to it religiously to the point where my roommate got sick quite literally when she got a fever I had to take care of her, so instead of listening to "Dancing Shoes" or "A Certain Romance" we listened to something my mother used to put when I and my brothers were sick, Mozart. I could only go to college while she was sick, I could not go to work or the pub, the millisecond she got well, I, well, we went to the pub. This was a very special night because not only was it for being back but also it was my 3-year anniversary for working in that pub, the time of my show starts at 11:05 it was 10:45 so shite luckily my roommate was also coming to my show, but she is equally late because we are both getting ready late

"MARYA WHERE IS MY BLUE DRESS?" Emilia yelled from her room

"IT'S IN MY ROOM ON THE BED" I yelled

back preparing my bag and ready to go, she came to my room

"Ok, but why is it here?" Emilia asked me

"Em?" I asked glaring at her, 

"Sorry," She replied,

she got dressed and we both ran to the pub, Lucky for us it was near and it was easy to run there for me since I was wearing Converse but Emilia was wearing high heels to feel fancy, how could you feel fancy in a local pub? I thought. I opened the door to the bar

"What the hell Marya it's already 11:10" the bartender Victor yelled

but before he could say another word I got to the stage removed my jacket and threw it not caring where

"Hello ladies and gentlemen apologies for my lateness, my best friend's lazy arse was weighing me down," I said into the microphone.

Laughs were coming from people who sounded like music to me, and after their laughs, they started to clap as a greeting for me

"Thank you Thank you" I said to the audience 

"So what shall I tell you today? Mhm Oh, tonight is a very special night, today is my anniversary and no it's not my romantic anniversary unless you think me being yelled at every time I come here late is romantic or sexual " I said

"Ooo Marya your so late it's already time to finish" I mimicked Victor and people started to laugh harder,

"Oi your such dirty-minded people ai......but anyways tonight is when I started to work in this bar the day I started to remove your innocents" I joked.

"It marks 3 years, imagine I was working here for one year, and I was still shocked that Victor has not killed me yet I am pretty sure the reason he is always behind that bar is that he is preparing to murder me, planning the day, and sharpening his knife, so if today is the last you will see of me let my last words be 'Thank you for letting all my friends plan a murder on me and not succeeding, and letting some random french bartender kill me instead' I see women are laughing more, I guess after seeing this you will know what tea to final spill to your ex-college-best friend-roommate" I said

taking the microphone from its holster and continuing speaking for 20 more minutes until I noticed a group of people standing next to the bar, there was a boy my age his back towards me with a leather jacket I wanted to get a better look at him when he finally turned to me, I stopped talking only for a second but it felt like hours, 10 minutes after I was done speaking

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and all the undecided I hope you pissed your pants and you will see me tomorrow night, I basically live her bye bye” I announced

and left the stage, took my thrown coat and bag, and placed them on a stool next to the bar. As Emilia was flirting with any living male soul, I sat at the bar talking to Victor, more precisely, the wall and drinking a bloody Mary,; it was my favourite drink.

"Excuse me, Sir?" One of the boys that I saw earlier from the stage,

"Could I get a-?" He said

not sure what drink to order, his friend that was sitting on the bar stool, the same boy with the leather jacket whispered something to his friend's ear

"A bloody mary, please? For the lady" He finally finished his sentence.

"I should be getting you drinks instead," I said with a smile,

"I get free drinks here so what would you like?" I added,

"How about their most expensive pint?" He asked with a heavy Northerner accent.

"Victor, the most expensive beer you have for this gentleman, please," I asked,

"You have 18 pounds, Marya?" He said,

"No, but I work here, so I give you customers, and you give me free alcohol" I marked.

"I give you money, not alcohol,"

"I give you customers, which means that come with free alcohol and money" I added.

"Fine, you work tomorrow also no holiday" He debated,

"Deal" I smiled,

and he placed the beer to the guy.

"Matt," He said

as he held out his hand,

"Marya, you don't need to know that though I already said my name on stage and it's on the board" I joked,

"And these your fellow shadows?" I asked,

the reason I called them shadows was because they were behind him and I could hardly see them from the light and choice of clothing.

"That's Jamie" He pointed to the blond guy dancing,

"I'm Nick," The brunette with green eyes said.

"Matt, I found a couple of lads come on" He said excitedly

"Will you excuse me?" He said as he finished his entire pint,

"You are excused," I said

and did a fancy bow, they laughed slightly and left, and then the guy next to me, who I assume was also Matt's friend showed me his hand in a gesture to shake it,

"Im Alex," He said in a hoarse or puberty voice with an equally heavy Northerner accent as the rest of his friends.

I shook his hand "Marya" I smiled,

his voice reminded me of something or more precisely someone, I could not put my finger on it though. We talked for hours about our favourite musicians bands, and books it was my favourite subject, and even baking. The night ended with them taking me back to my apartment, while Emilia went out with some lad from the pub.

"You don't have to it's unnecessary" I assured them after they asked if they could take me home,

they didn't exactly ask though they just said they would take me home,

"We are already walking out, and besides you live near us, it's okay" Alex reassured me with a smile,

it was a drunk smile, Matt was also happy to take me home slightly more drunk than Alex, while Jamie and Nick were flat-out drunk, we were all basically knackered.

"Wait, didn't you come to the bar with someone?" Matt asked slurring his words,

"She went with some random bloke, and they are gonna shag," I said,

"How are you sure they are gonna shag, detective?" Nick asked with a funny questioning look on his face,

"Well, her telling me Im gonna shag him tonight in a drunk whisper gave it away" I giggled.

When we reached my building

“I think that’s meh building,” I said slurring my words,

"Yup, it is" I added,

"Wait, wait, wait" Alex said quickly,

"Could you gimmie your number?" He asked while he was searching his phone in his pockets,

"Why not, if I can remember" I giggled,

while the rest laughed, he handed me his phone, and I gave his phone back after I typed my number.

"What does Bella, mean in Italian?" He asked,

"I am too drunk to know, but Bonita I am a pretty drunk bitch, well Bonita is only the pretty part" I giggled,

and he typed something in his phone.

"Well, we shall see each other in the next drunk street," I said in a fancy voice

"We shall" Alex answered in a tone equal to mine,

and he and his mates left. I got up to my apartment as best as possible trying to not let my neighbours think I was an alcoholic it was already bad that they called me a stripper just because I worked in a pub and I was a dance teacher, the moment I opened my apartment door and went to my room I fell asleep, knowing and not knowing how bad and good tomorrow will be.

Tags 💌: @ohladymoon @martinipoliz @i-m-a-leaf-on-the-wind @alexturntable @alexturne @drinkingbitterboy @arcticshadowturtles @cluedoenthusiast @dropofdrool @alovesreading @mywritingonlyfans @jetskisonyourmoat @bellaturner @almluv

[bucknastysbabe]

hear me out: jon whimpers and whines during sex and he makes the cutest faces AND he has a heavy praise kink. Can you write something about him👀??

He’s such a bitch I just know it and NEED IT Jon would prob cum after calling him lord stark of winterfell in bed and cry about it later

Anyways I haven’t written about my fav thing ever inna while ✨~BJS~✨ Sorry for the wait, enjoy❤️

Ratings: Explicit

Tags: Jon snow x free folk!reader, twinky baby virgin Jon, oral(m!receiving), praise kink, he’s a noisy pup, she’s loving IT, soft soft soft, poor jon has so many issues from Catelyn

The crow who cried wilding

“What’s little lord crow doin’ about my tent?,” the free folk woman asked. Her friend, Talla laughed harshly, biting into some sinewy rabbit leg. She retorted, “You haven’t noticed him mooning over you at all?” The other woman grinning, sharpening her knife with a whetstone. Her eyes flickered up to meet the crow’s dark orbs.

His eyes flicked down and he darted away towards Mance’s encampment. She licked her lips, concocting a plan. Turning to Talla she hummed, “I bet he sounds as pretty as a songbird.” The elder guffawed, adding on, “For a tough lad, he’s about green as they come huh?”

She snickered at her friend, imagining the young Lord Commander sniveling and biting his pouty lips under her thighs.

Later on that night, she was retiring to her tent. The free folk, or so deemed wilding had enjoyed mead and merriment for the night. They had a long haul tomorrow— get away from the abominations up north. When the woman ducked to enter the fur lined tent a voice interrupted.

“E-excuse me my lady,” the crow, Jon, stuttered. You could almost pinch his cute cheeks. He stood, eyes averting your gaze, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The wildling chuckled, “I ain’t a lady, what’cha need Lord Crow?” Jon’s freshly shaved cheeks blushed up nicely, plump lips opening to say, “I’ve seen you around, you’re a wonderful spear wife. I wanted to get to know you.”

Putting a hand on your hip, she amusedly smiled and gave the shy lad her name. He stammered, “T-that’s pretty!” Cocking her head she stated, “Well, did you come here to recruit me or get your cock wet? I don’t have all night!” Jon made a soft noise, gloved hand drawing tight on that strange sword. He seemed to be fighting in his head.

In a softer tone she added, “Yer’ not a true free folk if you haven’t broken alllll of the vows. C’mon I’ll be easy, (my lord).” The crow nodded and darted inside, like he was hiding a big secret. Must be a kneeler thing, so devout to their rules and the idea of loyalty. She smiled at his red cheeks, admiring the way he gently put the sword aside and clasped his hands, dark orbs watching the woman intensely.

She pulled off her copious amounts of furs, baring skin in the dark tent. Jon’s breath hitched, his leathers squeaking softly. The wildling purred, “Yer’ a pretty one for a crow. Not one of those old grizzled ones or plump third sons,” she crawled towards the man, “Better lips than most maids.”

The dark haired man whimpered softly, letting her take off his inky cloak. She cooed more praises, making his blood heat up in a way he had never felt. When she shucked down his breeches Jon moaned, “I-I’ve never.” He could see her teeth glinting in the lowlight as she chuckled, “I know sweet lord. Don’t worry about a thing. Jus’ testing the ice.”

He murmured breathlessly, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you, precious.”

Jon felt too hot again, her praises making his cock throb like crazy in the chilly air. He craved the compliments, made that aching hole created from his past tamp down. The spear maid wrapped a tough hand around his cock, pumping the strained flesh. Jon let out an agonized moan, biting down on his lip to be quiet.

She teased, “Can’t have anyone hear the Lord Crow crying like a bitch huh? S’okay we don’t care.”

She slid a thumb over his weeping tip, pressing her wind-bitten lips to his plump ones. Jon whined in his nose, opening up to her insistent pressure. Their mouths smacked together, Jon’s pathetic noises intermingling with her raspy sighs. He lapped at her tongue tentatively, beginning to pant from excitement. She returned the favor, allowing the kiss to get sloppier, wetter, messier.

He moaned into her heated embrace, soft lips already swelling from the pressure and her maddening little nips. Jon warbled her name when the wildling asked, “Ye’ ever got yer’ cock sucked, pretty little crow?” He shook his head dramatically, dark curls bouncing with the movement. She smiled and thumbed at the scars across his eyes, purring, “Yer in for some fun. I bet you cry pretty.”

Jon spasmed under her touch, begging with needy kisses and the subtle spread of his milky thighs. The bastard whined at the loss of her kisses, but quickly returned to ecstasy as she laid lush kisses down the hard, scarred lines of his body. One of her hands maddeningly stroked at the soft skin on Jon’s inner thighs.

She groaned lowly, lapping a fat stripe up Jon’s cock and continuing to dig into his weepy slit. Jon fell back like a chopped ironwood, calloused fingers digging into her crazy hair. He sucked in a breath, exhaling with the most wanton whine.

Pulling back slowly, she cooed, “Yess, that’s it baby crow, just let me take care of ye.”

She moved back to bob on his throbbing length, hollowing her cheeks and stroking the rest. The tent filled with lewd slurping, making the tips of Jon’s even flush up. He held back from shoving himself down the wildling’s throat, instead writhing in place. Jon rambled, “Others take me- s’good. You’re s’good.”

The spearmaid smiled around him, slurping up excess spit and suckling on the fat tip. The hand stroking him swirled right underneath the tip, making the Lord Commander shake and mewl. His brows were pinched, plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Jon knew he was getting close, body trembling and singing with pleasure. His lower belly was tight and getting tighter.

She pulled back again for a breath, breathlessly sighing, “Oh my sweet crow, I’m stealing you away fer’ myself. Can’t have such a pretty maid unprotected like this. All mine, boy.” Jon babbled, “Yes, yesyes, let me be yours! I’ll be good to you!” She hummed against his twitching cock, hot breath fanning out, “I know you will. Sweetie.”

When her perfect mouth enveloped Jon again he arched into the touch, whining even louder,

praising the woman in a broken crack. His thighs twitched, cock pulsed. When her lithe fingers pulled at Jon’s heavy balls he came apart with a elongated shout of her name. She pulled off and jacked his hot spend onto her belly, praising Jon again. She cooed, “There we go, got ye all relaxed huh? My baby is always gonna feel good.”

Jon whimpered, blinking away tears. He warbled, “You will always have me?” The wilding whispered with a gentle kiss, “Always sweet crow.” She wiped away his spend carefully, smiling and leaving more praises and pet names. Jon floated happily, sighing in pleasure, clinging to the powerful woman.

[duskydestra]

Falling, Fallen

Fandom: Fionna and Cake Pairing: Vampire World Princess Bubblegum/The Star | Vampire World Marceline Rating: Explicit Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Murder, Denial of Feelings, Rough Sex

Summary: Just how did Bonnibel decide on that haircut? It's a rather shameful tale, centered on the best night of her life with the worst person she knew.

If you'd rather read on AO3, click here.

~~

Timing was essential for this plan, so Bonnibel mulled it over in sections. While the sun was at what's supposed to be its height, she'd take out the guards. They stood watch in two-hour shifts. The reserves were likely skulking the castle's halls, but she'd be ready for them. The Vampire King had left to terrorize the locals, but The Star didn't always tag along.

After tearing gaps in their defenses, there'd be no one around to save The Star. 

She fastened bandoliers of stakes over her shoulders, eager to bear the weight. She felt incomplete without it. Bonnibel slid the hunting knife into her thigh holster. She'd found it in the wasteland, cleaned it, and sharpened it, all the while imagining how nice a rug The Star would make.

It would take time and an expert hand, but Bonnibel had nothing if not time and expertise.

~~~

Inside the castle, she handled each guard as she ventured down one floor after another. They left no bodies, blood, or viscera. Only when she was certain they'd all been cleared out did she catch the sound of muffled hums.

Bonnibel crept up to the door and grabbed one of her last stakes. Instead of giving up her position, she crouched lightly, listening for an opening. Between each line, there was the light scratch of a pen. She took that as her cue.

The next time the vampire stopped to write, Bonnibel dove into the room. She gathered The Star in a headlock, keeping her head at an angle and her fangs out of reach.

“Hello to you too, Bonnie. Can't you see I'm working?”

She tossed Bonnibel over her shoulder. Bonnibel rolled with it, stopping with just enough room to deliver a kick with both feet to the face.

The Star let out a shriek so loud, Bonnibel's hair stood on end. She lunged forward. Bonnibel locked her knees around The Star's shoulders. Not the most expedient move, but it did grant her some distance.

“Is this for me?” The Star had turned her attention to the knife strapped to Bonnibel's thigh. She winked at her reflection in the blade. “I'll forgive you for not wrapping it.”

When she moved to unsheathe it, Bonnibel seized her wrist.

The Star pouted.

“Now, now. It's only fair I get to have it. A first-time visitor should always bring a gift.” With eyes like coal, it was impossible to mistake the glint of playfulness. “If you ever sneak in here again, maybe I'll let you stick me with it. Wouldn't that be fun?”

Bonnibel refused to get caught up in imagining next time. This time shouldn't even be happening. The Star was supposed to be dead, and Bonnibel should be trekking back to base.

“That's not yours,” said Bonnibel.

The Star snatched her wrist from Bonnibel, who dodged the blade by a hair's breadth, and tossed the knife into the ceiling. Dust and pebbles rained down on them. The vampire raised a brow, too smug for her own good, and Bonnibel's fury boiled over.

She tackled The Star onto her back. Eyes wide, she wrapped both hands around her neck. Vampires have stolen everything—the sun, the world's color, and even her knife. It was too much. She squeezed, feeling for a bone to break or a joint to pop. The Star's pathetic hiss only made her twist her grip.

“You think everything belongs to you,” Bonnibel grit out. “That's your problem.”

The Star reached behind Bonnibel and yanked her away by the braid. A groan, deep and wanting, escaped Bonnibel's mouth. Too late, she turned it into a growl, but The Star was already in her face.

“I fucking knew it,” the vampire snarled. “You wanna hide it so bad, but I know what you want. You wanna talk about problems? You have the biggest one here.”

Bonnibel clenched her teeth as The Star leaned in. Silky hair brushed her cheek. The Star drew in a breath an inch from Bonnibel's neck.

“I've smelled it on you for months. That rage, you have for all vampires. But under that, there's something thick and tasty and just for me. It tears you apart and drives me wild.”

Bonnibel's jaw ached. Her nostrils flared. She thrust the final stake upward, ripping into The Star's dress, before her arm was knocked away and pinned to the ground.

The Star's fingers dug into her hip, anchoring her as though she might disappear. Bonnibel felt so exposed, she wished she could. She'd trained to throw off any enemy and regain the advantage. The perfect moves played out in her mind, yet she couldn't bring herself to interrupt what was happening.

The Star leveled her gaze. There was no glamour at work, but Bonnibel felt compelled to look up. The Star's lips widened with a smile, parted by a pair of fangs.

“I won't make you say it. That's not our style. So scream for no, and draw blood for yes.”

She grabbed The Star's forearm, hand shaky, and remembered. If you want to flay someone, you start with the first layer. Bonnibel sank her nails into the vampire's skin. With a slow drag, blood trickled over her fingers and down her wrist.

The Star's face twisted up, losing some of its familiarity in the pleasure. The shudder broke her voice into two tones, one high and one low.

Bonnibel gripped one of The Star's fangs, the tooth smooth as porcelain and tough as steel.

“If you try to turn me, I'll rip these out of your head.”

“Ooh, don't make a girl a promise.”

Bonnibel huffed.

As she pulled her hand back, The Star sharpened all her teeth to fine points, spreading the venom thin enough to be ineffective. When the ring of fangs claimed her neck, Bonnibel's legs scrambled against the carpet. In addition to sucking out the color, The Star's mouth threatened to drain her of all resistance.

That was the worst part. 

Years of discipline, of cutting off the excess, had whittled her body into perfect vampire-killing form. She freed her other hand—molded to tear into any weak spot—to pull The Star closer. Bonnibel was no stranger to pain, so her reward was a stronger bite.

The Star pulled back with a sigh, one voice horrid and the other pleasant. “How often have you thought about this? My claws, my teeth, this tongue?”

Bonnibel swiped The Star across the face, leaving streaks of red in her wake. That bit of defiance was worth a discordant cackle.

“Hit a nerve, did I? Must've been too many to count.”

Nothing infuriated Bonnibel more than the truth.

The Star closed in on all sides, emitting a hypnotic gravity all her own.

“Nothing you give yourself will ever feel as good as what I'm about to do to you. The best you can do is come close to it, and even then you'll be thinking of me.”

Her words carried a malicious energy. It would be unwise to ignore how they grazed her skin. Foolishly, Bonnibel took it as a challenge. Every deal, no matter how bad, has a way out.

The Star reached as if to undo the button on Bonnibel's pants, then raked her claws down the legs. Cool air washed over her lower body as the fabric was torn away.

Bonnibel glared.

The Star shifted on her lap. “Don't get mad, Bonnie. Get even.”

Bonnibel plunged her hands into the rip from the stake. Her fingers curled around the sides and she pulled with all her strength. This was merely practice for the gutting. She watched hungrily as the seams came undone, baring more and more skin.

The Star arched into her grasp. Bonnibel kneaded all that fit into her hands, digging her nails in each time. There was no need to be gentle. The Star didn't deserve or even seem to want it, with the way her face struggled to maintain form.

In a flash, Bonnibel was supine. Claws slid into her hair, scraping against her scalp. The ensuing moan was muffled by The Star planting herself on Bonnibel's mouth.

When presented with any task, Bonnibel was no slouch. For pride's sake, she wished she could be a tease. But the truth was she had to taste all of The Star’s essence, and she needed it now. She worked her mouth according to shudders and sounds. A haunting chorus of moans guided her. She earned every twist of her hair.

Before long, she yanked The Star over the peak, indulging in the grip around her tongue.

Wings of leather sprouted from The Star's back, dripping ink onto Bonnibel's calves. The Star flew them up, carrying Bonnibel by the waist.

Her body protested the sudden shift, a primal unease at the loss of stability. Bonnibel's hair slipped free of its braid, unraveling toward the floor.

A trail of bites, each harsher than the last, turned her focus where it belonged. Regarding comfort, The Star had obviously come to the same conclusion as Bonnibel. Mercifully, the fangs receded before The Star returned the favor.

As far as she knew, The Star couldn't read minds. There existed no journal, no drawing, no physical evidence of this life-ruining desire. Only in her thoughts would Bonnibel acknowledge the deep relief of sating this traitorous part of herself.

It didn't take much time. Tearing into The Star, and seeing her pleasure deepen for it, had gotten Bonnibel most of the way there. The sheer force of her orgasm neared violence. It shot through her veins, locked itself in her muscles. Syrup coated The Star's tongue, who lapped it up as though it were her purpose.

She extended her tongue, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her enemy. The Star pressed a kiss to Bonnibel's clit. Bonnibel clamped her knees around the vampire's ears. Said vampire ignored the reproach, looking all too pleased with herself.

“You're way louder than I'd hoped, you know that?” She gazed down at Bonnibel, eyelids low. “I figured it'd be easier to fight an army than get some feedback outta you.”

Bonnibel ignored the jab. It wouldn't matter soon, anyway. She extended her arms, then swung back and forth. As soon as she gained enough momentum, she reached for the ceiling and grabbed the knife's handle. Finally on the same level, The Star's glare seared her face—her only warning—before she was dropped to the ground.

She stuck the landing, knife in hand. It'd be more impressive if she had on pants, but that was only a temporary hindrance.

In her pocket, she dug around for the tiny sewing machine. High quality, durable clothing was hard to find and even harder to make. Just shy of a minute later, she was able to slip back into uniform.

The Star floated into Bonnibel's line of sight. “I expected no less. Spare a thread for the princess?”

“Fix it yourself.”

“Come on. Unless you want everyone to know what you did to my dress.”

“You wouldn't.” Bonnibel replaced her missing stakes. “And it'd be more trouble for you than me.”

The Star crossed her arms. “You don't know what I'd do.”

That much would always be true. Before The Star really called her bluff, there was room for one more deal.

“We will never speak of this,” Bonnibel decided.

The Star grinned. “We won't have to.”

“I mean it.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever.”

Bonnibel took a moment to admire the tattered mess she'd made of such a rare garment. Seeing it made whole again left her hollow.

~~~

A couple hours later, she'd scrubbed away the evidence.

Ink, blood, and dried slick all swirled down the drain. Steam rose from the hard shower water, hot enough to make her malleable. Bonnibel ripped off each bite mark and took her time reforming the skin. It was fresh, smooth, and indistinguishable from the rest.

If The Star was to be believed—and Bonnibel was inclined to take this threat at face value—Bonnibel had signed up for a silent but devastating game of psychological warfare.

The Star had seen the worst of her tonight. If only she could reach inside herself and flush that away too.

Bonnibel dried off and wiped the mirror clear. Insults, she could take. No barbs could cut deeper than falling short of her own standards.

But she could ensure it never happened again.

With one hand, she unsheathed the knife. With the other, she gathered her hair at the nape. Bonnibel had never cut her hair before. Keeping it out of her way had always been sufficient. After a few fruitless attempts, she gave up on finding the right angle and simply hacked at what she could see.

She sculpted what remained into a buzz cut. It was light, easier on her neck. Along with the eye, she imagined The Star claiming it was yet another thing she'd taken from her. To the best of her abilities, Bonnibel would pretend otherwise.

[myapathyhaspeaked]

Marina watched the island shrink as she rowed farther and farther away from the shallows, focusing on the rhythmic sound of water lapping against the hull to keep the headache at bay as she kept a careful eye on Mahi, who was leaning dangerously over the edge of the small wooden fishing boat, only fairly larger than the average canoe, and skimming the cool water with the tips of her outstretched fingers. Never having been this far out to sea, she was enthusiastically surveying the wide sapphire blue expanse for fish she had never seen save for under the scaling knife, colorful shoals of fish with scales that shimmered with the moonlight that raced away from her hand when she dipped it into the crowd, and a behemoth sunfish whose silhouette she could spot from a healthy distance away even at night. Marina wondered if she was also keeping watch for danger, the sharks, sirens, and monstrosities that called the ocean home. Having always fished out on a quiet pond, the most ferocious creature she had had the chance to encounter was an unusually persistent pike that had kept its jaws clenched around its prey even as the net it had been caught in was lifted out of the water, dangling outside as it failed to wrench the smaller fish through a gap in the ropes. Floating on the surface of waters that contained more giant, more perilous, more strange species felt like lying on a bed of nails. 

Lillian, meanwhile, was stretched out lazily on the other side of the boat, lying under the bench where her paddles now sat as she watched Marina doing all the hard work, citing a strong breeze blowing in a favorable direction that conveniently only revealed itself to her as reason why two rowers were unnecessary. She would be more annoyed at the fact that the farmer was doing nothing if she wasn’t so grateful that she wasn’t doing anything. Marina could only imagine how much harder her life would be if Lillian was making the effort to make sarcastic comments and improper jokes, nearly choking as she tried to take a swig of booze in the middle of her own raucous laughter, the thought itself was sharpening the pain in her temples. Instead, she was half asleep, eyes partially closed as she smirked back at Marina’s glare.

“Wait! I see them! Stop! Stop!” Mahi rocked the boat as she frantically pointed to tiny glowing purple dots scattered across the bottom of the ocean floor. Lillian scrambled to get up and wrap an arm around the girl before she threw herself overboard as Marina pushed a paddle into the water to stop the current from pushing them. She looked out over Mahi’s shoulder and squinted at the Mermaid’s Bouquet below, the aquatic flowers so far down it was hard to see them even with the aid of the dark of night. Marina looked at the pitiful length of rope connected to the anchor; they had far underestimated how far away the marine plants would be.

“Welp, I wouldn’t bother going down there at this hour. Might as well take a nap until the sun comes back up and we can actually see shit again,” Lillian shrugged as she resumed her position under the bench at the bow, “Be a dear Marina and throw anchor, will you?” She snickered as her cheeks darkened with rage.

“You cannot possibly expect us to sleep out here in this– in this dinghy! No offense Mahi.” The young girl just shrugged, confused on what the issue was. Sleeping on fishing boats was relatively normal, wasn’t it? Maybe it was the distance from shore.

“Please, it can’t be much different from sleeping in your dingy house.”

“We will float out to sea, you dolt!” She punctuated her statement by holding out the rope, demonstrating its inadequate length.

“Well shit.” Lillian’s mask of nonchalance seemed to crack slightly as the news, before she quickly plastered her smirk back on. “Still, if you want to deal with the sirens and sea serpents in the dead of night, be my guest, but you’ll be on your own.” She closed her eyes, still smirking as Marina carried on about how she needed to stay up and help her keep the boat still. “Lighten up,” she mumbled, words warped by a mid sentence yawn, “There’s barely any wind, it’s not like we’re gonna drift out to the Labonan Isles.”

“Oh, am I hearing correctly? Because I recall you saying there was a strong wind behind us.”

“It’s died down,” she drowsily countered as she moved to rest her head in her arms.

“Oh don’t you dare try sleeping, I’m still lecturing you, you wretch!” Marina yelled, frustrated that her admonishing had failed to stop the farmer from slipping into dreamland. She gripped the sides of the boat until her knuckles turned white, huffing as she tried to calm down, sure that if she didn’t, she would throw the smug woman into water, where her heavy skirts would drag her down into the depths below.

“Ooh, my sister’s gonna kill me!” Mahi whispered to herself, sounding a bit too excited for someone expecting certain sibling sourced doom. She turned to Marina, having spotted her confused expression out of the corner of her eye, “She never lets me stay out this late even when I’m still on land! I feel a bit like a criminal, to be honest.” Yawning, as if to prove the irregularity of the situation, the girl lied across the middle bench and went to sleep, using a sack of supplies as a makeshift pillow and dangling her feet out over the side of the boat like one might hang bait over the water. A part of Marina, the part composed of all her anxieties she had gained as she raised Malaya, feared that the girl would be dragged out of the boat by some predator, and disappear into the ink black night.

“We should have brought a bigger boat,” Marina groaned as she struggled to find room on the boat to stretch out her legs, blocked by Lillian’s long legs trespassing into her side of the boat. She was forced to keep her knees bent, a position uncomfortable in her long skirt, and had to cross her arms over her chest like a corpse in its coffin to fit. “One with an anchor.”

And I should be back on the island with Birch and Malaya, eating roasted fish and fruit and sleeping under a blanket, not stuck with these hooligans, she thought bitterly, before she, against all odds, managed to fall asleep.

“Huh– what?!” Marina sputtered as she was shaken awake by an excited Mahi that was far too close for her own safety, saved by the tightness of her skirt which prohibited her from launching a kick at her gut. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but now it was morning, nearly midday. She stretched out her sore limbs, wincing at the pins and needles that stabbed into her legs, and the loud crack her back made as she rolled back her shoulders. She took a deep breath and recomposed herself. “Excuse me. Is everything well?”

Mahi, now sitting on the bench with the bag of supplies on her lap, nodded energetically, evidently ready for the adults to get the day started. “Well, um, actually, everything except Lillian,” she trailed off as she side-eyed the woman, who was hunched over against the side with an empty bottle of booze, which Marina was unsure how she smuggled aboard since she made sure to double check her bag, muttering about how even the whiskey found a way to leave her, and clutching it with a vengeance. 

“That’s normal for her, don’t worry,” Marina sighed, trying to give the girl a reassuring smile and ease her worry. She took her trident in hand, and carefully balanced herself as she leaned forward and lightly struck the drunkard on the head with the heavy golden rod. She took a small spiteful glee at the sight of the farmer jolting back to the real world.

“Oi! Who the he– oh. It’s just you. I thought some sea creature had pulled itself into the boat,” she recovered, smirking challengingly at Marina. The two women glared at each other, making the atmosphere uncomfortably heavy for the one other person onboard. Mahi could almost suffocate in the tension.

“Hey, hey, come on guys, we need to get a move on! The quicker we get the flowers, the quicker you guys can get away from each other, right?” The ladies turned their glare to the youngest, and apparently most mature, person on the boat, then quickly looked away awkwardly as they realized their stupidity. For a moment, their mouths were glued shut with shame, and their brains were filled with the sound of waves crashing into each other.

“Well, I…,” Marina stammered, fidgeting with a strand of hair that had freed itself from her ponytail as she slept. How foolish had she been, to take the challenge, having a staring contest with the farmer as if they were children. Such things were far below her level of sophistication. To lower herself down to the immaturity of that woman, it was idiotic.

“Well you better take that trident and get down there, Fisher Lady, we ain’t got nothing to drink and it’s hot out here. Besides, there ain’t nothing better for you to do so there’s no purpose in stalling,” Lillian ordered, pointing at the magical weapon at the fisherwoman’s side. She looked expectantly at Marina, and gestured to the water below as if she thought she needed more context to understand the command.

“Get down there? You can’t possibly expect me to swim into that abyss!” Marina protested. She swung her trident to emphasize her statement, angrily pointing it at the water. The ocean reacted as if a shock wave had punched through it, and Mahi panickedly gripped both sides of the boat as it rocked side to side, clenching her eyes shut as she willed it to stay still. Lillian laughed bitterly at the predicament, and the dark blush of embarrassment that spread across Marina’s face.

“Of course I can,” Lillian replied smoothly once they were sure they weren’t going to capsize, “You’re the only one with water powers here, after all. Who else better than one who can control this very ocean, no?”

“I can manipulate water, that doesn’t mean I can breathe in it! Or do you expect me to grow a tail and gills as I’m submerged?”

“It’s how they say it works for water nymphs. Maybe now that you have found your mother’s relics, the ability will reveal itself to you. Besides, that wasn’t my plan at all. Just make an air bubble and swim down there, and we’ll be out of here in no time. What do you say?”

Marina took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, gathering herself in preparation for what she was about to say.

“I can’t swim,” she whispered, keeping her head down and her eyes glued to the water.

“What?”

“I said I can’t swim,” she reiterated, raising her voice.

“You work for hours every day, out on the water on an old rotting fishing boat.”

“That is correct,” Marina nodded, glaring at Lillian for reminding her of her unfortunate financial situation.

“And you can’t swim.” She looked dumbfounded, as if she had just been told that the world would end in just seven days.

“I can float!” She snapped, as if the information made her lack of ability less shameful. “I just can’t go anywhere.” She rubbed the stray strand between her fingers with an increased intensity.

“Great,” Lillian sighed, rubbing her temples.

“I can swim,” Mahi offered, wondering if they had forgotten that she was still on the boat.

“I ain’t sending a kid like you that deep, hun.” She put an arm around her shoulder, in silent thanks for her offer, before turning to glare daggers at Marina. “I was counting on Marina to use her trident and keep herself from drowning,” she explained through gritted teeth, staring at the woman accusingly.

“You hitched your entire plan on my ability to swim, and didn’t once think to, perhaps, ask me?”

“You work on a boat!” Lillian shouted. Marina wondered if the other’s back on the island could hear them. Malaya was probably running around, skipping along the beach, kicking up sand and collecting shells. Birch was probably offering to help around, knowing her. Maybe she had set up shop with her medical supplies and was stitching people up, or was helping prepare the evening stew, surrounded by savory smells. Either way, she knew in her soul that they were having more fun than her.

“Okay,” Lillian sighed, “Get in the water.”

“Excuse me? I believe I made it quite clear why I cannot do that.”

“You can float, and I can teach you how to swim.”

“You’re not going to remove your tights? Or gloves?” Marina questioned, holding onto the boat as she floated in the ocean, knuckles white as she gripped the rim like a bear trap, stripped down to her chemise.

“No,” she replied bluntly. She had taken off everything save for her chemise and everything else Marina had listed, and was lowering herself down into the water. “Now take my hand.”

“I can assure you, that is not happening.” Marina gripped the wooden vessel tighter. Mahi could almost swear she heard splintering, and surreptitiously eyed the area for cracks. She was a bit thankful for the swim, even though she found the grave danger she was putting herself in nerve wracking. There was no floor to push herself up from if she began to sink, and no nearby land to haul herself onto. Sure there was the boat to retreat to, but could Mahi reach her if she was sinking below the waves? Would Lillian leave her to drown, assuming she would think to create an air bubble in the midst of her panic? 

The cool water helped distract her from her thoughts, and brought some deliverance from the elements. The tropical sun was beating down, and the dark blue bodice and long skirt she had been wearing had done her no favors. She ran her fingers through her ink black hair, feeling how it burned like hot coals.

“I can assure you, it is.” Lillian grabbed Marina’s wrists and wrenched them away from the boat, and using her superior strength, managed to successfully force Marina fully into the sea. Lillian held her hands tightly as Marina frantically kicked to stay afloat, desperate to keep above the water. For a moment, she was taken aback by how hard the farmer’s hands felt around her own, as if they were all bone and no flesh. What was under those gloves that made it so she never took them off?

“You know, it would be much easier to keep afloat if you weren’t holding me!” 

“I’m not teaching you how to keep afloat,” Lillian smirked as she moved a hand to press against the angler’s back. “Now lie down.”

Marina maneuvered her body so that she laid stomach down, craning her neck awkwardly to keep her nose and mouth above the water. Lillian moved her hand to support her, slowing her heart rate a bit.

“Tilt your head to the side!” Mahi called out from the boat. She had busied herself with making sure the boat didn’t drift too far from where they had found the Mermaid’s Bouquet, but the volume of the others was impossible to completely ignore.

“Alright, now what do I do?” Marina asked after following the instructions. The girl was right, it was now a lot easier to breathe, and she felt herself grow more relaxed. It felt strange, being suspended as if she was floating, with the strange combination of scorching sun above and cold water below. She could see nothing but blue ahead of her, and could almost imagine themselves and their small boat being the only things in the world, mere specks, like stars in the sky.

“Well, start kicking, and…”

[yanderenightmare]

genderbend bnha, any thoughts??? female to male?

Genderbend ! BNHA thirsts

Tip jar

goodiebag WARNINGS: genderbend, nsfw, dubcon/noncon, this made me go wild...

URARAKA

Such a pretty guy. Looks like an idol.

Cute large brown eyes, the softest chocolate-coloured locks...

Soft but defined jawline, a bit of chub in his cheeks.

Ugh... the softest boyfriend ever...

So very very very chatty and cuddly and touchy and grabby.

In bed, on top of you, drowning his head in your tits, clinging to you, mumbling into your skin.

Goes completely woozy when you play with his hair.

Constantly using you and your plush body parts as a pillow.

Drooling in his sleep on your boobs or belly or butt or lap.

TOGA

Imagine cockwarming Toga in front of absolutely everyone in the league.

Your back against the beige softness of his fine-knitted school-sweater as he leans his chin on your shoulder, sweetly humming a lullaby against your ear, breaths warm and ticklish.

You'll whimper all cute for him as he smiles and snuggles in closer to you.

You don't know if your grateful or not that his hands are busy cleaning and sharpening his knifes instead of touching you...

USAGIYAMA

The horny buck-bunny stamina of Mirko.

Constantly slapping your round pretty bum with a wide-spread grin plastered on his face, bending you over any surface available, squeezing you tight while humping into you from behind in such a dizzying speed it makes your eyes roll back into your skull.

He's definitely got an out-of-control breeding kink.

His favourite positions is having you face-down-ass-up or the tightest toe-curling mating-press creampie you and your poor pussy has ever had to endure.

MINA

Mina and how he knows he's a fucking pink smoke-show.

Cruel cocky comments whispered like sweet-little-nothings into your ear, sly smile on his lips, dark-humoured chuckles that make your spine stir and gut purr.

Also, how he strokes and messages your skin with gentle dexterous hands, threatening you soft body with the burn of acid if you don't behave for him.

A fucking freak in bed.

Just... extremely eccentric.

Likes to make you touch yourself in front of him as he sits there and watches.

YAOYOROZU

The amount of jewels and gold and silver-pieces Yaoyorozu would buy and have you wear as he fucks you softly against expensive hand-crafted Egyptian-cotton bedsheets and mulberry-silk pillows.

He'd make you the most lushes pet ever.

Diamonds and all the prettiest of gems decorating your cute collar, where you're chained and kept in the safety of your bed where you belong.

Just his favourite little toy-doll he uses to warm himself at night.

Loves putting nipple-clamps on you.

HATSUME

Imagine cockwarming Hatsume while he's got all his tools spread on his desk.

The smell of sweat, metal and gunpowder laid thickly around you while he's got his tongue out in concentration, adjusting his babies...

And you can bet the pretty thing between your legs that he loves making toys and absolutely adores testing them out on you.

JIRO

Lying in bed with Jiro for hours listening to somber rock music while making out, his hands firm when kept at your hips.

Voice low like curt cobain when he whispers to you about the shift in pace of your heartbeat while he plays with his earphone jacks across your chest.

He'd watch you sleep for ages with lazy eyes.

Tuning his guitar and playing whatever sounds come to mind from watching your chest rise and fall with your breaths.

ASUI

Imagine a tall Asui towering over you in the hallway.

Voice slick and smooth as he tickles your chin and tells you to call him Tsu.

Hair a soft flat glossy black, bangs falling in front of his equally rich-black eyes as he bows his head to look down at you where he has you leaning tight against the lockers.

KENDO

Imagine absolutely anything involving Kendo's massive hands.

Pushed down and held down like an insect, legs kicking as you try to lift just one of his thick fingers off.

Stretched on one finger alone...

Lifted up and held up with nothing but his one hand gripping your waist like you're the size of an actual fleshlight while he makes use of you like one.

Squishing the fight out of you.

His other hand holding your knees together, having your thighs squeezed together as he fucks you nicely from behind.

Tip jar

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[levixreader]

Dad!Levi x Mum!Reader - It's Just a Hobby

Charlotte: French name meaning freedom Summary: You woke up alarmed at the metallic shriek echoing in your room. Your angry husband sat a the far end of the room... sharpening his blades?... at three in the morning? Oh God, what did Charlotte do this time.

Warning: Pure fluffiness, Levi deserves happiness ;v;

Inspired by @cakeswashere prompt:

Y/N: are you angry? or...

Levi: no.

Y/N: so sharpening your blades at 3am is just a hobby then?

Daughter of Mine(Chapter I)| Master List|Requests| Next Chapter

It's Just a Hobby

Sheeeeeeek

It was a sharp, almost metallic in nature shriek. You tossed in your sleep, your brain still half unconscious.

Had you imagined it?

It sounded familiar. Where you having another dream of your time at the Corps?

All this talk about Charlotte joining the military was definitely not doing you any favours. It was scratching at the back of your head the obscure memories you kept hidden away. Ever since you had pushed Levi into taking her to work, every night, without fail, the deformed hands of your demons came to grab you at night.

Yesterday Levi had shaken you awake. You were sweating in your sleep, haunted by the last expression of your friends, of your family. Some nights, your dreams were so vivid that you were convinced that the life you had now was… imagined.

How had Charlotte convinced you that it was a good idea to join? Ah, yes, her unwavering spirit. Stubborn and passionate to the core, just like her father. Erwin had earned Levi and his constant devotion to the cause had earned Charlotte.

Truly, she had worn you down. She would talk as if she had been in the military for as long as she was alive. She had convinced every single one of her friends to join. Of course, she had worn you down. Children, you had discovered, had a way to make you feel like you could endure anything as long as it made them happy. Even if that meant spinning directly into a titan’s jaws. You shivered. Tonight, marked the beginning of winter and with it the fast approach of harsh months.

How could you selfishly stand in her way? She was the carbon copy of your husband, down to his unhuman like traits. She was fast and strong, but that didn’t make her cocky, it made her aware of just how far she could go. So when she had implored you to let her join the military… You caved because you knew your daughter, nothing you could say, not even the hellish nightmares you conjured now, would deter her from joining.

Levi could though. You didn’t have the heart or the will power to stand against her, she was, after all, a force of nature like Levi. So, it made sense that he could and did stand against her. So firmly opposed that he would rather sacrifice his relationship with her than watch her wear forest green.

I would never want to feel responsible if something were to happen to you.

His words had rung deep within you. Levi was strong, the strongest in fact. He had carried with his best friend’s death, carried the guilt of every death, carried the title of strongest, but, he could never carry the responsibility of the death of his only child.

Your heart ached. For months now, you had tried to convince yourself that you already waited with your heart of your throat every time Levi sat you down at the kitchen table to tell you there would be a new excursion. You could do the same with Charlotte. Right?

It was different. You knew it was different. You were all too aware of it. So, you settled. Settled to be thankful that where you lack the willpower, Levi could. Maybe, you had thought, that having her shadow Levi for a couple of days would show her a glimpse into a world she could never have thought of. You hadn’t. Not even Levi, who lived in the underground, had.

Sheeeeeek

You shot up. Straight up.

That had been the sound of a knife getting sharpened.

In a panic, your eyes scanned the room, your hand already reaching for your bedside table, inching into the drawer on the hidden weapon inside. You could feel your heart lodged in your trachea. All you could think was of your daughter and how to get to her as quick as possible. But, then, your eyes landed at the corner at the far back. It was Levi, seated in the leather chair he liked so much.

Relief, ice-cold relief washed over your stiffened body. Instantly, you relaxed at the sight of the familiar presence. Your heart unable to dislodge from your throat, the exhaustion weighing down at your body once again.

What the hell was he doing?

Shreeeeeeek

You felt a new wave of alertness wash over you. Something glimmered, you squinted, your tiered eyes fell to his lap.

There was a blade.

Shreeeeeeek

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades.

He was sharpening his blades at three in the morning.

Oh, God.

Shreeeeeeek

Cried the sound of metal. He was hunched in the chair, hadn’t bothered taking off his uniform, or boots for that matter. His right leg on top of his left thigh. One of his blades rested across his lap. You sat there watching as he expertly manoeuvred the blade making it glimmer even in the darkest of nights.

Something was bothering him.

You sighed, the adrenalin leaving your body. It had been a minute since you last felt it course through your body like earlier. You had genuinely thought that there had been an intruder in the house. You were a light sleeper, years retired from the military could never kill that habit. It had saved you more than once.

You wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until you untangled whatever Levi’s brain was scrambling. It was Charlotte, you were sure of it. After the little incident at the beginning of the week, she had somehow squeezed a promise to not react like he did that day. How she did it you would never know. It took years -years- to get him to not impulsively confront any man that would even slightly look at you the wrong way. You were certain that something must have happened again and the frustration of being powerless had him sitting, sharpening his disposable blades at such an ungodly hour.

This was it. The time had come to have “The Talk” with Levi. You had been preparing for this ever since Charlotte turned sixteen. You had already noticed the attention she garnered whenever she accompanied you to the market. How some of her oldest male friends would stare a second too long. It was bound to happen eventually. You had prepared for it, Levi… not so much.

“Morning”, you said the bedsheets still pooled at your waist. Even with the window closed, you could feel the cold air prickling your skin, like small needles. He frowned, not really expecting you to wake up. He had already spent an hour on his other blades, this was his last one. “How was work today?”, you insisted. He grunted. He at least acknowledged you. He wasn’t feeling all that talkative at the moment.

Shreeeeeek

The sound of the metal echoing across the room. This man was impossible. Like father, like daughter, two stubborn mules unwilling to bend or move in their convictions. You were convinced that when God created stubbornness, Levi was first in line, closely followed by Charlotte.

“Somethings never change”, you thought shaking you head slightly. Unceremoniously, you yanked the sheets from your lower body. You shivered, the cold air now attacking your legs. Levi’s face remained turned down, his eyes, however, sneaked a peek at you. He had heard you move. You were, to his dismay, heading towards his direction. He noticed the hair of your forearms standing to attention. You were cold. He clicked his tongue; he wasn’t ready to go to bed, anger still bubbling at his feet. He frowned, returning his attention at the weapon in his hand.

Shreeeeeeek

“Are are you angry?”, he heard you ask softly. No answer. You grouched in front of his legs so that your face was in his direct eyesight. He gripped the handle of the blade, his eyes moving to observe the end of it. He was avoiding you. “no.”, he curtly answered. He looked stoic. “Stubborn, stubborn man”, you thought. You placed a numbed hand on his twisted knee. His eyebrows knitted together refusing to look at you, opting to look at your hand. You looked paler than usual.

Did she have another nightmare?

You smiled amused, “So sharpening your blades at three in the morning is just a hobby then?”, you asked sarcastically. His frown deepened, he didn’t answer. “Tell me what’s bothering you”, you pushed, the tips of your fingers going a bit numb. He sighed knowing you weren’t going to let this go and if needed would freeze half to death until he talked. “And you think Charlotte is stubborn because of me”, he thought. Charlotte, he frowned again the anger bubbling up again.

“Is it Charlotte?”, you asked, even softer than before. You gripped his knee in reassurance. He sighed again, of course, you would know exactly what was bothering him. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I can’t believe she is sixteen”, you said truthfully.

Sixteen years went by like nothing, one day she was too small to even reach the kitchen counter and the next she had a queue of boys lined up. “Fucking hormonal teenagers”, he thought to himself glaring down at the polished blade. He wanted to break the thing in two.

“Our brat is an adult now”, you said giggling pulling him again out of his thoughts. His eyes lifted slightly to look at you, clearly disagreeing with your opinion. Charlotte wasn’t an adult; she was just a brattier brat. “Did one of the cadets flirt with her again?”, you asked smiling sympathetically. His eyes widened and immediately narrowed to the point you thought he had closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, his grip on the weapon made his knuckles turn white.

“A boy”, he corrected. You smiled sadly at his words. “You know she is at that age”, you said earning you a glare. “You know I’m right”, you insisted. He clicked his tongue. You were right. That doesn’t mean he had to voice it. “I know this is very hard for you”, you continued, he looked pained. It had taken everything in him today to not march and punch the titan shifter straight in the face. He knew the look he was giving Charlotte; it was the same look he had given you. He felt his chest burn.

His eyes looked pained, the cold controlled captain melting away. You wanted to hug him, console him and tell him that his baby was still just that: a baby. That Charlotte would not grow up and that she would always call him ‘Daddy’. But this would only hurt him more and would do Charlotte a disservice as her mother.

“Here”, you said standing up offering a hand for him to take. He looked at your hand, eyebrow cocked upwards with curiosity. You rolled your eyes, “Well, take it”, you insisted shaking your hand. Cautiously, he placed his free hand on yours. His eyes narrowing when he felt how cold your fingers felt. In a quick movement, he rested the sharpened blade against the nearest wall and grabbed with both his hands the hand you had offered. “You’re cold”, he commented, making you roll your eyes again at him. “Well hurry up then”, you answered pulling him up. He pouted, finally complying with your request.

You pulled him out of the room towards the hallway in front of Charlotte’s room. His frown returned, “What are we doing here”, he asked, not appreciating the surprise. “Shh”, you said tightening your hold on his hand. As carefully as you could you opened the door to your daughter’s room. She looked tranquil, completely at ease. “Look”, you whispered moving out of the way. Reluctantly, he peaked into Charlotte’s room. His eyes softened and his chest, previously burning with anger, filled with warmth. She looked like a child hugging her favourite stuffed animal. “She isn’t quite an adult yet”, you whispered, “not because some boy is flirting with her means she stopped growing”.

He sighed closing the door just as carefully as you had opened it.

“Let’s have another one”, he said turning to look at you straight to your eyes. “What?”, you said in complete shock. “Let’s have another one”, he repeated closing the gap between the both of you. “What?”, you repeated louder, his hands grabbing your hips. “I said”, he whispered pulling you towards him, “Let’s”, you heard him next to your ear, “have”, you felt his breath on your neck, his nose caressing the base of your neck, “another one”. His teeth dug into your soft skin.

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞