#my mind does wonders with coming up with the strangest ideas

[lynher]

this is definitely ooc, but i had a vision where carmilla accidentally turned vaggie into a domesticated cat

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 12) [note: trigger warning for a pretty rough spanking scene with a belt and minimal aftercare. if you need to, you can skip to the midway point (there's a line between the first half and second).]

first chapter >> last chapter

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He keeps your hands tied behind your back on the ride home.

All that does is confirm the fact that he must know. Graves must have tracked him down or perhaps he was approached by someone who did consider your sudden arrival in town suspicious. Why else would the sheriff chase you all the way into the mountains on horseback and then take you back with him? He would’ve within his rights to leave your thieving self to wander alone in the woods and succumb to the elements.

John doesn’t say a word the first hour of the ride back. You can feel the anger emanating from him though. He almost shakes with it. His anger somehow upsets you more than whatever is left to come. 

“Anytime you wanna start talkin’, I’m all ears,” John finally says, breaking the silence. 

You keep your lips pressed together, stubbornly silent. There’s no use giving yourself away before you’ve learned how much he knows. You haven’t built this life of yours with loose lips. 

“I don’t know what in the Sam Hill has gotten into you,” he continues, and his voice is cobblestone tread rough in the night. “Running off all by yourself. There ain’t nothing out in these parts except outlaws and highwaymen. There are men out here that’d love to get their hands on a woman like you—not even a knife to defend yourself with. You haven’t even got a scrap of food on you, never mind water. You’d’ve been dead in a week if the men out here hadn’t picked you off themselves.”

His words make your stomach ache. You know that there are worse things out there. A thousand gruesome ways to die. You’re less of a lady than John might think—you’ve heard stories. You’ve brushed close to that reality yourself. You wonder how he’d take it if you were to tell him about what had happened back east. 

Maybe running away this time hadn’t been your smartest idea, but it had been your only. You can’t fault yourself for the instinct to survive. 

“I know,” you mumble, dropping your chin to your chest. 

“You gonna explain to me why you stole my horse and ran off in the first place?” he asks. 

It’s the strangest interrogation you’ve ever heard of—sitting on the same horse with your back to the man questioning you and your hands tied together at the wrists. You wonder if you leaned back whether you’d feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. 

You remain mulishly silent though, reticent to answer the question.

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling you,” he continues, trying to rationalize it to himself. “After the fuss you put up those first few days, I thought a bit of structure and discipline would do you well, and it did. Giving you a bit of slack was my mistake.”

You frown at that. Those don’t sound like the words of a man with any knowledge of the circumstances leading to you running off. He might not even have come across Graves at all in the hours since the man made his appearance in the general store. Otherwise, you can’t imagine how he wouldn’t make the connection. 

Still, you can’t make yourself come right out and say it, even though every iota of your being aches to let the truth out. Call it nerves overpowering the need to be truthful and good. You vacillate between honesty and self-preservation, but each avenue feels like being dropped into a nest of vipers. 

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t question you like this. It’s a boon you can’t give up, not yet. Not when the thought of his inevitable righteous fury fills you with dread and self-loathing. 

“I don’t have to explain myself,” you spit out suddenly, and it’s not you saying those words but something ugly and sad in you. “You’re not my owner.”

“I damn sure am your husband though,” John growls, winding his free hand around your hair to tug you back into his chest. “And I know these parts far better than you, little miss. Beyond running off on me for no good reason when I thought we put your reticence behind us, you went and put yourself in danger the likes of which you couldn’t even fathom.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snap. “I know what men are like.”

“You’re telling me you pulled that stunt knowing what kinda danger is out there in the woods?”

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“I know you weren’t,” John grunts. “That’s the issue.” 

The rest of the ride home is uncomfortably quiet. John keeps one hand clamped on your waist while the other holds the reins of both horses, the two walking alongside each other back down the trail towards the house. The ride home is a lot longer than the ride out into the woods since John refuses to let either of them go faster than a slow trot while your hands are tied behind your back. 

He snorts in derision at your suggestion to undo your binds. “That eager for your punishment?” 

That gets you to zip your lips. 

When you get drowsy, John tips your head back and makes you sip from his waterskin. His hand fits carefully around your throat to hold your head in place, his fingers curling around to just graze the nape of your neck. Your throat pulses under his palm when you swallow. It’s far too intimate for how restless you feel, damn near shaking out of your skin, but it briefly shushes the voice in your head until he pulls his hand away. 

A shadow under the doorway of the house startles you at first before it takes a step into the faint light of the setting sun and you recognize the bristly blond of Simon’s shorn head and the red bandana shrouding the bottom half of his face. The tension ebbs back into you when you realize with creeping humiliation that the black horse you rode home on must belong to him. 

He watches the two of you approach with predictable disinterest, his eyes betraying nothing. The shame is excruciating. 

John brings the horse to a halt some feet from Simon, not bothering to greet him. You wonder if it’s the anger choking him or if this is just routine, men trading favors in silence lest a word in gratitude break the spell. After dismounting himself, John helps you down, all but picking you up and lifting you off the horse. 

Simon doesn’t say a word to either of you when he takes the reins from John’s hands, giving him only a curt nod and you a cursory glance before leading his horse away to mount. He doesn’t spare you a backwards glance before taking off back towards town. You watch him over your shoulder while John guides you up the porch steps and into the house, until the shape of him disappears into the horizon. Then the door shuts behind you. 

Alone now, your attention turns back to John. He stares down at you consideringly, a hand planted on the door he just shut until he lets it fall to his side. You can see the gears turning in his mind, weighing something out. 

It wouldn’t be right to call it anticipation; it’s not quite dread either. 

“I don’t make idle threats, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. 

His words make you frown until you glance down to find him undoing his belt. Your blood turns to ice. He tugs the thick strap until it comes sliding out of each loop around his waist. The buckle rests heavy in his palm, thick fingers curling around it, and when he bends the belt in two, you already know that he intends to follow through with his threat from earlier, the one you said you’d gut him for.

“I’ll scream,” you warn, heart in your throat. It almost chokes you. “I mean it. I’ll scream like the devil.”

“Don’t go makin’ no empty threats now, darlin’,” he says in a low voice, almost taunting. You can hear the hard edge in his voice though. It’s not something he craves, but he’ll take it. 

“You touch me with that thing and I’ll never forgive you.” 

John’s eyes go hard. “I’ll just have to take that chance.” 

And then he’s on you.

He hooks an arm around your waist when you try to rush past him back out the door and it forces the breath out of you. 

You struggle as best you can with your hands tied behind your back, trying to wriggle out of his hold even as he heaves you up into his arms and climbs the staircase towards the bedroom. The steps creak under the added weight of you in his arms. The screams come tearing from your throat, ripping your vocal cords and nearly sending you into a coughing fit. 

“Let—me—go—” you shriek, kicking out wildly, hoping to catch something that’ll make him lose his balance. 

“All that squirmin’ ain’t making me feel more merciful,” he growls. 

John kicks the bedroom door open with his foot when he reaches the top of the staircase. The room looks ominous without the oil lamp lit, the shadows growing in the corners swallowing up the end table. The bed is just as you made it this morning, the sheets pressed tight and neat, and you only get a second to take that in before he marches towards the bed and throws you down onto it.  

You hit the bed hard, bouncing slightly. He sits down heavily enough to jostle you and when you try to roll away on instinct, a hand catches you by the bicep and pulls you back. He hauls you across the bulk of his thighs this time, far different from your first meeting back in the sheriff’s office all those weeks ago. Your feet don’t even touch the floor this time around, dangling in the air and flailing for purchase. 

“You brute—you bastard!” you screech.

“I’m not gonna be as charitable this time,” John says, yanking your dress up and your drawers down until your bare bottom is exposed. You gasp at the cold air, murmuring something like please, please, please under your breath. “Even if I knew why it was you decided to run off, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you did. You coulda been hurt or worse out there, darlin’, and I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m gonna make sure the lesson sinks in this time.”

He folds the leather belt to hold it in one hand, leaving the other to pin you down over his thighs, making sure you don’t wriggle out. The leather is cool at first when he drags it over your butt. It makes your breathing pick up. It’s so gentle that you can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s all he intends to do. 

The first lash comes so quick that you barely register it. The second knocks the wind out of you, and then the pain sets in. 

It stings something fierce. Where his palm hurt that first time he bent you over his desk and spanked you, the belt burns. It goes deep and it lingers when he pulls the leather away from your stinging bottom. 

“Hurts like the dickens, don’t it?” John asks, not bothering to wait for confirmation before bringing the belt down again. “You’re lucky it’s only ten this time.”

You howl into the bedsheets, eyes tearing up and spilling down your cheeks. When you try to cover your ass with your bound hands, John grabs them and pins them to the small of your back. 

“What’ll you never do again?” he growls. 

“I—I’ll—”

“Say it, darlin’: I’ll never run off on my own again.”

“I’ll—n-never gonna—oh, it hurts, John—please—”

At some point, you must say the words he’s looking for. You lose count of how many times his belt has struck across your ass. Like thunder coming after lightning, you feel it and then you hear it. The sharp snap comes as a second wave of agony in and of itself. 

Your throat is stripped raw by the time it’s over. The aftermath finds you with a puddle of drool under your cheek, hair matted to your face. Sweat slicks the backs of your thighs and down your spine. Even the gentlest brush of John’s hand over your backside, the belt deposited off the side of the bed, makes you flinch, the skin there tender to the touch. You’ll surely feel it deep in your bones come sunrise. 

Too exhausted for anger, all you can do is lie there. It sits heavy in your stomach though, a pit at the center of you. You want to say, who gave you the right? The answer burns a ring around your finger though. You want to say, you don’t understand, it had nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with him and you. 

You can tell he wants to say something. It gets choked in his throat, but you can hear it in the way his breath draws in, like he’s trying to coax it from his chest but it simply won’t come out. 

“Stay right there,” John rumbles instead, shifting you onto the bed to let you lie on your belly. 

You moan in pain when he moves you, sniffling into your arms. The crook of your elbow is sticky with your tears and snot. 

The bed dips under his weight when he comes back. You flinch violently when he draws the skirt of your dress up again and smooths his hand over the tender cheeks of your backside, spreading a cool salve over your skin. The first touch of his hand makes you hiss, tears beading in the corners of your eyes again, but then the cool sinks in, alleviating the ache. 

He does that for another few minutes in silence. Gentle, tentative touches, only stopping when the salve has been spread evenly over your bottom. He’s quiet when he shifts you up the bed until your feet are no longer dangling off the end. You’re distantly aware of him taking off your shoes and tucking you into bed, but the events of the day have finally gotten the better of you. It would be easier to push a boulder up a hill than crack even one of your eyelids open.

Time passes slowly; sluggishly. Your thoughts can’t quite catch up with it, either too quick or too slow. You’re stuck in thoughts of the desert, caught in a sandstorm that manifests too suddenly for you to take cover. All you can do is close your eyes and wait it out. 

Morning comes like a brutal summoning into the waking world. 

It hurts, but you expected that. Before your eyes even open, you’re aware of a throbbing pain coming from your backside. You wince when you shift to your side, squeezing your eyes tight. You contemplate rolling over and taking your chances with John’s temper. The thought isn’t as appealing in the light of day though. 

It takes some time to get out of bed and when you do, you have to step tentatively from floorboard to floorboard, the ache making it decidedly uncomfortable. You can’t imagine what sitting down will be like. Riding a horse is just out of the question. 

From the bedroom window, you see John standing in front of the house with Simon, back again not even twelve hours later. With the window closed, you can’t hear their conversation, nor can you read their lips. Their exchange doesn’t last long though. After another minute or so, and a nod goodbye, Simon walks back over to his horse standing nearby and lifts himself up and over onto the saddle, taking off towards town. 

When John turns back towards the house, you see him glance up towards the bedroom window where you stand. The circles beneath his eyes are dark, pronounced. On another day, you might’ve ducked out of sight or jumped away from the window, but now you hold his gaze. 

He breaks your stare first this time, heading back inside. It’s less satisfying than you thought it’d be. 

You spend the day resting in bed and avoiding John for the most part. He spends the majority of the day out of the house. You hear him downstairs in the kitchen around midday, fixing himself up something to eat, and you listen attentively to the scrape of the chair across the floor and the pan on the stovetop. Like the day he brought you home, he brings you up a tray only to leave it at the door, rapping the door with his knuckles to let you know before heading back downstairs. 

When he comes up for bed, you’re already lying down with your back to the door, the oil lamp left unlit. John doesn’t say anything to you as he changes into his nightwear. He smells fresh when he climbs into bed, like he bathed in the creek out in the woods. You breathe in deeply, trying to keep your breath quiet enough to not disturb the silence. The pillow under your head is saturated with his scent. You turn your nose into it when he lies down on his back instead of curling into you like he usually does. 

Your chest aches at that simple denial. There’s a wall between the two of you and you know where it came from. Any trust that you’d built lies in ruins now. 

Perhaps that’s not quite right though. It’s a romantic notion that you’ve been building something together all this time, but it doesn’t feel right now that you have the wherewithal to look back and reflect. All this time, whenever you’ve touched, you’ve held him steadfast and at an arm's length away, stopping two degrees short of intimacy. 

Deliberately effusive; and worse, you’ve called it affection. 

The tenderness in your heart is the worst of it. There’s a bruise there, and it’s been there awhile. It’s only grown with your recent troubles. You tell yourself every year that you’ll air it out come spring, but then the winter comes and it freezes over again.  

The pillow under your chest grows damp with your tears. 

Your dress the next morning is cornflower blue. The wheatfields are golden stalks swaying in the breeze. It’s a pleasanter day than how you feel. 

The ride into town is as painful as you thought it might be. You wince with every stride, your bottom still tender as a rose. John’s arm tightens around your waist when you squirm, like you might slide off the saddle and try to flee again, and you bite your lip to hold back the urge to snap. 

The little bit of independence you’d grown to enjoy is snatched away from you. You expected that as well, but that loss of privilege comes with a biting ache. You fight the urge to gnash your teeth and bark at him that you’re not a child when he grips you under the arm and leads you down the road. It wouldn’t do you any good. 

When John leaves you off at the general store, you’re surprised to find Kate back, hale and hearty. She looks up when the chime over the door jingles and raises her eyebrows in greeting. The sound makes you flinch, memories coming back unbidden. 

You look over your shoulder to say something to John before he leaves, but the door is already closing behind him by the time you turn around. Your lips are pursed on a word that dissolves in your mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste. 

“Thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days,” you say instead, turning back to Kate. There’s already a chair pulled up for you by the wall and you make yourself comfortable there, grimacing at first when your sore backside touches the wood before settling in. 

She shrugs. “Plans changed. Gaz and I made it back late last night.”

You frown. “Gaz?”

“Kyle Garrick. Sorry—slip of the tongue. You’ve met him already. He used to go by Gaz way back when.”

“Way back when?”

“Not my story to tell. You should ask one of them, if you’re curious.”

You are, but not enough to ask. “Maybe.”

The two of you lapse into silence after that exchange. Before leaving the house, you remembered to bring with you some needles and wool to pass the time. They’re not as familiar in your hands as you’d like them to be, but you suppose, barring the possibility of Graves or another bounty hunter showing up in town to cart you off, you’ll have time to learn. 

The thought leaves you anxious. It feels distinctly more possible now. 

“You met Miles while I was away?” Kate asks, out of the blue.

Your head comes up at her question. “Miles?”

“He was minding the store for me while I was away. Said you came in the other day.”

You swallow reflexively. “Oh. Yes, I suppose I did meet him. I didn’t stay long, since you were gone and all.”

She hums and looks back down at the book in front of her. You feel nervous all of a sudden. 

“He said you were very helpful,” she says abruptly, breaking the silence. You flinch. “Told me some gentleman came by with a warrant for a murder back east and you were kind enough to take it to your husband for him so he could keep minding the shop.”

Your throat constricts. She pins you under her gaze, unblinking eyes staring into yours but not looking for anything. Wispy blonde bangs brush along her forehead when she tilts her head ever so slightly. 

You nod instead of answering. 

“Did you give it to him?” she asks.

“I didn’t have a chance to. The day got away from me,” you say tersely. 

“I heard something about that. Kyle said John had to borrow Simon’s horse the other day. Said something about him taking off in a hurry.”

Again, you don’t answer. It feels like without knowing it, you’ve crossed over a threshold. 

“Do you still have it?” Kate prompts when again you don’t respond. You don’t tell her that you don’t because in all the fuss the other day, it must have slipped out of your pocket and drifted off into the wind. “The warrant?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“That’s alright. I have a good enough idea about what it might’ve said.” 

Sweat beads on your upper lip. She all but says it outloud. You’re as still as a ferrotype under her gaze, imprinted in place, unable to move so much as a muscle or force a word past your stiff lips. 

“You’re under no obligation to tell me or anyone,” Kate says, and her voice is suddenly gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it before. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I won’t be telling John, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you breathe, throat so tight that the words almost don’t come out. 

It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting to it, tangentially or not, and even now it’s spoken only out of the corner of your mouth. You don’t think you have it in you to recite the events sequentially. Even in the privacy of your memory, it comes piecemeal, in fragmented images that flicker across your mind because maybe to remember it whole would be too much. 

You don’t say much more after that, and neither does Kate. That wasn’t the point of bringing it up, you think. You'd know if it was. 

When John comes to fetch you at the end of the day, you leave without saying goodbye to Kate. Only a stiff smile before heading out on your way. If she returns your smile, you don’t notice it. To John, you simply duck your head and follow him out the door, letting him help you up onto the horse without a word. 

If it bothers him that you refuse to speak to him, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s so many steps back that you might as well be back where you started. Maybe even further back, a voyage gone so wrong that when you look over your shoulder, you can’t make heads or tails of where you came from. The trees from the other side of the trail never look quite the same. 

If you could open your mouth and say it, you would. If you knew he’d listen. But you don’t think John is that kind of man. Against the gold of the setting sun, he cuts a figure from times of yore. He speaks plain while you tend to speak in fricatives and bilabial stops, incapable of enunciating the words. 

You feel like a wound on the world. Getting it wrong again and again. 

It’s an old pain, one that started back when you were too small to hold it all. Now, you’ve grown large enough to hold it, though it holds you back in turn. You remember your parents studiously ignoring first creation like some noxious cloud billowing from the chimney. There’d been too many children for them to care about the runt. Shipped off to your aunt’s and uncle’s just for the cycle to repeat itself. 

It’s an old grief, this one, friendly because it nudges at your hips when you brush by, striking in the blue-green. And when it burns, it burns.

“John, I—” you say when he helps you down back at the house. 

He stares down at you, waiting you out. Your mouth goes dry, the truth beyond your grasp again. Your heart aches when his brows furrow and the lines around his eyes crease again, frustration welling beneath the surface. 

You understand. It sits under your skin too. 

"Go inside," he says instead when you don't go on. "I'll bring in the horses and start supper."

Your God sits at the edge of the bed, wholly lacking praise. It’s not His fault that it’s been awhile. These days, you can hardly muster up the energy to say hello. You gargle saltwater before you bathe and scrub your skin free of blood, waiting for the next morning to come.

And you think, lying on your side while John sleeps on the other side of the bed, wouldn’t it be lovely to get it right now, rather than in retrospect?

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Out of curiosity - you've written Dreams au for Prompto and Ardyn kickstarting the Reunion, plus the Gladio version that became canon.

But what about Ignis? How would the verse where he finds Noctis first look like?

Not gonna lie. This one had me stumped. I never considered that Ignis might be the first to find Noctis (my mistake) and so didn't even have an incling about how it might happen. Until about half an hour ago, that is, when an idea fell from the sky. Or my shower head. Depending on the point of view.

(I wrote this really fast, so it doesn't fit stylistically into the Deep City verse. When I have time, I'll try to write a 'proper' version.)

***

You could say this starts around Noctis's 17th birthday. Ignis hasn't been doing well. Not at all. His friendship with Gladio is splintering like rotten wood and his uncle as been... distant lately.

Ignis does his best to bury his worries with work, but that's only helping so much. What with his work now being a glorified secretary for whatever ministry, board or committee will have him at the time. Still, Ignis does his best. What else can he do?

So, that one fateful day, on Noctis's 17th birthday, when the hurt is rubbed fresh and raw again and there is no work for him to do...

Ignis bakes.

He tries, once again his best, to recreate that one sweet pastry from Tenebrae Noctis liked so much and Ignis could never get right. Once he's done, he goes outside and somehow finds himself in a park in a working class area. Later, he will think is has been fate.

Right now, he doesn't care, strangely glad for being outside his usual haunts, and unpacks the pastries he has brought.

Their taste is warm and creamy and so sweet Ignis can practically feel his teeth rotting in his mouth. Was that the right taste? he wonders and hates that he will not get an answer.

"Yer usin' the wrong types of berry," an old, creaky voice says behind him.

Ignis whirls around and whom he finds fits the voice very well. It's an old woman, bent and with wrinkles deeper than he has ever seen. Her hands are bony and full of spots. Her dress looks more like it's been made from patches than proper fabric. The smell of freshly baked bread hits Ignis's nose.

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"Tha' pastry o' yer's," she says in the strangest accent Ignis has ever heard. "Them berries're too sweet. Yer'll need them from northern Ulwaat. T's colder there, so they need ta be more hardy. 'Too sweet' tha' prince o' yers would say."

Ignis feels ice cold dread creep up his spine. Does this woman know Noctis? Does she have soemthing to do with his disappearance?

"Now, now laddie. Get those thoughts outta yer head. Ah'm simply following the fire to where it'll lead me."

"What...?"

"Fire, laddie. It knows ye got to play a part in the storm ta come, and it likes ye. So Ah'll make sure ye know wha' ta do once the time is right."

"I'm afraid I do not know what you are talking about, Maselle. Excuse me, I have work to do."

Ignis turns around, intend to leave the obviously mentally unstable old crone behind him, but her next words make him stop.

"None o' tha', Ignis Scientia. There's no work waitin' for ye today. Yer uncle is teachin' yer cousin Paxil in the hopes he'll not be a disappointment, an' yer friend'll not get a diagnosis fer his sister t'day."

Slowly Ignis turns around. "Are you threatening me?" he asks, low and dangerous. One hand his inconspicuously reaching for the dagger he never goes without these days.

"Ye can leave tha' dagger where it is, laddie. Ah'm not threatening ye, simply sayin' things how they are."

"How do you know all this?" Ignis finds himself asking through the fog in his mind.

"The fire, laddie. Once ye know how ta listen, it'll never stop tellin' ye things," the crone says and waves her hand in a way that makes it clear that she wishes for him to follow. "Come," she says. "Ah'll show ye."

And against his better judgement - and the usually so large, but now tiny rational voice in his head baring warnings at him - he follows.

Nearly three years later, he stares at the fire burning between his fingers, and follows it's call deep into the ancient bowels of the city.

[netherfeildren]

this might be cliche... but who are your favorite authors/artists?? influences in general? aside from donna tartt?? your writing and the network of little references sprinkled in them literally make me want to tear out my wallpaper and eat it it's so good wtf do you put in it dear author?????

gosh so many things. if it's not glaringly obvious I am a huge media person so books/film/tv are all things I love and consume voraciously. I've always been a big big reader. I've made a list of some of my favorite book recs here as well as some of my favorite films here

I'm also a big lover of the ballet and the city I live in has a large company which I go to watch every chance I get, the last one I saw was swan lake and it was wonderful :) I've found it's a great source of inspiration when it comes to choreography on the page. when writing large amounts of physical scenes ie. sex or action or what have you physical descriptors and body placements become tedious and repetitive and I like looking to dance as a source for differentiation in my own written choreography. If you're a writer I'd definitely recommend for physical aspects!

I also obviously really love art and although I wouldn't say I'm very well studied or deeply knowledgeable on the subject I know what I like and have a clear grasp on my tastes. I'm endlessly scrolling Pinterest for visuals that inspire me, and I'm also a big museum person and as I travel a fair amount, whenever I'm traveling I go to lots of museums.

not to sound cliche as well but music is also obviously and of course a big influence in my work. when I was writing greener memories of better men I'd initially gotten the idea from this random Facebook post I'd seen but the true tone of the story came from the song The Weight by The Band. After writing several different versions of Joel's so in depth I've found now I'm worried about becoming repetitive in my characterization of him which is tricky because it's extremely extremely important to me that my iterations of him be true to his canon personality. I'm not a big fan of an OOC Joel and it's important to me to always stay true to who I think he really is in his original story personality wise, u know? but at the same time it becomes difficult navigating the inevitability of monotony when writing the same character over and over again. so I suppose what I try to do each time is provide a different view of the same man. for some reason that song brought that version of him I was trying to write very into focus for me at that moment. I don't know if that makes a lot of sense lol but sometimes inspiration or direction arises from strange places.

I feel like I've talked too much about Nabokov this year but I've been very slowly studying his work this year and I feel he's been a huge influence on my tone and cadence as I've progressed. I feel like he switches between having a very complicated way of saying very simple things and then saying very complicated things in very simple ways. he's also a master at sentence structure - again when trying to avoid monotony - I like studying the way he crafts these truly complicated sentences into a single monolith without ever actually breaking any rules of grammar or if he does it's in a way that doesn't seem wrong, if u know what I mean. he also comes up with he strangest metaphors for the smallest things. the last thing I read he describes a man's face as a "wet galosh" to tell us he was morose or sad or what have you and it's just soooo funny and interesting to me. I need my own mind to work in strange and creative ways like that, I'm trying to train it into doing so

if you're eating your wallpaper please make sure it isn't yellow, we don't want you getting trapped!

[iss600]

The Little Spitfire (Committing to the Joke)

I would recommend reading the document but I'll crosspost below the "Keep Reading" line. Warning, it's very long.

As this is Tumblr and the place for all sorts of weird things, I bring you mine. Probably the strangest thing I put effort into writing. 6 pages of what amounts to a joke idea.

If anyone has an idea of who Eric and Triton should be, tell me, because I don't. At all. I'm so lost.

T.L.;D.R.: The Little Mermaid but it's the Skylanders as the cast instead, primarily the SuperChargers.

The Little Spitfire

(Committing to the Joke)

Somewhere high above and beyond your imagination is an adventure in fantasy. The Little Spitfire is a joke taken way too far and one that I have committed to solely for the meme. It is a Skylanders take on the story of The Little Mermaid (1989), replacing the original cast with our own flame-spirit SuperCharger Spitfire, optimistic lark Stormblade, gloomy Dreadwalker Nightfall and many more.

The Context

This joke came about while I was brainstorming cutscene dialog for a cutscene in my fan-game. This cutscene took place in an underwater kingdom and I was listening to "Under the Sea" to give some ambience. What I had come up with was that all Skylanders of all elements had been magically protected against the waters and were now swimming freely beneath the waves, making their way to an underwater palace. Spitfire and Stormblade would be chatting as they swam, with the conversion involving Spitfire expressing difficulty/confusion at swimming. Stormblade would then suggest he "does it the mermaid way" and would “demonstrate” what she meant (furiously wiggling and spasming up and down like a maniac). Spitfire would then copy her (much more fluidly and gracefully due to his merman-esque body shape). The conversation would then go as follows.

Spitfire: For some reason, I feel like I should get up on a rock and sing about being part of the world above. Stormblade: Same honestly. Can we do that later? Spitfire: Absolutely.

The reason that the conversation would go this way is for 3 reasons:

This fan-game establishes that all Skylanders are fans of Earth media and consume a lot of it. Spitfire alongside others is quite familiar with Disney movies like The Little Mermaid.

The fan-game itself is very musical in its mechanics, so Spitfire having the urge to sing isn't that strange. In fact, singing is a necessary requirement for unlocking the main power in the story. Specifically, it’s working together with others and being in-sync with one another as well as being able to work in harmony that’s necessary. Singing and dancing being the easiest way to achieve that so that’s what everyone’s been doing. That's why Stormblade asks if they're going to sing later. She sees it as an offer to both have some fun and try and work together to harmonize.

Spitfire is willing to humor Stormblade's optimism and slightly odd suggestions like accepting offers to sing karaoke with her or play dancing games with her. If she wants to sing and dance all silly after a mission, he’s happy to join her. It’s not his usual style, but he doesn’t mind it, plus the above reasons of harmonizing would give him good reason to do it too.

Now, I didn’t disregard this at all, because quite frankly, I like merfolk way too much and I saw Spitfire having a tail similar to them as the perfect opportunity to make the above conversation into a wonderful brick joke that still made sense in the setting (I’m imagining either a full theater production of it, or just those two singing on a rock on the beach for fun). To quote myself: “I’ll be honest, it’s the fact he doesn't have legs. I was like "yeah, I can merman this”. I mentioned this in the Portal Masters Lounge Discord server and user “Firedanne” asked the following:

“Does he dream of living up in the sky and collect raindrops and pieces of shot down planes?”

I said “no, but that’s a great idea” and quickly the two of us realized that it made a lot more sense than Spitfire being a merman under the sea (which already doesn’t make a lot of sense, full admittance). And…well, the joke went from there and it did not stop. After replaying the official soundtrack for The Little Mermaid, I decided to do it for the meme and bring you all…whatever this can be considered. Crack post, probably.

The Actual Idea

Summary: Deep inside the volcanoes of Skylands, fire-spirit Spitfire lives in a glowing arcadia of magma and flames. But Spitfire wishes to live amongst the clouds, however his father King X* forbids him from realizing his dreams. One day, after saving the life of Y*, a creature from the air, Spitfire finds himself smitten with Y and makes a deal with a devious deadly witch to become an Air creature and must earn Y’s love before time runs out.

*X and Y are placeholders because I don’t actually know who will fill those positions. More on that below.

The Plot

The plot would be the movie’s plot albeit with potential for some minor modifications to it, either to be more Skylanders-y or just because. Not entirely sure but I see the plot as having the same beats and basic layout but being somewhat different in execution. It absolutely has the songs though, I’m not getting rid of that.

One of the most significant plot changes would be the role of Flounder if Stormblade takes that role. Stormblade would be a being of Air who would be Spitfire’s best friend and also his wingman, assisting him where necessary and such. Essentially, she’d be a much more extraverted and adventurous Flounder who’d act as Spitfire’s wingman and on-land ally (she’d be a secondary protagonist almost). Because in canon, the two get along and seem to be on friendly terms, I can imagine Stormblade as Spitfire’s good friend and the one who tells him all about the sky, brings him stuff, goes exploring with him etc. Plus, the opportunity for both to duet songs like Part of Your World and Stormblade soloing Kiss the Girl is a lot of fun to imagine.

After that, the rest of the plot changes would boil down to some slightly different scenes, different dialog (but with the same intentions) and so forth. Since the story would take place in the sky, the setting would also be different, but that wouldn’t really affect things all that much aside from some wording changes.

The Characters

Here’s the current cast list as it stands. The question marks mean I don’t know if that person I picked really fits at all, but it also means I don’t know who would be in that role at all.

Ariel = Spitfire Flounder = ? Sebastian = Dive-Clops? Scuttle = Smash Hit? Prince Eric (Y) = ? King Triton (X) = ? Ursula = Nightfall

Spitfire would be a flame spirit prince who lives beneath the surface in a massive volcanic kingdom. This is to keep his “no legs, merman tail” thing; now he has a reason to swim everywhere and also explains why as a flame spirit, he can’t simply fly upwards (and on that note, he doesn’t have his wings either, or his technical enhancements; he is pure fire and rock-body). He is stuck underground, but sneaks above onto the surface to explore and collect things that fall from the sky, birdwatch etc. He’d go to the witch and that’s where he’d get his wings and tech enhancement, but of course, he’d give up his voice and have the “get a kiss before 3 days is up” condition.

Now, here’s where it gets tricky for me. On the one hand, I could make Stormblade the Eric of the story (so she would be the Y character) and it would work perfectly fine. But on the other hand, I’ve also got another role for her, an expanded-upon version of Flounder’s role as detailed above and that also works perfectly. Both options for her work out really well because her canon relationship with Spitfire makes her ideal for both positions (as detailed in the plot section). I’m torn about what to do with her because if not her, I don’t know who would be the Eric role. It could be a man or a woman, but I’ve got no clue who I’d pick. I know who I wouldn’t want, but the elimination game hasn’t been super helpful.

The easiest role to choose however is definitely Nightfall as Ursula. She’s a Dreadwalker, she’s got the spooky colors, she’s menacing-looking, she has the tentacled hair and she absolutely would kill it singing “Poor Unfortunate Souls”. And while she’s not evil in personality, her personality would make her a more believable Ursula in comparison to say, Splat. Nightfall being of the Dark element also helps; she’s opposite to bright fire and daylight.

The roles of Sebastian and Scuttle were also OK to come up with, but I’m not too sure about them all. I went with Smash Hit for Scuttle because he’s a rather weird fellow, so he fits with Scuttle’s rather strange self. Dive-Clops is Sebastian solely because he’s the smallest of the cast (I’m talking about him suitless, mind you) and I thought it would be hilarious to put him in a crab costume, or something like that. However, neither of them are Fire or Air elementals, so in the context of the story, it doesn’t make all that much sense.

The role of King Triton is completely up in the air. I have no idea who could, would or should be in his role in the slightest. I know it should probably be a Fire elemental, I just don’t know who. The role of Eric is also unknown for reasons detailed in Stormblade’s entry above. I don’t have a set person at all; the closest I got to someone who wasn’t Stormblade is Ka-Boom and that was for a joke where Ka-Boom auditions and Spitfire struggles to drag him places, and also gets crushed underneath him because of size differences (to me, Ka-Boom look bigger than pretty much every Skylander by a large margin). It was not a serious consideration at all, full disclosure. I don’t have a serious consideration for Eric except for maybe Stormblade as discussed above.

The Music

I’m weak and I always make playlists and this joke is no exception. Obvious edits where necessary are obvious.

Fathoms Below: Opening song.

Part of Your World: Sung by Spitfire (maybe Stormblade too, depends on her role).

Under the Sea: Sung by whoever ends up being Sebastian.

Part of Your World (Reprise): Sung by Spitfire and no one else.

Poor Unfortunate Souls: Sung by Nightfall.

Kiss the Girl: Sung by whoever ends up being Sebastian or by Stormblade, depending on her role.

[last-flight-of-fancy]

Backstory exploration time for WoL~

WoL: Hallima, he/they Au Ra

Timeline: Heavensward up to Dark Knight Level 50 (Wages of Mercy)

Hallima thought he was some sort of mutation his whole life. There might be some trauma around that.

Hallima was an orphan.

Well, he is an orphan. It's not like this fact has changed- he may have gained some troublesome pseudo-siblings recently, but the fact remains that Hallima spent a great deal of his life until recently hopping from town to town taking odd jobs from whoever would hire him to get by.

He considers himself lucky, in a way. He's hardier than the average eorzean, covered in scales and thick skin, and most illnesses seem to pass him by. It offered him advantages most wandering urchin's simply don't have. That said however, he is not immune to things like exhaustion and hunger, and it was not without the ocassional helping hand that he had made it to adulthood.

He considers himself lucky to have made it to adulthood at all.

People rarely ask him about his past, a fact he is quietly grateful for. The calamity had rendered so many with lost loved ones that it has become considered somewhat gouche to ask after such things unless needed. Perhaps that's why it surprised him so much when Alphinaud- prim, proper, polite, Alphinaud- had done exactly that late one night as they rested in the Fortemps residence.

"Does anyone worry for you?" He asks, laying on his back in his cot and staring at the darkned ceilings. Hallima looks up from the weapon he's doing some maintenance on, lit by only a dim candle on a nearby table.

"Why?" A practiced evasion, though it feels somewhat wrong to use on Alphinaud in particular. To say he's come to care about the kid would be something of an understatement.

"Ah, that was rude, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I just... started thinking about Alisaie and wondering what she's doing... if the Crystal Braves had targeted her too..."

Hallima hums softly to indicate he's listening. A thought spiral, common to these sorts of late hours, and considering everything that has happened... He gets it.

"Then I wondered if she worries for us in turn... And then I realised how silly that was. She sent the carraige for us, of course she worries. Not that she would admit it, mind."

That tracks from what Hallima has seen of the girl. Stubborn and independant, but fiercly loyal besides. He's met the type before.

"Anyroad, the thought crossed my mind and it left my mouth before I could consider it. Forgive me."

"It's fine." The darkness within writhes at the lie, but is mollified with a glance towards Alphinaud's contrition, mixed with his own fear and anxiety hidden just beneath the surface. "... No. No one worries for me."

"I see." Alphinaud sits up then, and the candlelight makes the bags under his eyes all the more distinct, but it does not lessen the earnestness of his gaze. "Well. You may increase that number by at least one."

Hallima doesn't really know how to react in the face of Alphinaud's sincerity, so he gives a generic smile and a thank you before encouraging the boy to try and sleep once more. It's only after Alphinaud's breathing slows into a steady snore that Hallima smothers the candle with a bare hand and lets the mask drop.

-

Hallima grew up thinking he was some form of monster with ideas above its station. Or perhaps a Mi'quote who's fur turned hard and rough instead of soft and downy. Or any number of things that might occur to a child who has never met anyone quite like them. By the time he hit adulthood, Hallima thought that he had come to terms with the reality that he would probably never know.

And then he'd met Yugiri, who kept her face covered at all times, but there was no mistaking the rough texture of her tail or the shape of things beneath her hood which are too stiff and improperly placed to be even the strangest of mi'quote ears.

Hallima had not asked.

She had stared at him, long and hard, and in the end she hadn't asked either.

(or maybe she had, in her own surreptious way. She was an expert ninja and infiltrator after all)

Why hadn't Hallima asked, despite his suspicions? He's still not sure.

He can imagine the scoffing his companions would give if he told them it was fear.

He has no other words for it, though.

-

Hallima looks into Fray's face- their face- and feels at once rage and grief. His face, their face, and one both familiar and not. It tugs at memories long buried, and Hallima doesn't want them.

Reality has never cared much for such things, however.

Fray- or rather, Esteem- falls defeated, and two become one once more.

-

Hallima's earliest memories are of horrible, biting cold and numb fingers that he cannot bend.

-

There's no time for that, not with the war between Ishgard and the Dragons looming ever present.

-

Midgardsormer had called them kin.

-

Meeting Sidurgu was like looking into an inverted mirror, and after their experiance with Esteem there is an undeniable moment where Hallima is sure that their other has somehow made their own form somehow.

This is not the case.

Sidurgu asks their help with Rielle -the girl soft and familiar in ways that Hallima can't quite pinpoint- and they quickly agree. They see the bond between the two easily, one simultaneously fireforged and silk-web delicate, and want to protect it.

(They do not say this. Sidurgu would probably hate the sentiment. but still the sentiment remains).

But then Sidurgu tells them of his people's arrival in Ishgard, fleeing the Empire and seeking refuge, only to be cut down by fearful Ishgardians who assumed them in league with the dragons.

"Everyone." Sidurgu stresses. "Man, woman, child. None escaped the slaughter."

Hallima's earliest memories are of freezing cold, staggering through snow drifts and desperately alone.

They do not ask.

[weirdraccoon]

Til Death Do Us Whole

Tom Riddle was to wed Omega Malfoy to help his family and, unknowingly, the Omega's family. Both sets of parents had plans for the marriage, never mind that Tom and Draco never crossed a single word beforehand. It didn't matter. This was all business after all. So, it shouldn't be that difficult for the Alpha to exchange vows and tie their lives forever, or at least until death do them part.

Plans get complications when Tom finds himself married to a dead Omega.

Or - Tomarry Corpse Bride AU

Chapter 2

Merope was biting her nails nervously, looking out the window in the hopes that she’d be able to see her son arriving any minute now. Tom Sr. was similarly nervous, pacing the room from one side to the other. He had a short letter in his hand, in which the Malfoys expressed their worry regarding the young Riddle’s whereabouts and demanded rather than asked the return of the young Alpha in time to marry their son.

“This isn’t like him,” Merope broke the silence, looking at her husband with concern. “He usually returns before dark. Should we go looking for him in the forest? What if he got injured?”

Tom Sr. shook his head.

“He’s always careful. If he hasn’t returned, it is because he doesn’t want to,” he expressed grimly. “Maybe we shouldn’t have pushed him to marry Malfoy. We did never ask what he wanted for life,” he mussed.

“But he understood why he had to marry him,” Merope protested, thinking about her good and obedient son. “He agreed our family needed one last push to be included in high society. Everyone expects us to fail. Marrying Omega Malfoy would have shown all those stuck-ups that we are their equals.”

Tom Sr. sighed tiredly and sat next to his Alpha, taking her hand.

“I suppose having the Malfoy name at our backs would certainly help,” he agreed. “However, we’ve come this far on our own. We may have gotten a bit too enthusiastic when Lord and Lady Malfoy sent their proposal. As I said, we didn’t even stop to think what our son wanted, or if he wanted to marry at all.”

“Of course he does,” Merope frowned. “Maybe not now but he will,” she conceded. “This way he won’t have to worry about finding a partner on his own. And with an Omega, neither us nor the Malfoys will worry about grandchildren to pass on our legacy.”

Tom Sr. chuckled. As a Beta, he didn’t get all that concern over mating and breeding. However, he had to admit he wanted the best for his son, and a family of his own wasn’t a bad idea. Tom was a passionate soul, though, he wondered if Omega Malfoy was a good match, emotionally, for him.

Besides, he had his suspicions about why the Malfoys suddenly wanted to marry their heir to the son of a merchant.

“He’ll come back,” he promised his wife. “I’m sure he’s safe. We just have to keep the Malfoys occupied while he finds his way back home.”

Merope sighed and rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. Her eyes were firmly on the window, still waiting for her son.

Meanwhile, Tom was finally awakening in the strangest of places.

The young Omega with green eyes he thought he dreamt was peering at him from above, and there was a man hovering next to the Omega, also looking down at Tom with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Seems like he’s back, lad,” the pale man said, walking away. “A round on the house. To the newlyweds!”

There was a happy exclamation from around, several people cheering and offering their congratulations. The Omega, grinning, offered a hand to Tom to help him stand up.

“What a wedding night,” the young man said, dusting off Tom’s shoulders. “My new husband spent most of it unconscious!”

“That’s normal, dear!” A woman cackled from afar. “Now it’s when the fun begins!”

“To our young bride!” The man from before started a second toast. “Now a gorgeous wife!”

Tom gaped at everyone, pulling one hand free from the Omega’s grip to rub at his eyes. It didn’t help to clear his vision. He was still seeing corpses all around him!

“What is going on!” He demanded, looking at the Omega at his side and pulling his other hand free when he noticed the Omega’s arm was only bones. “Who- what- where am I? Who are you?”

“I’m your wife, silly,” the Omega chuckled, smiling softly. “Or don’t you remember? You spoke your vows oh so splendidly!” He showed off his left hand, where Tom’s ring rested peacefully on his finger. “I admit you caught me off guard, but I vowed all the same things to you after you fainted,” he finished sheepishly.

“What?”

“Here, you look about to faint again,” the pale man said, pushing a mug filled with something smoky into his hands. “Just careful. The stench of death is hard to swallow the first time.”

Tom dropped the mug and took a couple of steps backward.

“I must be dreaming,” he muttered. “All the stress of the wedding is catching up on me. That’s it. I’ll wake up any moment.”

“You’re fun,” the Omega said, suddenly back at his side. “This is no dream. This is the land of death! Do you like music? You’ll love it here. Every night is a party!”

“What,” Tom repeated, dazedly.

“Well, everyone ends up here, you know,” the man from before explained, leaning on what looked like a bar counter. “And we’re here for the rest of eternity so we figured why endure an eternity of boredom and sadness when we can enjoy ourselves?”

“And we have something to celebrate tonight!” The woman screeched, wrapping one bony arm around the Omega’s shoulders. “Harrykins has finally married! This party will last centuries, I tell you.”

“I’ll take my head off if I could, dear Harry,” the man grinned, bowing to the Omega and showing his nearly severed head. It hung for a second before the man stood back up, pushing another mug into Harry ’s hands. “Drink up!”

The Omega grinned and did as told, getting another round of cheers from the rest of the patrons. Then he returned swiftly to Tom’s side and offered him his mug.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Tom said, eyeing the smoking liquid with trepidation.

“Your loss,” Harry grinned and downed it. “It’s actually good once you get used to the burn.”

Tom only nodded, still trying to figure out how to wake up.

“I’ll show you around, come!” Harry claimed happily and pulled Tom behind him. “That’s Nick, his brother tried to behead him but the ax wasn’t as sharp as it could’ve been,” he shrugged unworriedly. “That one’s Bella. Husband pushed her off the stairs one too many times and she landed wrong,” the woman hugged Harry, whispering something in Harry’s ear that made him laugh before going back to drink with other people. “Oh, and that one’s Ron. His bullies went too far near a lake.”

The redhead waved at them from his table. Tom could see what looked like rope burns on his wrists and neck and he gulped. Bella had an open wound on the side of her head and Harry… When Tom paid attention, he could see a stab wound right over his heart.

“Did everyone here die a violent and horrific death?”

“Well, I guess,” Harry hummed. “How did you die? Oh, and now that I think about it, what’s your name? We skipped a few formalities before getting married, right?” He chuckled and grinned up at Tom.  “I’m Harry.”

“Tom,” Tom drawled. “And I’m not dead,” he frowned. “Unless you gave me a stroke in the forest, that is.”

“Really?” Harry peered at him curiously. “Hey, Nick! Tom doesn’t know if he’s dead!”

Nick came over and poked Tom in the ribs, ignoring his annoyed huff. 

“Well, most don’t stop breathing until after some decades. Habit, I think.” Then he put his head over Tom’s chest. “Oh, dear. This one’s beating still. Where did you say you found him, Harry?”

“Over my grave,” Harry said simply, and Tom almost choked at the idea of standing over someone’s remains unknowingly.

“Oi, Harry!” Ron called from his table. “Come here a second!”

Harry glanced at Tom and smiled apologetically.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised and scurried off to the redhead’s side.

Tom took the opportunity to look for an exit but was stopped by a hand over his forehead. He forgot Nick was studying him.

“Yes, yes, you are very much alive,” Nick was muttering to himself. “How did he manage to drag you here?” He shook his head. “That boy, always doing the impossible.”

“Harry?” Tom asked, pushing the man off him.

“Well, yes,” Nick nodded. “Not many can walk from and to the living world as easily as he does,” he explained. “And of course, no one has ever married or dragged a living person here. I bet he didn’t even realize he did it, not if he thought you were as dead as him.”

They were interrupted by a piano. Tom recognized the song immediately, it was his favorite. He looked up and found Harry sitting on the piano near the bar with his redhead friend shushing everyone else. Then Harry started singing, and Tom felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

He was awake.

He was in the world of death.

He was married to a dead Omega.

“Many talents, Harry has,” Nick smirked knowingly.

Tom took a deep breath and noticed an incredible scent covering him. Seems like Harry didn’t waste a minute in marking him. He looked at Nick but the man didn’t mention anything.

“How come he has a scent if he’s dead,” Tom asked. “You don’t smell of much,” he winced at the tactless comment. “Sorry.”

“Oh no need to apologize,” Nick waved off. “And we didn’t know Harry had a scent. We don’t breathe anymore, see, and we don’t particularly care about scents or biology. We’re all equals in death.”

Tom frowned at the lack of answer and continued watching Harry. He was honest with himself, the Omega was gorgeous, and he could only imagine what he looked like when he was actually alive. His dark hair was messy and his green eyes were bright even in the afterlife. His short stature and thin figure made him look innocent, which was a direct contrast to the mischief in his eyes and smile.

And his voice was beautiful.

Tom was truly enchanted.

“What happened to him?” He asked softly when Bella wandered over to his side.

The woman was humming along the song, but she stopped as soon as Tom’s question left his lips. She pursed her own and looked sadly at the younger man at the piano.

“Let me guess, he gossiped about our deaths but he forgot to explain his,” she sighed, rolling her eyes in a caring kind of way. “Harry was the heir of a rich family,” she began to explain, lowering her voice so no one else could hear her. “One day, he met this one Lord. Tall, dark, and handsome. Also mysterious and edgy as fuck if you ask me but well, I only know him because Harry told me about him. The poor lad doesn’t even want to utter his name, calls him he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“And?” Tom asked, getting her back on track.

“And Harrykins fell fast and hard,” Bella explained with a tired exhale. “He-who-shall-not-be-named said he shared the Omega’s affections, but Mommy and Daddy didn’t really approve of the relationship, so they decided to elope. Harry had to steal a good sum of money and jewels from his family and meet his Lord in the forest. They would leave town and find their happiness for themselves,” she paused dramatically. “Except, Harry didn’t meet his true love in the forest.”

Bella stopped suddenly, looking behind Tom with a glint in her eyes. Tom turned and found Harry watching them with narrowed eyes. He looked serious for a moment. Tom missed the grin and mischievous air that surrounded him earlier.

“I met my death,” he finished. “ He stabbed me in the back, metaphorically, and broke my heart, literally,” he looked at Tom and his face lighted up again. “But it doesn’t matter now. You found me and married me and we’ll live happily ever after!”

Tom gulped. While he didn’t have many problems with that, seeing as he could still smell the Omega’s rich scent and found him not at all ugly, he still had to think about his parents and his responsibilities back in the living world. He was still part of the living world!

“Harry, I,” he began but was interrupted by Harry’s other friend, Ron.

“Harry! Can’t you sing another song? They all loved it!”

“Actually, I feel tired,” Harry said, eyeing Tom from the corner of his eye. “Maybe later. We have time,” he joked. “I’m going to show Tom around. This bar is not the only place in the world of death, you know.”

“Yeah, but we all spend most of our time in here anyway,” Bella winked. “Enjoy your honeymoon, lovebirds!” With that, she pulled Ron with her to a table.

Harry turned to Tom, and Tom imagined that if Harry could blush he’d be as red as an apple right then. Tom offered his arm and Harry happily took it and led him out of the small pub to what appeared to be a colorful village where the death… lived.

“So, Tom,” Harry grinned up at him. “You ever played twenty questions?”

Tom rolled his eyes and followed his Omega around town. He’d skip any questions about Harry’s death, but it was a good way of getting to know each other, he conceded.

Unknown to him, he wasn’t the only one playing twenty questions.

Back in the world of the living, Lord Voldemort was drilling Lucius and Narcissa about the young Alpha who escaped his wedding rehearsal.

“And do you really think he’s a good prospect for Draco?” He asked, looking intently at the Omega’s parents. “Sure, he’s an Alpha, but that doesn’t even matter in this day and age. If the lad proved to be incompetent during the rehearsal he must be as incompetent in providing for his family.”

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged looks. It was the only way they’d be saved from embarrassment. Of course, they weren’t about to tell this Lord Voldemort any of that.

“You seem so… passionate,” Narcissa commented drily. “Lady Voldemort must be a lucky mate.”

“Oh, no, no,” Voldemort shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid it’s only me. I confess I’ve been enjoying myself thus far. Traveling, exploring, and spending my fortune on myself. However, now that I’m back for good I’ve got to know the feeling of loneliness. This in part, is why I don’t understand why that young Alpha could up and disappear when he had such a gorgeous Omega practically handed to him,” he sighed dramatically. “If it were me, I would absolutely cherish Draco to the end of our days.”

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged another look. Lucius nodded once and Narcissa cleared her throat. Voldemort hid a smirk and offered all his attention.

“We should consider that Tom Riddle may have run because he didn’t accept our proposal,” Narcissa said slowly. “in that case, to avoid shaming our family and poor Draco, we could as well accept another offer of marriage, as long as it is in Draco’s best interests.”

Lucius cleared his throat too.

“We knew Riddle was not as trustworthy as we hoped,” he agreed with his wife. “They didn’t teach him enough about business and contract arrangements. I’m sure Draco, on his part, is perfectly aware of his role in this world.”

Narcissa nodded slowly, looking at Voldemort in the eye.

“We are open to discussing any sort of proposal you may have for us, Lord Voldemort,” she spoke clearly.

Draco, who had been eavesdropping from the top of the stairs, rushed back to his room and locked the door. He shook his head and looked into the mirror. He had hoped his marriage to Riddle would save him from his parents and his so-called role . However, if they married him to another Lord, there was no way he’d escape that sort of life.

He’d be no longer his parents’ perfect Omega, he’d be his husband’s perfect Omega.

He wished he could be only Draco like he felt when he was talking to Tom that very morning… Even if they didn’t have much in common, or if there was something off about the Alpha’s scent, Draco knew the Riddles wouldn’t mind some “rebellious attitude” from him.

“Where are you, Riddle,” he muttered, looking out his balcony towards the forest.

[fuckao3sformatting]

Death of piece of mind

“I'm sorry to disturb sir, but there's a young lady down in the lobby asking for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What she look like?”

“Um.. Red hair, weird eyes, nice tits.. hehe.”

I nodded and headed down towards the lobby, humans always took notes of the strangest things, but i still knew who he was talking about. It had been some time so I wondered what she wanted, she asked for me specifically so is it something to do with the case they had to scry on?

“You were looking for me?” 

As she spun around her huge eyes met mine. “Gods above, you started me!” She put a hand to her chest. 

“Sorry, I tend to do that. What's this about?”

“Is my heart allowed to start again first?” she panted. 

I chuckled, I always found that expression funny because whenever people said that their heart was beating faster than usual. 

“Sure come along, I have a pretty good idea what this is about so let's go somewhere more private.” 

We entered my suite at the hotel, it was the most private place I could think of. Vex looked around fidgeting a little, was she nervous? Might as well get the formalities out of the way.

“Welcome to my living quarters, I'm not entirely wrong in thinking this is about the investigation right?” 

I walked over to sit on the edge of my bed motioning for her to join me.She jumped a little again as she turned to face me, is this information so vital that she has to be on guard or is she thinking about something else. Despite her obvious reservations she sat down, that she sat down a respectable space away from me made me realize why she was so fidgety.  

“Right, yes you're right. Sorry to show up unannounced but I didn't know who else to ask about this.” 

I placed a hand on her shoulder in the hopes that it would calm her. “Don’t worry about it, tell me what you found out and I’ll see if I can help.”

She stopped fidiging, but it didn’t seem to calm her down much.

“Okay, long story short: we found the guy who tampered with the spell and who we assumed he worked for but it turned out he was under someone’s control. So we followed another lead to find the one who controlled him which appeared to be a lady at first” her eyebrows furrowed “and I still have a hard time believing this myself, but the lady turned out to be a skin stealer of some kind.” 

I looked at her incredulously, a skin stealer? 

“What makes you think it was a skin stealer?”

“I saw them peel their skin off like you’d peel a tomato when I used forensic magic on what we believed was a coat the lady had worn, turned out to be human skin. And get this, it had every blood type in it.” She did the ‘mind blown’ gesture and I had to keep in a chuckle.

“I see, but what does that have to do with me? Why exactly did you want my help?” 

“Oh” she said, almost surprised as she padded on her short pockets “because I also caught a glimpse of what we think is his actual form, and he had this symbol, among others carved into his forehead.” and handed me the piece of paper.

“Now that’s something I haven’t seen in a long time, I’m guessing you know who Cain is then since you went to me with this?” 

She nodded. “The mythical first vampire right?”

“Yeah, the first murderer, the first predator according to some. Why would this guy have his symbol.. you said carved right?” she nodded again “into his forehead.. Were there signs of him being a vampire?”

“At first, when he wore the lady’s skin he wasn’t showing up on security footage, but then he walked outside during the day so the ‘he’s a vampire’ theory kinda went down the drain.. So I was hoping you’d maybe know a little more than I do because the only two options I have left are skin walker and Cain cultist of some variety, other than that I’m stumped.”

“I’ll ask around if there'spopped up anything like that recently, though Cain isn’t exactly a liked topic around here so I’d appreciate it if I didn’t go stick my neck out for nothing.”

I guess I really was the best person for her to ask. The circle has a good few Cain Truthers. But what would be adequate compensation for having to listen to the religious fanaticism I’d have to endure before if I got anything useful out of them? I thought for a few seconds about my option's, she was looking at me expectantly, and I looked her over a little until my eyes landed on the dancing pulse point on her neck. She hadn’t really calmed down since we entered  my room, so her heart was still beating a steady rhythm. Yes, that would be my price.

“I want to drink from you, a few drops of vitae to seal our agreement.” 

Her cheeks immediately turned the most delightful shade of pink, cute. “Um, are you sure? I don’t mind but I’ve just never done something like this before..” 

She's been so nervous around me since she got here. But, I had absolutely nothing against popping this particular cherry. It would be my first time tasting mage blood, so this was something to be savored I’m sure.

“Don’t worry”

I moved closer to her. Good thing we were already on the bed “just let me lead and make yourself comfortable.”

She nodded and closed her large, oddly colored eyes. I moved her long hair away from her neck with one hand and cradled her face with the other, tilting her head for better access. As I kissed along the line of her jaw to find the best entry point, I relished how long and slender her neck was, how smooth and soft her skin felt on my lips. As my fangs pierced Vex's skin, she whimpered slightly, and my beast was enjoying this as much as the little human i had left. It was like she was made to be bitten by me. Her warm blood filled my mouth, and I did indeed savour it like a man deprived of water, I had never tasted anything better. But something else possibly more powerful than the familiar hunger took me over. Without letting go of my prey I pinned her to my bed under me, the little surprised squeak that came from her only spurred me on further, I found both her hands with ease and pinned them above her head with one hand in a swift motion and the other that previously held her face started to explore further down her body. I situated myself between her legs with ease, and her heart started to beat faster, quickening the flow of blood accompanied by heat radiating from her lower body. Yes, she wanted this just as much as I, what perfect little prey. 

“Loki, please…" 

I needed no convincing. I was already exploring her smooth curves and I was determined to map them out in their entirety, I might not get another chance. Her breasts were particularly sensitive even with the barrier of her bra, I pulled her shirt up exposing her stomach and she made the most delicious adorable noises. As my hand finally reached the hem of her shorts she wrestled her hands free from my grip and tried to push me away from her.. Why?

“Stop. That's enough Loki. Please stop, not like this...” 

She. She didn't want this?

 I pulled out my fangs with reluctance and licked the wound to close it. The small moan she made had me wonder why she asked me to stop. When I came back to my senses a horrid realization hit me. She was deadly pale and she could barely keep her eyes open, shit. Fuck what have I done, I checked her pulse and it was very weak, I padded her lightly on the cheek and her eyes fluttered weakly. Vex I'm so sorry, please be alright.

She finally managed to open her eyes but they were.. different? The white and pupils had completely disappeared leaving the right completely green and the left completely black, she also had a glow of silver surrounding her.. What was happening? Her complexion which I had assumed was due to severe blood loss was way too white to be natural as well, she. She looked like an angel. 

“I'm alright I think, I.. just… I don't.” She paused for a moment. “Why did you do that?” 

I just blinked at her. 

“Because we had a deal?” 

I couldn't follow her train of thought before she pulled down her shirt and tried to cover herself up, ah that. The guilt I had while I thought I'd drained her was replaced by the guild of letting my senses run away from me and taking things further than need be, hadn't she stopped me I might've done both. Seeing Vex shielding herself by putting space between us again made her look so incredibly fragile, all I could do was let the shame comsoon me for almost ruining something so innocent. 

“I.. Everything just - the moment I bit you I was practically running on autopilot, it doesn't excuse it I know.” 

She just nodded.

“But, would you have stopped me if I had asked beforehand?” 

What the fuck is wrong with me. I've just finished violating her and I now want to know if it would have been better if I'd asked first? Am I fucking stupid or what..

“Yes, I believe I would.” 

I don't know why the answer hit my ego that hard but it did, then again can I really blame her? I am quite literally the greatest predator she’ll ever meet.

“It's because of the” I flicked my tongue over one of my fangs as emphasis “yeah?” 

She shook her head. 

“I just don't know you at all. It's nothing against you but I'd ideally want my first time to be with someone I actually know.” 

First time? She said it was her first time being bitten sure, but she can't be referring to that can she?

“Ok, now you're just fucking with me. Right?” 

Vex frowned, after everything I'd done this was what she got angry about? 

“Is it really that hard to believe I'm a virgin?” 

“I mean… Yeah a little bit.”

“Enlighten me?”

Ok Loki, you have to choose your words very carefully now. Express yourself without making it more awkward and weird than it already is.

“Look at you.”

Fuck. No. What is wrong with me? 

“I mean, you just seem like a girl who'd have a lot of options.”

The glow was fading away slowly and that's when I realized it hadn't bothered me, quite the opposite  actually, it was comforting.

“You're just so.. radiant. I've never seen anything like it.”

Her face softened, a slight tint of the pink form before returning to her cheeks but not quite as strong.

“Just because I have options doesn’t mean I have to take them” then she giggled, she actually giggled after this whole situation “but I guess I appreciate the compliment, as weirdly phrased as it was.” 

I rolled off the bed to give her more space, she nodded at me like she appreciated the gesture.

“I’ll see what I can figure out, I’ll put my findings with your guy in the serpent's kiss. And again, sorry.” 

She shrugged. “What’s done is done, but I would appreciate it if what happened didn’t leave this room..” 

“My lips are sealed, you have my word.” 

And she left. And I realized that I’d probably never be able to forget the way her skin felt, how my name sounded on her voice, how her blooded tasted so sweet on my tongue, how we felt so complete laying together. For the first time since being turned i realized what true hunger was and that I'd never be this satisfied again. And that is why I could never be this close to her again, both for her and my sake.

[kafkaesque-x]

A Picture Of You

A blurry figure slips through the narrow, dark corridors of the manor. Surprisingly, it has no shadow. With regulars and assured steps, he arrives in front of a door which opens without much difficulty. The room is immersed in a warm, dim light.

- Who is this? Joseph turns in his seat, his sharp aqua eyes turning to the door.

A slight smile forms on his face when he sees Aesop silent figure.

- Oh, it's you, I was adjusting the camera, come see this. He says while gesturing for him to come closer happily.

With their head close, shoulder to shoulder, Aesop listens intently to everything Joseph explains to him while watching his skillful hands move across the device. His dark eyes catch Joseph’s mesmerizing, clear like sky, eyes. Right then, he hears a click along Joseph’s soft laughter.

Did you take a picture, right now? He asks curiously with his voice a bit stiff as it usually is.

Yes, won’t that be a good souvenir to keep? We will forever be frozen in that stance in that picture, I think that’s comforting.

How is it comforting? We know the laws of this world won’t allow something to be eternal, everything may come to an absolute end.

Joseph gently puts the camera down, his eyes dropping slightly.

I knew you would say that. He teases him. No one can change your mind that’s what’s interesting with you.

After a second, he asks nonchalantly

Can I hold your hand?

Yes. He nods. You can.

And so, their hands intertwine, one cold and one warm but Joseph seems not to notice the coldness of the other hand, or even the strange softness of it.

The night cradled by the moon does not seem to be coming to an end while the two lovers converse in low voices. From time to time, Joseph cracks a smile and Aesop does… what looks like a smile, quite awkward but sincere. The strangest, is it perhaps this pair? An anti-social young man and the other one, as if he came out of a painting, of an almost unreal beauty, melancholic man. Some nights, even some days, are like this; Peaceful, as if even the end of the world couldn’t bother that peace. Waking up next to your loved one, enjoying the day and then going to rest with your loved one, what more could you ask for? Joseph loves their routine, the never changing days which lets his exhausted brain settle. Aesop is like the stray cat you have to gain trust of, but once you’ve done that, he’ll be the sweetest. Joseph loves him dearly, Aesop’s his camera’s favorite sight. Aesop whose interest might rebuke others.  You wonder, how it is special? Stealing a glance there, touching fingers here, just this kind of small display of affection shows how much Joseph cherishes Aesop. He’s careful of his actions as if Aesop’s a fragile glass doll that could break anytime. He finds it funny himself, sometimes. After all, why does he fear so much? His consciousness has no answer to offer him. He is like a helpless child.

Today, it’s raining big droplets of water. It has been for an hour. Two people are standing under such upsetting weather.

Joseph turns to Aesop with raised eyebrows.

Where is the coat I gave you? Jeez, you know how cold it is right now yet insisting on wearing that thin grey jacket alone. Worrying over you will be the death of me, truly.

You are not wearing much either.

Well, my waistcoat is perfectly warm, when did u even learn to talk back?

Aesop lets out a laugh, which sounded more like a small cough. The white-haired man looks at him with surprise, his eyes glowing. To see him express emotions such as amusement is rare. Unusual. An idea flashes through his mind quickly.

Let’s dance.

The words left his mouth impulsively. He examinates the subtle changes on Aesop’s so stern face and catches a slight eye twitch, which he finds funny.

I cannot dance and it’s raining, you said we were just going to take a picture of the clouds. You lied.

As Aesop is about to walk back in the manor, Joseph hurriedly positions himself in his way, both hands raised.

I didn’t lie, it’s really an idea I got just now… You know, couples dancing la valse d’Amelie? I think it’s very romantic.

He feels his companion’s resistance, looking around with nervous eyes.

Don’t worry about other people suddenly seeing us, you only need to look at me. I will be your guide. Let’s do this?

He extends his hand to him in a delicate gesture, his fingers trembling imperceptibly.

After a minute, he is about to take it back when he encounters another palm, the one he knows every line of, which fits complementary to his own. A palm that is his. Him. The tension he felt a second ago just vanished in that split second and so, without hesitating another second, he pulls Aesop closer. He puts one hand on his delicate waist and then in a single fluid movement he initiates the first step. Aesop's body is stiff, his steps hesitant but he allows himself to be guided with his eyes closed. One step, then two, a rotation. Their hands that leave each other for a second to join another second later. He can feel Aesop relax a bit. They hold both hands, a move forward then a move backward like water on shore teasing the sand. With a single hand holding Aesop and the other behind his own back he makes his partner turn. It’s almost as if they turned into swans, one black and the other snow-white dancing to the sound of rain. The painting is enchanting, enticing. Joseph breath is forming white clouds alone. A stage with no spectators but the nature witness.

The rain has stopped falling, as if to tell them that this one dance is over. The sky is shrouded by impressive dark nimbostratus, and the wind seems to be whistling in their ears. Another figure that wasn’t noticed until now makes her way on the ‘stage’, crimson dress dragging on the ground. Her eyebrows are raised in an almost shocked manner as her eyes follows a silhouette.

Joseph, oh dear, what are you doing?

Just then, the one who was called turns to her, putting himself in front of Aesop.

What do you mean? Did you watch us all this time? He asks, surprised.

Her mouth opens but not a single sound is coming out of it. No words. She is realizing something herself. She steps closer and closer to him in a flash to grab his shoulders.

Do not tell me… Joseph, have you lost your mind?! You have been dancing with a ragged doll.

Joseph frowns and violently breaks free from her grip, still holding onto Aesop. She is lying, he thinks. Then, he’s hit with a painful headache. The pain is unbearable as he’s gripping his hair tightly and clenching his teeth.

Mary, you are the one who is not right in her mind, he says pointing a weak accusing finger at her.

But even those words are meaningless coming out of his mouth. Impulsive talking, he doesn’t believe himself. Say something Aesop, I beg you.

Mary cannot bear to watch him ruin himself any longer, her loud voice echoes.

Just look behind you! See with your two eyes what you truly are holding! You can’t always run away from your reality; the dead can’t come back but something that has never taken breath cannot be alive either. You know it. YOU KNOW IT

Her words smack Joseph in the face brutally, each one of them making him shake even more. SHE IS WRONG, she is- His head turns sharply to “Aesop”. His hands are empty, his heart is cold. He watches him with wide eyes, hair dripping water like tears running down his cheeks.

The doll fell.

The glass doll broke into pieces.

Where are the eyes he gazed into so many times? Buttons falling out pitifully. Everything hit him at once. No heartbeat, no breath, no warm…

Joseph is frozen in place. He did know it, but he couldn’t help himself from falling into his illusions.

He ignored it because he was happy. “We will forever be frozen in that stance in that picture, I think that’s comforting.” Those were his words but was he wrong? Aesop the never changing doll, why couldn’t he keep him company forever?

Mary has done what she had to; she couldn’t let him go any madder than he was now.

You have to let go. You cannot stop time; you cannot live in your hallucinations. You cannot fall in love with a doll, mere product of what you wished you had.

Taking pictures was his way of pretending he had a grip on reality. It never mattered much, has it? He never looked at them. His memory will share their history.

Wake up.

[cinnabun-faerie]

So, I have a fun idea maybe (and totally not related to a fanfic I write in my freetime): how do you think the Scions would react if their S/O, who they assumed had amnesia because of the previous calamity, finally reveals that actually they were summoned by Hydaelyn from an entire different world and that the summoning had happened while they were dying (so basically, Isekai!WoL that everyone assumed had amnesia) so they aren't entirely sure they could go back (not that they want to anymore)

A/N: I love isekai stuff (not just because I have a ffxiv isekai storyline set up for my WoLs)!

Warning: Spoiler warning for shb, ew & post endwalker/newfound adventures

She becomes instantly worried that something will happen to you. Look what happened to her and the other Scions on the first? Not to mention you almost died here. Even if you didn't want to leave, she would beg you to find information. If you were to officially die here, she would bring you back only to send you back to the lifestream.

Alphinaud

He'd be shocked, yet the pieces of information are finally falling into place. Now he really understands why you know nothing about the Calamity or why you were so clueless when it came to anything in the Source and so on. He would happily offer to teach you more.

Alisaie

Estinien

G'raha Tia

He would think this would be rather curious to find out more about where you're from. He's itching to hear stories about it. He would wonder if it was possible to find a way to get you back. Not that he wanted you to leave, of course. But if there was a way, would you mind a travelling companion?

Thancred

He doesn't bat an eye at it. Just says "Alright" and goes about his day. He does believe you. And it explained a lot. He just wonders some things. Fancy swapping a few tales while having a drink together?

Well. He might not want to believe it at first. But over time he would accept it. This was certainly not the strangest thing he's heard of. Despite not wanting you to leave, he would try to find a way to send you back. There could be people back in your home that need you or miss you.

Urianger

Well he would certainly have more questions than you have answers. Perhaps you could tell him the last thing you remember before coming here? Also where are you from? Are you from another shard like the First? or perhaps not at all? He is very interest to learn all he can from you.

Y'shtola

She knew something was not right. How could you not have even the spec of knowledge of the Source? But now everything made sense. Hydaelyn saw your potential and saved you from death. But after all you have done and sacrificed for the Source, should you not be able to return to your world? Even so, she wanted you to stay. While that was selfish, she didn't care. But if she could help you find a way to make an active portal or something, she would.

[yesimwriting]

Dying Starlight

A/n: i dont think an audience for this exists?? ik it’s not shadow and bone related, but ive been reading red queen and i wanted to try writing maven and ive been playing with this idea. umm...on the off-chance that there is an audience for this i do think of this as more of a series but i’ll probably end up deleting this lol 

(Series?) Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Mare’s who isn’t officially part of the Scarlet Guard but gets captured by Maven. As a prisoner, she feels like her mind is being messed with as she begins to see a more human side of Maven. The new King tells himself the only thing he sees in her is that she’s a way to get to Mare, but something about her genuiness is infectious. 

-- 

Irony twists things. Right now, the irony that my last thoughts might be about how I wish I had been trusted with a suicide pill twist my impending doom into something almost comical. I’d laugh, but I’d rather not startle the rats in my cell. This has been their home for presumably years, but I’ve only been down here a few hours. 

I scratch the back of my wrist, staring at tired stone walls like they’ve done something to me. I wish I knew what time it was. How long have I been down here? How long has it been since I was separated from Mare? An hour? Three?Each passing minute strikes me like a bullet, but I can’t count them. I’ve never had a talent for accurately feeling the passage of time.

My head aches, frustration and dread tangling themselves in the pit of my stomach. Mare told me the Queen can search through someone’s mind, seeing memories even they can’t remember. What will they do when they see I know virtually nothing? What will happen when they see how close Mare and I truly are? i can’t do anything and the unknown hurts more than my bruised rib. 

The sound of the heavy door that divides the luxury of the castle from the wasteland of the cells creaks. I only let my arms flinch, moving from my side to wrap defensively around my stomach. Dull footsteps echo down the pathway that lead to the cell I’m in. I don’t cringe, not even when the sound of walking stops. 

I was not born into a rich family, but I was born into a proud one. Fear was practically a criminal act in my household. I’ve been trained to suppress all signs of weakness. My eyes don’t leave the stone wall, I mentally trace the pattern of a long crack in a specific rock. It reminds me of the slope of the Big Dipper. 

Will I ever see stars again? The answer leaves a sharp pain in my chest. 

“Mare told me about you.” 

The words jar me, my stomach dropping in revulsion. Mare had trusted him, and here he stands--successful because he’s a traitor. I know what it’s like to be the most overlooked sibling and to crave to change that. I know what it’s like to want to succeed more than you want air in your lungs, but I don’t think I’d ever betray someone. I like to think that there’s a line even the monster in me won’t cross. 

I don’t look at him, partially out of an attempt to protest and partially because I’m afraid of what I’ll see. “She might have mentioned you in passing.” 

His scoff is ridiculous. “She didn’t lie about your sense of humor.” 

That almost makes me wince. His words are too close, too personal. It’s like he knows me. I turn my. head, ready to cut through the uneasy beginning to get to the miserable middle if it brings me to the end faster. 

“You’re here to torment me, not make small talk.” Turning had been a mistake. I regret it instantly. His expression is unforgiving--cold, sharp, and made up of only angles. But that’s not why I stare. I did not expect him to be objectively attractive. The fine slope of his nose, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to snap out of this mindset. I’m sure his beauty will not be so distracting when he’s burning me. “Though some might consider that the same thing.” 

He scoffs again, the sound dry. The sneer of his lips does not diminish his attractiveness. The fact makes me loathe him. “I wonder if you’ll still be so prone to humor after you’ve been broken--any information of worth extracted from your thoughts.” 

“Let me save everyone the trouble and just tell you everything that I know now.” My back straightens despite the pain in my ribs. I look pathetic, dirty and in a torn dress. He’s regal, dressed in fine, all black clothing. “I know that Mare wanted to kill you today, I know that she needed a distraction and that her distraction needed to be expendable, which is why I’m sitting in front of you.” I squeeze my hands together awkwardly, a bit of genuine irritation rolling in my stomach. “That’s literally all I know, I’m not even part of the Guard.” I scratch the back of my wrist. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe that, but I’m being honest. How pitiful can one person be that they’re worth more disconnected from the group they work for than as an actual member? “You don’t take that kind of risk for someone that’s only skill set is in thought.” 

I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I don’t regret it. Maybe he’ll think that my story is so pathetic it has to be true. “You have to know more than that.” 

“The Scarlet Guard only reaches out to me on a need-to-know basis, and anything worthwhile to you is something I clearly didn’t need to know.” In a way, I’m glad I can’t give him anything. “So are you going to kill me with a bullet or do you prefer more flamboyant executions?” My death should be plain. I am human completely--I bleed red and I have no powers. “I do think anything more than a simple death is more trouble than I’m worth.” 

His lips press together oddly, something beneath his expression tightening. “You don’t think your dearest friend will return for you?”

The sarcasm in his voice sparks something in me I thought only my sister could. “I think she has a lot of responsibilities and I wouldn’t blame her for having priorities.” 

His eyebrows draw together. “I think you’re painfully unaware of how attached to you she is.” I press my lips into a thin line. “She’ll come for you.”

Something selfish in me hopes that he’s right. No one has ever wanted me enough to come back for me. My mother wanted perfect daughters that knew how to only think in terms of trapping men with stable careers. My sister did it, but I could never manage, and to my mother that made me useless. 

“If you believe it,” I mumble beneath my breath.

I don’t know if he hears me. I can’t bring myself to care if he did. “For your sake, you better not have lied to me.” 

My back relaxes against the raspy wall, fighting down a grimace as the motion irritates my rib injury. “Cross my heart, Your Highness.” 

I watch him carefully, his expression turning into something much more grim. “A King is referred to as His Majesty.” 

“My father was a prominent war general and my mother only wanted daughters she could use to social climb.” I fight down a grin. “I know what I said.” 

His expression darkens into something bone chilling. “I am the King and you’ll refer to me as such or deal with even less pleasant circumstances.” 

I fight against the urge to cower, picturing Mare’s strength in my veins. There’s weakness in everyone, and if I squint I can see the thin cracks in him. “You have everything--the crown, the power, the support of the people, and it’s still not enough. You won and you still feel like you’re competing.” 

“You don’t know anything,” he seethes, practically growling. 

I shouldn’t press him, but the more he reacts, the more weaknesses are revealed. “I know what it’s like to have a sibling that’s the sun, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’re always trapped in a shadow.” 

The lighting makes his eyes look almost glazed over. “My mother will be here soon and the truth will be revealed.” 

He can run from me, but not the truth. Cal has nothing, he has everything--the father that never cared for him is dead, and yet he’s still trapped. Our similarities hurt me more than my physical injuries. 

Maven turns, his gaze moving off of me feels like the removal of heavy shackles. “It would do you well to not press me. You’re worth as much whole as you are broken.” 

There’s the strangest hint of something more to his voice. I wonder if he’s speaking to more than just me. “You haven’t won until that voice in your head telling you that you’re not enough is silenced.”

“You’re a powerless girl who isn’t even wanted by a dying cause and couldn’t find a husband to drag her above the poverty line. You know nothing about me, and if you keep pretending I’ll slaughter you in front of your dear friend.” 

He leaves without another word. I fall asleep with my back against the wall and my ribs aching. 

[twiceasfrustrating]

I'm sorry if I already requested this of you I honestly have the memory of a walnut. But can I request headcannons of the boys + dia who find out MC has an emotionally abusive husband? Like fluff with some murder maybe?

thank you

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)

Additional Tags: abusive relationship mentioned, some are a bit murdery, I don't know how to write fluff for such a situation but I tried

A/N: If you are in an abusive situation in the USA and need to speak to someone, please call 1-800-799-7233. If you cannot call, you can also text “START” to 88788. If it is safe for you, you can also go to the website directly. Abuse takes many forms, but it is always about control.

Feel free to add the numbers/contact for other countries if you have them.

Lucifer

He got upset at MC once and they flinched when he yelled and they started apologizing like there was no tomorrow. That was how he found out something was wrong. They wouldn’t say anything, but he could tell that something was deeply wrong. Perhaps he had never noticed before the formation of their pact how MC shuddered around him whenever he got upset, but now he did.

He is very careful not to yell again and when he does he is quick to lower his voice the second MC shows distress, reassuring them that he is not angry at them and would not harm them. It sounds almost hollow after how he acted when they originally met, but he means it.

There was one time MC dropped a dish on the floor while cooking and it broke, spilling hot food everywhere. They started picking up the pieces in a hurry, not even paying attention to how the hot shards burned and cut up their hands.

Lucifer was quick to pick them up off the ground and tend to the fresh injuries, all while they kept apologizing and saying that they would clean it up as soon as they could and saying they would make something else. Lucifer forbade them from doing either and cleaned the mess himself. He did that a lot. Took care of their ‘mistakes’ and cared for them. They would almost believe he wasn't the same terrifying man they had first met.

It takes a long time for MC to get used to their new relationship with Lucifer and once they do they are far more comfortable and less skittish.

He is not pressuring the story out of them. He can wait, as difficult as it is, for them to open up. However, he is no fool. He knows who is to blame, and that man should be very afraid should Lucifer and he ever meet.

Mammon

MC always spoke so well of their husband when they first met the brothers. Mammon was actually jealous and wished MC would talk about him that way. They would always say how kind their husband was and how he loved them and how he wanted the best for them. It sounded like some kind of cheesy romance novel.

Things started to get weird though when he and MC started to get even closer. He would invite them out, only to hear “I don’t think my husband would like that” or “I shouldn’t be alone with you”. It was weird the first time, but it quickly became a pattern. A very worrying pattern. Mammon knew abuse when he saw it. He was the family butt monkey and a witch punching bag, after all.

The difference is that he’s a fallen angel that is used to such treatment and, as a demon, the things done to him do very little in the long run. Humans are far more fragile though; their minds, bodies, and hearts. And then Mammon started to hate MC’s husband with a passion that could not be matched.

He cared less about making that bastard pay and more about taking care of MC. Such treatment can ruin a person, especially good people like MC. He would do anything to show them that they deserved better than that man, whatever that eventually meant.

Leviathan

He and MC have a little too much in common for his taste. It is actually almost disgusting how little self-worth they seem to have, but he can also see how that was trained into them.

They play down their worth a lot: “It’s nothing”, “It could be better”, “I failed again”, etc. They never say anything positive about themself. They are really good at picking out their flaws, but almost incapable of pointing out their merits.

It goes against everything Levi believes in, but he has to start praising them since they won’t praise themself. He likes hanging out with them, the stuff they make is nice, they are a really quick learner. It feels weird to praise someone, but it’s nice to see MC start to feel a little better about all the things they do.

Although, he also has the mild thought of showing MC’s husband that there are more terrifying things in the world than the horrors a human is capable of. After all, Levi has seen the monsters that dwell in the deep; he is one of those monsters and there is a reason humans fear the darkest depths.

Satan

There are some wonderful upsides to being the avatar of wrath. Normally, Satan wouldn't be so crass as to give into them, but sometimes humanity is just so vile that he can't help himself.

One of those upsides is a mind filled to the brim with the instinctual desire to rip and tear anything he can get his hands on to pieces. It's an instinct he fights off constantly with his centuries of training and self-discovery, but just this once he doesn't mind becoming the beast he was born as.

MC's husband squeals like a stuck pig throughout the entire night, only the winds, spiders, and Satan being able to hear and appreciate the sound. And appreciate it he does, until the screaming stops and his hands are drenched with blood.

He really needs to get himself cleaned off before he sees MC again, otherwise they will be terrified. He needs to look his best when they come running to him worried about their missing husband. It’s sad how much they worry about him despite everything.

Asmodeus

MC was always so calm and docile when he wanted to spend time with them. He didn’t really get it at first but it was easier to dress them up and take them out, so he didn’t question it. At least, not until someone (read: Solomon) not so subtly pointed out that it is unusual for someone to be so passive, almost to the point of being doll-like.

Asmo didn’t believe it at first. How could anyone treat someone as sweet as MC so cruelly, especially someone that is supposed to love them? But from that day onward, his eyes were opened up and he started to notice things.

The way they didn’t put forth their own opinions and let him take the lead on everything, how they stuck close to him when they both went out, the subtle way their fingers reached out then drew back when they liked something.

“Do you like it?” He would ask and their response was “do you?”

It was so difficult to get them to start putting their own wants and desires above what they thought he’d like. When they showed interest in something, he would fawn all over it. If they liked something, he liked it too. He would buy them things they even glanced casually at, told them they were worthwhile and lovely, anything that other man would never say to them.

He tore them down so completely, but Asmo would work tirelessly to build them back up.

Beelzebub

He is the softest man in the world, and sometimes MC just lets things slip out. He’s very easy to open up to and they don’t think about what they say. He was the first person that they opened up to about what was happening to them.

Suffice it to say, Beel was shocked when they mentioned how terrified they were for the exchange program to end. Despite everything that they had been through over the past year, they didn’t want to go back.

Beel had only felt so powerless one other time in his life. He couldn’t go with them to protect them and they couldn’t stay in the Devildom forever to stay safe. It was painfully cruel just how much he couldn’t help them.

All he could do was hold them and listen to them get everything off of their chest, dreading the day that the exchange program would end.

MC has to hurry up and learn how to summon him, because he wants to keep them safe from that awful situation. He would never allow another person it the world to hurt them again.

Belphegor

Belphie likes exactly one human in the three realms and every other one is none of his concern. Or, they wouldn’t be his concern if it weren’t for the fact that the one human he cared about was the victim of this particular instance.

He’s not like some of his other brothers. He doesn’t do comfort and he isn’t the best at torture, prefering to get everything over with quickly so he doesn’t have to expend all the extra energy. But, for such a special occasion, he is more than willing to put in the effort.

Humans really do create their own worst fears. Their minds run a mile a minute and they have the strangest way of finding how their own terrors can overpower what little defenses they have.

He may not be able to touch MC’s husband, but he can certainly return every slight against his favorite human. Long, sleepless nights wracked with unending horrors that only that man can truly appreciate.

All the while, he will gladly hold MC when their own nightmares overtake them, trying to put their mind at ease for just this moment. How he wished that his powers could control the waking world as well as their dreams...

Diavolo

“Don’t go back.” It was the first time Diavolo had brought up the idea. It was one he had been considering for a long time, knowing that it was extreme given that MC was a human and had to live in the human realm. However, he couldn’t live with himself knowing the kind of life MC would return to once they left.

The shouting, the insults, discarding everything MC liked because their husband doesn’t care for it… Diavolo would never feel right knowing he sent someone dear to him back there.

He had the means to help them get literally anywhere but back to that man. Diavolo could help set them free from that life, even if they didn’t want to stay in the Devildom. He knew MC would have the support of everyone they had met.

All they had to do was say yes and he would move the Devildom itself to get them out of there.

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

Reality Check - Chapter 1

Well.  I mentioned an idea. You guys seemed to like it.  Who am I to deny you guys what you want?  It’s only just beginning.  Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.  If you don’t, you could be sucked into the reality too.  

Summary: Y/N and Wanda were very close after returning in 2023.  The two bonded over the loss of their partners.  It wasn’t enough to keep Wanda grounded after she found Vision’s body though, and Wanda wants the best for her friend.  Unfortunately for Y/N, this means she’s going to be thrown into a reality she wasn’t expecting.  

You woke up the sound of birds chirping and the sun blazing into your room from the window.  The bed was warm from the sunlight, but you weren’t focused on that.  Your head was pounding, as if the birds were more like freight trains going through a station.  You couldn’t even remember when you went to sleep last night.  Were you drinking the night before?  

Actually, why does your room seem bigger than it was?  The alcohol must’ve played with your mind more than you realized.  You shook the thoughts out as you heard a light knock on the door.  

“Come in,” You called out to the mystery person.  The door opened with a small creak, and the person revealed themselves.  

It was Loki. 

He was dressed in a suit, carrying a tray that had several plates and a glass on it.  One plate contained eggs and sausage, another had toast with butter on it, and next to it, an apple.  (What color was it?  Why couldn’t you tell?) The glass had water, and finally, there was a small vase next to that containing a single tulip.  

“Loki,” You smiled lightly.  You quickly sat up in bed as he walked over, a small smile on his face.  

“Good morning, love.  I figured I would offer you a little breakfast before I left for work.”  He placed the tray down on your lap gently.  He sat down next to you for a moment, admiring your features.  

You laughed a little at how romantic he could be.  “You’re too sweet to me sometimes.  Almost as sweet as this apple is,” You stated as you quickly grabbed the apple, tossing it in the air, and then taking a bite out of it once you caught it again.  You grinned at him as you heard something behind you.  It almost sounded like laughter.  

“I could never.  I just want to show you how much I love you,” He kissed the top of your head.  You stared at him lovingly for a moment as you pondered a thought.  

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand how we got this far.” 

“Me neither,” He laid a hand on your cheek, kissing your head once more.  “Well, I should leave before I’m late.  Mr. Hart will have my head if I’m late again.”  He chuckled. 

You nodded and said goodbye to Loki as he made his way towards the door.  For a brief moment pain panged your chest.  A sadness that you couldn’t pinpoint.  It was like your heart felt that everything would be over as soon as Loki left, but you couldn’t understand why.  

“Oh, and darling, don’t forget about visiting our new neighbors.  Agnes said they just moved in a few days ago.  Perhaps we can show them around the neighborhood one day.”  

“New neighbors?  Well, I’ll pay them a visit after I finish this wonderful breakfast!” 

~

After Loki left and you finished eating, you placed the dishes in the sink and went to get dressed.  You found countless dresses and not a single seemingly comfortable outfit in your closet.  You finally settled on a dress with a sweetheart neckline.  It went down right past your knees and it was sleeveless.  It looked the most comfortable out of the bunch at least.  

You finally headed outside, where you were greeted with a clear sky and several neighbors outside, mowing their lawns or leaving for work.  You smiled and waved to many of them.  Herb, your next door neighbor, waved back, forgetting that he was mowing.  Just as you were about to warn him, he mowed over a rubber ball that was in the way, causing pieces to fly everywhere.  You giggled lightly and shook your head.  

It wasn’t hard to find the new neighbors’ house as it still had a box or two on the deck. You quickly walked over and knocked on the door.  “Just one moment!” You heard a voice call out from the house.  Her voice sounded so familiar to you, yet you couldn’t pinpoint who it could’ve been.  

The woman opened the door with a bright smile.  Just as she was about to greet you, her smile faltered.  She recognized you immediately.  She shook the thoughts out of her head.  “Good afternoon!”  She said. 

“Howdy neighbor!  I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!”  You responded.  You didn’t know what you wanted to do.  Something seemed off about the woman.  

“Why thank you!” She exclaimed.  “Please, come on in, I’m Wanda.” She smiled. 

You walked into the home, admiring how well-kept it was already for someone who just moved in.  “I’m (Y/N)!  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  What brings you here to Westview?” 

“Oh, well my husband and I decided it was time to settle down and we thought Westview was the perfect place.”  

“How wonderful!  Where’s your husband if I may ask?” You asked, sitting down on the couch.  

Wanda sat down next to you, moving a magazine that was still on the cushion.  Agnes must’ve been here already.   “Oh, he just went to work!  His name is Vision,” She smiled.  

“Aw, and how long have you guys been together?”  You asked.  For a split second it seemed like Wanda was confused.  

“Well, let’s just say it seems like time flies by and I can’t keep track of it.” She giggled.  You smiled lightly at her response.  “What about you?  Do you have a husband?” 

“Yes, Loki,” You shook your head at the thought of him.  “It’s been a bumpy road to get to the place we’re at, but I love him and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“And how long have you two been together?” 

You thought about it for a moment.  You couldn’t answer it honestly.  “I don’t quite know.  We got married recently, though I couldn’t tell you the precise date.  It seems like I’m the same way, I just can’t keep track of time!”   The two of you laughed politely. 

It led into a further conversation between the two of you, where you discovered that her anniversary is tonight and she was planning something special.  You wished her the best of luck as you left, going back home.  You had to get dinner ready for when Loki came home at least.  

The walk back home seemed odd.  The sun was shining, a few of your neighbors were outside walking their pets or going to run errands, but everything seemed... Fake.  Like it was all just an act to you.  The smiles on everyone’s faces were exaggerated, as if they were doing it just to prove to you that they’re happy.  

The strangest thing happened when you passed by someone and accidentally knocked into their shoulder.  You turned around quickly to apologize when you noticed their eyes were an emerald green.  The color was so bright and that’s when it hit you: No other color seemed nearly as bright. 

You apologized to him as he smiled and waved it off.  He began to walk away as you watched him.  You didn’t turn back until he turned the corner, out of your sight.  

~

The day passed by rather quickly and Loki came home, giving you a kiss on the cheek as soon as he walked in.  “Hello, darling,” He said sweetly. 

“Hi honey, how was your day?” You asked, cutting a potato up to put in the stew you were making for dinner.  He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on your shoulder, watching you cut it.  

“Boring.  The same old boss with the same old paperwork.  Although there was a new guy in the department.  Vision.  Is he the new neighbor by chance?” 

“He must be!  I met his wife when I went over, Wanda.  Oh she’s a sweetheart.  It’s their anniversary tonight, but I think we should invite them over for dinner one day.” 

“That sounds like a marvelous idea.” He smiled.  You smiled back at him, but it seemed odd.  He knew something was wrong after that. 

“Darling?  You seem off.  Is something wrong?” 

“No, not at all.  Well, maybe... Okay, yes!  Something seems wrong.”  Once again you heard canned laughter in the back of your head.  You shook the thought out of your head.  

Loki took his hand in yours, placing the knife down, spinning you around.  “What’s wrong?” He asked, tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes.  

“I was walking home today and I bumped into someone.  I’ve never seen him before, and you should’ve seen his eyes!  They were green!  Such a bright green.”  

“Now, don’t go gushing about another man’s eyes or else I’ll get jealous,” He playfully glared.  You smiled at the joke and rolled your eyes. 

“Still, Loki.  Something seemed wrong.  They were just... Unusually bright.  And I’ve seen everyone here.  There’s something... Normal about everyone.  He didn’t seem normal in the slightest bit.” 

“Well, I know this may seem shocking to you, but we do have visitors every once in a while.”

You grabbed a piece of potato on the cutting board and flicked it to him lightly, making him pull away a little and laugh.  “I’m just saying, don’t think too hard about it.  You’ll give yourself a migraine that way.” 

“You’re right, you’re right.”  You sighed.  

“Everything is quite alright.” 

--------H̸̼͍̹̣͉͑̽̉ͅe̸͉̺̮͊̆l̸̬͕̙̖̤͉̦̗̉͆͑̿͋̈́l̵̢̬̟͇͇̰̠̤̼̺̺̯͉͋͑̈́̅ơ̵̧̛̰͉̠͔̯̾̅͌̈́̉͒̉͛͛̆?̵̨̟̻̼̲͉͚̫͖̭̦̲́̃͗̍̈́̽̓̐̋̔́̿ ̶̧̤̮̼̘̫̫͉́̈́̏̎̍͑̄̂̾̈̚ ̷͓͉̞͔̲͎̫̫͙͂̋̈́̑͜ͅC̶̨̛̐̓͑̂͌̚̚ͅͅȁ̸̘͇̟̻͆̚n̸̛̝͖̥̟̤̦͌̑̉͑̋̋̈́̔̇͐̕̕ ̶̝̹̭̰̰͚̭̩̭̭̳̈́y̶̡̩̼̑̀̆o̵̘̜̫̽̌͛̈́̅͛̋͂͋͠ų̸͈̂͗̔̆̉͑̔͑̿̃͑̚͝ ̷̢̫͔̞̰͉̦̱͙͓͉̀̊͛͜ͅh̷̼̱͚̗̭͎̳͔͕̒̇̌͆̔̐̽͋͜͜͜͝e̴̼̍̓ą̸͕̩͔͍̱͉͚̻͓̇̆̃̅̔̇̈ͅr̴̡̛̫̭̪̭̤̯̺̖̜̯̫̈̾̋͝ ̴̛̪͊̌͒͛̔̐̈́̊̏̿͝m̷̨̢̠̲̫̗̤̜̍̐̇͐̆̐̋̕ě̷̡̙̫̟̬͙͙͙̲͚̞̅̒̽?̴̧̻̠͉̩̥̒̓̀̅̀̊̿͒͑͠ͅ ̸͔̳̺͂̓̓́͛̾͜---------

“What have you seen from her side of the show?” 

“It’s all just like Wanda’s.  She’s trapped.” 

[that-damn-girl]

(1) Daze of Pollen

(Work in Progress - 1 of 8; Slow updates)

Daze of Pollen Materlist

Pairing: (cis)fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson

Words: 1800+

Warnings: None except language?

Summary:  Bucky, Steve, Sam and you are in the safe house post mission when a retrieved Hydra device activates, releasing a kind of pollen you don’t know of, but the effects of which are soon discovered.

A/N: To all my horny bitches out there, I’m sorry the first chapter isn’t smutty. I didn’t plan on keeping the entire first chapter as the intro but it just...happened. Also, This is my submission for @buckyssoul​​ ‘s Rae Hit 1k Marvel Writing Challenge. I’m sorry for the delay. Hope you like it!

It is a strange concept, really. We don't always get what we want. But  if we do, it's when we least expect it, in the most strangest of ways as well.

Call it your good luck, fate, destiny, a simple mere coincidence, or whatever. You were grateful for that night in the safe house regardless. For the first and the last time, you could say that you were thankful for a little Hydra contraption.

It all started during a peaceful dinner. You and your group of friends were relaxing after a successful mission, treating yourselves with any and all comfort food available in the safe house. The mission was anticipated to be much harder than usual; the only reason why Bucky and Sam had asked you and Steve to accompany them. Quite unexpectedly, the mission went smoothly and it seemed there was no need for the extra help they had requested. But considering the mission consisted of scoping out an abandoned Hydra base, being overly cautious was preferred than being overconfident. One never knew the levels of villainy Hydra truly possessed.

Oh, you were about to discover the truth in that statement just fine.

Bucky sat across from you on the dining table, Sam to your right. The duo played catch with a balled sheet of paper, their half eaten meals abandoned on the table. You and Steve conversed with them while enjoying your respective sandwiches.

It was true that Steve had given up his Captain America mantle to Sam, a man just as deserving of the title, but hadn't completely retired. He didn't get out on the field anymore, but used his excellent strategic skills in planning the missions sometimes, especially if it included Hydra. 

All of you would have been enroute to the Compound had Rhodey and Scott not hogged the quinjet. None of you minded though. With the four of you together, it was very much like a quiet night in with close friends. Unbeknown to you, it wasn't going to be particularly quiet much longer.

"Does it smell funny to anybody else here?" Bucky asked, pausing midway while rocking his chair. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around himself to locate the source of the smell, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Steve took a tentative whiff, you and Sam doing the same. "No pal, I don't smell anything."

"It's…" Bucky closed his eyes, taking in deep inhales. "It's faint but it's there. I'm sure of it." 

You and Sam glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow followed by a shrug. Suddenly Bucky sat up with a start, his gaze fixating on a corner of the room. Following his line of sight, you found the hard black stacked containers with the Shield logo which held the Hydra files and devices you had retrieved from the base earlier in the mission. 

"It's coming from there, I think." Bucky stood up and reached the stacked containers in only a few long strides. Before any of you could stop him, he lifted the cover to inspect its contents. 

Immediately a puff of bright yellow powder-like substance was released from the inside, as if a smoke bomb had been triggered. Bucky coughed as the coloured dust hit his senses. It didn't take long for the particles to dissipate in the air. Soon the clean air around you was shrouded with the yellow dust, leaving all of you a coughing mess.

"What is it?" You wondered, one hand waving in front of your face to get rid of the dust while the other protectively covered your nose. It was no use though. It was everywhere, the particles so fine they slithered through the gaps between your fingers. You could do nothing but inhale it as you coughed helplessly. The particles stuck to the insides of your mouth. You couldn't feel them on your tongue or the roof of your mouth, but the dryness that followed was a sure shot indication. The tangy scent of it overwhelmed your senses, making you wonder how could you have missed it.

"Look inside the container, Bucky. See what released it." Sam instructed with broken words in between the coughs.

"Fucking Hydra," Steve muttered under his breath.

Following Sam's orders, Bucky peeked inside and pulled out a wooden cube. It was small enough to be grasped in his palm. One of its faces had the ugly red symbol of Hydra painted on it. The cube was heavily cracked along the sides. Had Bucky not held onto it firmly, it would have fallen apart right then. 

Sam, you and Steve drifted closer to Bucky as the yellow dust gradually dissipated into nothing - or rather as the most of it was already inhaled by you all. The cube appeared to hold some carvings in a language you supposed was Russian. 

"I...don't...understand…" Bucky's fingers drifted across the letters as he tried to make sense of it. "Fuck!" With widened eyes, Bucky retraced the words, confirming what he had read. Throwing the cube across the room, he started pacing the room, his head hidden behind his palms. 

"Come on, man, you're scaring me." Steve said, approaching his friend.

"You should be!" Bucky yelled, all his frustrations coming out on the wrong person. He loudly groaned, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What is it, Bucky?" You asked.

Bucky looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your form. He bit his lip, an almost remorseful look coming over in his eyes. In a much softer voice, he said, "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know where to start."

"Do you know what the yellow dust we all inhaled was?" Sam asked. 

Bucky replied after a long pause. "It was a sort of pollen which Hydra had engineered." 

"Hydra modified...pollen?" You asked. The idea sounded as bizarre to you as snow in the Sahara. "What?"

"No- Well, um, yes," Bucky took a deep breath before he started explaining. "Hydra could never replicate the super soldier serum they used on me. But they needed more super soldiers. It hardly ever happened that anybody else would succeed in recreating those serums so that Hydra could steal. They decided that if they couldn't transform using the serums, they would...breed super soldiers. That's when Project Growth started. These pollen were engineered to assist in it." 

"How did the pollen assist Project Growth?" You asked, confusion dripping from your voice.

Bucky glanced at you but quickly diverted his gaze, unable to keep the eye contact. "Project Growth was about using super soldiers like me and those four others to... impregnate willing women. Conception with super soldiers is harder than usual for some reason. So they came up with this pollen to aid the process. It's an aphrodisiac. They called it sex pollen, because well, it increases one's sexl drive... by a lot. So much so that it might be fatal if the person exposed to it doesn't, you know, climax."

"What? Are we gonna want to fuck like rabbits then? Become Hydra's breeding bitches?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"The experiments were never successful. They did it a couple of times and it never resulted in a pregnancy. This box," Bucky gestured to the broken cube lying on the floor, "I don't know how or when but it got activated somehow." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea if the pollen inside it was a sample of those failed experiments or if that of a new one. Either way, we don't have long before the effects would start showing."

There was a lull in the room, the implications of what Bucky said sitting heavy on everyone's minds.

"We can keep ourselves locked in our separate rooms until it wears off to...get ourselves off." Steve's cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red as he proposed the idea.

"It's not that easy. Trust me, I've been through it." Bucky looked at Steve. "It's something about needing another person's touch; a sense of intimacy. No matter what you do on your own, it won't ever be enough. It would send you in a daze of lust, where the only thing you could focus on would be to anyhow satiate yourselves. You would desperately want another person to touch you, no matter who or what gender. You'd need them to touch you." He glanced at each one of you. "I'm sorry, but it's going to be nasty."

"So what you're saying is, it's basically fuck or die?" Sam said.

"When you put it that way…" Bucky tried to think of a better phrase but finding none, he replied, "-Well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," You crossed your hands in front of your chest. To say that you were shocked was a massive understatement. You couldn't even begin to believe that any of it was true.

Unconsciously, your gaze drifted over each of the men in the room. They all stood with a hard look on their handsome faces, lost deep in thought. You weren't sure if it was you or the pollen due to which you felt yourself get wet, your panties gradually dampening and sticking to your form. 

Truth be told, you had always wondered what being with these men would feel like, what fucking them would be like. Would Sam choke you in a sensual manner with those bulging arms of his? Would Bucky keep you pinned to the bed with his thick thighs? What would gripping America's Ass feel like when Steve would be pumping his length into you?

You bit your lip, your mind conjuring up a train of lewd images. You wondered if it all would come true that night. Though you had considered them insanely attractive since the day you had met them, you never dared to act upon any of your desires with either of them. They were your close friends, and you'd be damned if you'd destroy it for a night of pleasure.

Now though, you had no other option but to fuck them if you valued your life. On any other day you would have laughed boisterously had anyone suggested such a thing, but it was your reality right then. 

You realized it didn't have to be a necessarily bad thing though

Huffing dramatically, you stood straighter, hands falling by your sides. With a newfound confidence, you asked, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Steve asked, dumbfounded. 

"At one point or the other, we would eventually go crawling to someone. I don't think we'd be in control of ourselves if it would make us that desperate. Avoiding the inevitable makes no sense. It's better to start it while we are still able to make conscious decisions and consent to being with each other. At least I'd prefer that."

The men looked at each other, a silent conversation happening amongst them. Bucky asked, "Are you sure, Y/N?" 

You smiled. "I am, Bucky. If it's gonna be this way, then I'm glad it's the three of you. Are you guys sure though?"

Bucky glanced at Sam and Steve before smirking, "You bet we are, babydoll."

You walked closer to Bucky, standing on the tip of your toes as your arms curved around his neck, excitement thrumming through your veins. "Let's get this show started then."

Chapter 2

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[remsmoonlight]

— title : don’t leave me lonely

— word count : 3 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : when the protective instinct that runs deep within daryl you can’t take how much of a child he treats you, only when words spoken in anger do you both see the truth.

— warnings : swearing, one instance of blood description, vague mentions of daryl’s past and just some general angst

I've heard you're taking requests, soo, Could you please write something with Daryl and 20+62 from prompt list?

Thank you in advance and have a nice day ❤️

        ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested   ? yes !     /   requests are open   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

 prompt list : 20. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” &&             “ After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Pale grey pavement is being painted with the blood of the walkers you had to slaughter in order to survive, to make it back to your family. You dare not speak a word, already predicting a storm awaiting to drench you in its anger that currently forms within the man you slowly began to love. You can’t pinpoint exactly where you began to have these thoughts, experience these feelings, as it hasn’t been an easy road. Loving him is not uncomplicated, the image he shows the world is harsh, though his actions speak louder than his words.

You’re stuck following him and Aaron, the man sparing apologetic glances back every few metres. He has nothing to apologise for, he was simply a bystander to a very awkward encounter between the two.

“ the hell y’doing out here? “

For a moment, your world stops. You hadn’t expected to see anyone out in the secluded area of the greenery that surrounds Alexandria, the whole idea of going from fighting for your life every day to pretending the world isn’t dead is not a pill that is easy to swallow. A potentially horrid coping mechanism, but you have to remember what it’s like out there, to not be protected by steel walls. To pretend you still have to sleep with one eye open, if anything was to ever happen to anyone you love because you allowed your guard to be demolished by a faux safety you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

A timid smile arises on your expression, almost apologetic. You shrug in response to Daryl’s question.

“ y’got no brain now? “ stomping towards you, his eyes burning with outrage and alarm, he doesn’t trust this new situation with you in it.

“ not here, Daryl. “

Trouble has a way of finding you, the unfamiliarity of everything touching the fear that he prays to stay dormant within the walls of Alexandria. At least with you confined to the area he can see clearly, he doesn’t have to imagine the worst possible outcomes to prepare himself for the inescapable of what always happens.

He can’t lose you, he can’t tell you either.

Eyebrows raise in shock over the suddenness of his heated words, never once had he spoken to you in such a way. Even on the rare occasion he was genuinely annoyed with something you had done. You force your features to stay neutral, not wanting a war in front of Aaron, considering you haven’t known him for long.

A mirror image is the displeasure that has stewed within you, the very same of the Dixon man you had shared the road with. Who does he think he is? You ask yourself, that outburst was for no reason and you know it. It’s times like these that confuse you and your feelings for him.

Though you hear no footsteps behind you, you can feel Daryl’s presence stalking you closely, but you pay no mind. Not in any mood to talk, afraid for what you will say in anger.

A temper is something you control, though there are moments it wants to smash down your walls.

With a heavy breath set free into the air, you turn the handle of your home open, leaving it open for Daryl as you know it’s going to be a conversation he will wish to continue. For a rather quiet man, when he wants to, he can say a lot.

Turning to face him, you wet your lips to say something, hoping to calm him before the situation gets out of hand. Hoping to get an idea of why he is so irate, though your expression hardens ever so softly as you realise that he’s most likely going to continue on the tirade he began outside of the walls. Your heart thumps against your ribcage, almost rattling your entire being with anticipation. Being able to hold your own in conflict is something you are able to do, but it doesn’t mean it leaves no scars to litter your soul.

“ okay, so what was that out there, Daryl? “ your words are soft, almost to the tune of a whisper as you question him. Hoping to understand his point of view.

“ y’really gotta ask that? “

Your lips purse, you merely blink in his direction as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Your heart is full of hurt as he treats you as nothing more than a stranger with the heat that coats his furious words that he hauls in your direction.

It confuses you incredibly how the day has gone to hell so swiftly, but you warn yourself about that. Assuming once dawn breaks that the day will bring something good for once, and not news of another tragedy. Even protected by the stereotypical image of a cookie cut American household can’t hold off death. No matter what, it gets its day.

“ yes, I do! “ you raise your voice, fighting the urge to close the distance. Knowing that he’d mistake it as you being on the offensive. “ I wasn’t doing anything except walking! “

“ yeh, an’ that’s what concerns me. “

A pause.

Nothing but the noises from the residents of this small town can be heard, the silence so deafening it almost obliterates your confusion. The room is so quiet that you even doubt that the two of you are even occupying it, the house feeling more and more cold with the seconds that slug by, it feeling that there’s no life to breathe a new warmth into it. Never has it felt so bare to be in that in that very moment than with the two of you ready to cut deep.

This is what he's pissed about? Before you even realise, you snort from disbelief. It’s something so small, so insignificant you can’t even believe it. Their new found safety has affected the group in many ways, but this has to be one of the strangest as you openly stare at his tense form.

“ seriously? “ you ask, refusing to believe he’s pushing this so intensely for that very reason.

“ y’finding that funny? “

“ yeah, because you’re acting like you’re my damned father. “ pointing a finger in his direction, you pace for a few fleeting seconds.

A closeness between you both has long since been acknowledged, but you’ve never divulged to him the true extent of your emotions. Sometimes you think he’s aware of what you feel, though late at night when you’re alone you realise that it may be better if he doesn’t. You wish you have the confidence to even share it with him, although the thought that blares in your ears warns you otherwise. Your heart couldn’t take another heartbreak, opting for his friendship rather than a cold shoulder born out of awkwardness.

Sometimes you’re sure he’s staring at you with a longing glint in his eye when you’re not paying attention, however you often chalk it up to hope. Never are you one to follow the signs, not wanting to be wrong. Your imagination cannot be crushed if it doesn’t have confirmation.

Hope can be cruel as it can be kind.

“ someone’s gotta, I can’t remember all the times I’ve had t’drag your ass outta trouble! “ his crossbow thuds as it’s dropped without a care, his face reddens as it twists and contorts. You haven’t seen him show this much rage since the Greene’s farm.

The day you first met him is permanently burnt into your brain, being half starved and dehydrated you thought you were hallucinating him. Unable to walk, your limbs weighed a ton under the exhaustion you felt under the punishing Georgian sun but there he was. Surrounded by the rays as if he was your very own guardian angel, but that idea had been put straight to bed as soon as you saw the outbursts from him to the other members of the group.

With the months that passed, you had trouble saying that was the same man you knew today. Less prone to rage, clearer about doing anything in his power to aid his family, though you can’t help but wonder if the old Daryl wants to break through the progress he has made so far.

“ and I never asked for that, Daryl. Why are you acting as if you’re my keeper? “

“ fine! it ain’t my problem if y’wanna be a selfish bitch. “

Causing hurt to the people he loves comes easy to Daryl. To wound deep when he’s scared is all he has ever learnt, to show love and affection was never afforded to him as a child, not even when he silently begged for it. Now, he was physically and mentally scarred, even these days were they still plaguing him like a never relenting ghost. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he hates seeing pain in your eyes, but he can’t convey his worry without fury over the idea of losing you.

He can’t imagine having to live a life where you’re not cracking a joke at the worst possible moment, or your selflessness that will surely one day cause you more harm than good. His breathing increases at the thought, his fists clenching, willing him to stay in place and not barge through the door without a second thought.

“ se - selfish? Daryl, you’re making sense! “

“ y’don’t care about anyone but y’self. Doin’ shit like that by y’self is only gonna get y’killed. All y’think about is you, not anyone left behind. “

“ after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? “ the fire you had once now leaves nothing but dying embers, defeat coating your words as tears shimmer in your eyes

Daryl doesn’t know how to react at your proclamation, the inner battle to stay in the lounge now lost. His mind is unable to warp the idea of you even entertaining the thought of becoming more than friends, never did he dream that the shield he’d built around himself could injure him more than the outside elements could.

Before he even realised it, he’s leaning down to pick up his crossbow and heading straight for the door. Paying no mind to you taking his departure as rejection and not self preservation.

“ if you think I’m gonna come back, I’ll make you wait a long time! “ you call out before slamming the door.

Hands are brought to your stomach, as if to stem the bleeding from a wound made deep into your torso, though it can’t curb the internal trauma you feel from Daryl ripping himself from your presence. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him your feelings, yet you could hardly stop yourself in the war of words between the two of you. Nothing is a big enough wish than to stop the pain that ignites your entire self, threatening to consume you entirely. Only now do you understand the true extent of your love for him, previously thinking it was little more than a crush, though this feels more. Especially mourning what could have been.

You retreat to your room, not even leaving to share dinner with your family. Afraid not if Daryl would show, but rather your ability to hold your composure when you feel as if you’re glass who’s moments are counting down by the second to shatter into nothing more than sharp fragments that will only slice others to ensure they bleed, to ensure they feel as bad as you do.

“ come on, you’ve got to get some air. “

A series of knocks interrupt your sleep, followed by the voice of who you recognise as belonging to Carol. You ignore her, not wanting to face anyone just yet. The trauma on your heart is still too fresh. However it matters not to Carol, for she simply does not take your silence as an answer, but rather as an invitation as she opens your door.

“ just leave me alone, please. “

“ the others are worried about you, so am I. “ she speaks, concern written all over her face as she steps forward closer to your bed, her frown becoming more and more prevalent.

“ let them be, I just want to sleep. “

“ you don’t have to talk to anyone, come down after breakfast. Just get some fresh air. “ Carol gently requests with a half smile blooming onto her features. If anything is certain, she wants to see you and Daryl work through the fog that currently locks you both away.

Leaving the bed, you groan to yourself. You’re not sure how much time has passed since Carol departed, but it has been long enough for your family to have also left the house to either explore more or two engage in their jobs. It’s something you send a silent thanks to the sky for, all you desire is solitude, with the sun etching its warmth onto your face. Opening the door, you see people going about their business with little regard for you, though you’re sure some of them must have heard the commotion the previous day.

You pay little mind to them though, more concerned on piecing together the broken pieces of your heart than anything else.

Sleep never once visited Daryl, never did it carry him off into a peaceful slumber. Though he can’t help but feel as if he deserves it, as payment for having to be the cause of the damage to you, being the reason you sobbed harder than he’d ever heard you. He’d waited outside that door, pushing himself to make things right, but never did the courage arise. Leaving him lonely once again.

Fuck this he curses himself mentally, this is going to be the one time an opportunity for happiness does not pass him by. Not once more, that was the last time he’d be nothing more than a witness.

Astonishment transforms his hardened expression as he comes to a stop, realising you’re already sitting on the porch next door with a blissfully peaceful air surrounding you. You don’t realise he’s there just yet, your eyes closed as you take in the sounds and smell of Alexandria, a distraction to what you feel. Daryl briefly wonders how he should go about patching things between the two of you, the situation an alien one to him. Fingers reach towards the cigarette packet concealed in his trouser pocket, with the barest of shaking from nerves.

Bringing it to his lips, the smoke is what alerts you to his being closing the distance. You can’t prevent the draining of colour from your face, not prepared from yet another interaction with the Dixon man so early in the morning.

“ I - uh, wanna say sorry. ‘Bout yesterday. “ Daryl apologises, with a regretful tone colouring his words with the most vibrancy he can muster.

Your gaze slips to the floor, watching the grass move ever so slightly with the breeze that wanders through. To forgive is in your nature and you sorely want to extend that forgiveness to him, but to do so after that exchange is a difficult thing.

“ thank you, I suppose. “ you shrug, your hands tying together as you try to make up for a lack of words.

“ I ain’t expectin’ y’to forgive me or nothin’, I just want y’to know. “

You sigh to yourself, you know in your heart he means what he says, you hate that you’ve been this mad at him.. at each other this much, even for a few hours. People and bonds are a rare blessing in this world, and you know it’s better to keep them close than to allow them to burn in the fire of hatred and impulse, to leave them nothing more than ashes ⎯ remnants to revere of an age that has since past.

“ Daryl, I do forgive you. I’m just trying to figure out how we move past this. “ you reply with sorrow, your eyes closing, a crease intensifying between your brows. It hurts to even speak into existence.

“ those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? “

Bewilderment forces your eyes open, your head snapping to meet his figure that still stands. Here you are preparing yourself to move past Daryl, no matter how hard that would be, and he’s asking you questions about what you said.

“ you’ll have to be specific, I said a lot. “

“ it needs sayin’? “

Daryl can’t help but feel put on the spot as your sight bores into him with a forceful amount of strength, scrutinising him with the need to find an answer he’s not yet sure of.

“ yes, it does. “

“ was y’serious about.. bein’ in love.. ? “ with me is the silent end to the sentence that lays peacefully on his tongue as he leaves it out, the invisible presence of it painfully clear to the both of you, knowing that while it wasn’t included, it was there regardless.

“ when it comes to things like this, I don’t lie. “ you rest your head on your chin, a small yet anxious smile fighting to break free onto your features.

Why do I have to be a nervous smiler?

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead he moves to sit beside you on the porch. Closer than ever before, it’s not something that goes unnoticed by either of you, and like that hope is once again reignited within your core. Even small steps like this are significant, physical affection with other people is still something that has not changed all that much with him.. Though, you’ve seen moments on rare occasions, witnessing it before he can even stop himself.

“ so, we boyfriend and girlfriend now? “ you joke, laughter allowing the grief to peel away from your heart, allowing it to flutter in the air at the thought of the potential between you.

“ shut up. “ mumbles Daryl, although there’s a small grin that is peaking through his expression as he allows it to be set free, even though the full picture is still hidden under the grime and the hair that has long since overgrown.

But, you find you wouldn’t change a thing about that. It being part of his charm. You can’t help but find yourself full to the brim of excitement of what can grow between you, with the possibilities endless.. no matter how hard things can and will get, you will have each other in a new way that you’ve never before and that? It’s a heavenly picture you want to cut and pocket away in the confines of your heart.

[fourth-dimensional-thinker]

*creeps quietly into your ask box* I'd like to know more about that fic idea you just posted. Actually, several, because this is a cool idea.

1. How do you see Lorraine coming into the story from there in absence of the "Florence Nightingale Effect"?

2. Does Marty being at George's house effect when he runs off to find Doc? I mean, since he doesn't have his mother sitting next to him and being creepy at the dinner table, does Marty take the time to first have a meal with the McFlys? Does he spend the night?

3. Does this eliminate the "Calvin Klein" alias?? Does a chain of events lead to Marty coming up with a different name "just for fun" maybe? Or is he just Marty + whatever last name first pops into his head?

First, thank you so much for the ask.

Second of all, unfortunately, this AU is half-baked, so all I thought about so far is the dinner scene after Marty wakes up, but in the McFly house. But I’ll still try to answer these.

My best idea is that at one point in the middle of the week (probably at school), they just sort of meet. Lorraine thinks Marty’s just a cute, new kid in town and gets a little crush on him. But I’m not sure where to go from there since her infatuation isn’t nearly as strong as it would be in the movie. She just thinks she’s starting a new, fast, exciting romance before getting roped into one of the strangest next few days of her life.

During the dinner scene, the McFly family is less hostile than the Baines are, so Marty stays for a bit. He temporarily forgets about his original plan because he’s too distracted by the surrealness of the situation. They talk for a bit and Marty keeps accidentally revealing that he knows inside jokes and memories that the other three have. (George wonders if he can read minds). Then when one of George’s parents mentions a doctor (that they called over to the house to check him for injuries), Marty remembers that he has to see Doc. He makes this announcement and Sylvia suggests that George drives Marty over so that George can spend some time with another kid his age.

In this version, Artie is the one to wake up Marty. So when his grandfather introduces himself as “Arthur McFly, but everyone calls me Artie. What’s your name?”, Marty panics, because while only half-aware of what’s going on, even he knows it would be a bad idea to use his real name. But unfortunately, he already started to answer with “Mar–” and has to think of another ending that isn’t “–ty”. So instead, he chooses “–k. Mark”. And the first Mark he can think of is “Mark Hamill. My name’s Mark Hamill.”

Third, if you want to know more about my other fic ideas then I need to make a separate post because I have a lot of WIPs and a lot to say about them