#or hair had to be soft with no dead ends or if its dyed you cant have roots

[garlic-sauc3]

I honestly fucking love how I look. I love how I'm not conventionally attractive and fit almost no beauty standards. My hair is choppy and messed up, dyed and cut to a mullet. I have a pimple on my nose, and boy several blackheads. I have bags under my eyes and I almost always look tired or upset. I still look cool and great.

[shalomniscient]

as the world caves in. || multiple x reader

AND HERE IT IS / OUR FINAL NIGHT ALIVE / AND AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND / OH GIRL IT’S YOU THAT I LIE WITH / AS THE ATOM BOMB LOCKS IN / OH GIRL IT’S YOU / I WATCH TV WITH / AS THE WORLD CAVES IN

cw. major character death

notes. felt silly

arlecchino

You find her against a broken pillar.

Her once pristine suit is in tatters. You can’t even discern anymore where red fabric ends and blood begins. The black feather-like horn in her hair has cracked, revealing crimson enamel, pulsing in tune with the balemoon above both your heads. Her curse, once up to her elbows, has creeped up to her shoulders, her neck, and just below her jaw. Each breath she takes is labored, pained. One of her wings lies uselessly by her side, while the other is just a stump.

She will die here.

But that’s fine, because you plan on dying right along with her.

Arlecchino’s head snaps up as you hobble over to her. The second coming of the cataclysm hadn’t exactly spared you either; a rifthound’s cursed teeth had sunk deep into your thigh. The wound is likely fatal on its own, though the abyssal corruption spreading through you at an alarming rate only solidifies your death sentence. Still, it doesn’t stop Arlecchino from snapping at you as you approach, brows furrowed, her clawed hands digging into dead soil.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. You really know the extent of her injuries and exhaustion now—if she was in even slightly better condition, she’d have picked you up and flown you right back somewhere safe. But she isn’t, so you let yourself slide down the pillar next to her with a snort.

“What does it look like?” you huff. “I’m here for you, idiot.”

She gives you a look between incredulity and despair. “You—“

“If you think I’d ever leave you behind, I’m going to smack you.”

Arlecchino quiets at that briefly. You lean your head back against the pillar, a remnant of a building ravaged by the angry surge of the Abyss, and shut your eyes. You can feel Arlecchino’s eyes bore into the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, then the shape of your lips, as if to memorize you. When she speaks again, her voice is remarkably soft.

“You’ll die,” she whispers, and you turn your head to her with a smile, meeting her eyes. You take her larger hand in your own—your wedding bands meet with a soft clink of metal.

“I’d follow you to oblivion and back, Peruere.”

Something in her expression shutters, and Peruere leans down to press her forehead against your own. She’s so close, like this. Close enough for you to see the way the veins and arteries in her neck pulse under curse-marked skin to a beat that mirrors your own; close enough for you to feel the way her breath fans over your cheek; close enough for you to kiss her.

And you do, free hand cradling her cheek while the other cups the nape of her neck. Peruere returns the kiss like she’s trying to press her soul against your lips. To give it to you instead of whatever higher power will claim it in the end. Her hand in yours squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Her remaining wing rises, a little shakily, and wraps around you, pulling you closer. You smile into the kiss, even as wetness gathers in your lashes.

Peruere wipes them away with her thumb. Draws back just enough to look you in the eyes one last time, selfishly. The earth wails in the distance, cracking and splintering, and the wind howls above your heads. The crimson balemoon shines impassively down as the herald of the apocalypse, cold and unfeeling. But Peruere’s wing around you is warm, and her palm caressing your cheek feels like being at home.

“To oblivion and back,” Peruere whispers, and then the world ends—

—but at least for you and her, it ends in love.

shalom

Shalom has always known you would meet a solitary end. She had said as much to you, back in the bureau when she had first met you—or rather, when you had first met her, in your fragmented memory. And some part of her was content with the fact. She’s smart, diligent. A HUSH. She could learn you utterly and completely, dive into and discover the depths of your heart before her time runs out.

She does achieve her goal, in the end. But she also falls terribly in love with you, and now the thought of being without you makes her unbroken heart constrict in her chest.

Now here she stands, in this field of lillies she once haunted. This realm of Mania, deceptively beautiful, with a cloudless blue sky stretching on endlessly. She can feel the gaze of the Illusory Moon crawl up her spine, but that is not her concern. No, her concern is you, standing off into the distance, alone—a solitary figure of grey against the blinding white. And somehow, you just know she’s there; like Orpheus for Eurydice, like something bone deep in you compels you to turn around and look.

But Shalom doesn’t disappear like Eurydice. Instead, she steps forward and slots herself into your arms instead with a hum, her hands splaying on your shoulder blades, holding you close. She buries her head in your neck, breathes in your scent—lillies, always lillies—and speaks.

“This is it, then.”

You nod. Card your fingers through her wine-red hair. “This is it.”

“It’s quite peaceful,” she muses, shifting to rest her ear against your chest. Your heartbeat thuds, calm and powerful, and Shalom lets her eyes flutter shut at the rhythm. You manage a small chuckle.

“For now. It’ll get quite ugly soon, at least on the outside,” you murmur. Your lips press a kiss to the top of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She laughs at that. “There are many things I shouldn’t be, and yet, here we are. Mostly because of you, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you huff, and she smiles. Of course she does. This is your solitary end, the cold calculus of the universe that demands your life in exchange for the world. If she was still HUSH, she’d see it as a bargain. But she’s not HUSH anymore, just Shalom, and suddenly the price is too high, too unacceptable.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m selfish,” she admits, voice barely above the breeze rustling the flowers by your feet. “I don’t want to be in a world without you.”

Not when you are the one who gives it meaning.

You’re silent for a moment, before a rueful expression pulls at your lips. You shake your head with an affectionate sigh, resting your forehead against hers. You know better than to argue with her. Your hand finds hers, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. No words are exchanged between you, but no words are necessary. Her hand squeezes back, and then you’re turning, facing the growing light at the end of the horizon. You’re her Orpheus amidst the flowers, leading her forward step by step until the light devours you both. To life, or to death, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t quite care.

For like Eurydice, what else mattered besides the hand in her own, the proof that she was loved?

kujou sara

Sara once thought she knew pain. Cuts and bruises, arrowheads and sword slashes—none of these are new to her. Her body is a canvas of scars from her time as a warrior, some pale and faded, while others are pink and freshly healed. Pain is inevitable, in a profession such as hers. Sara once thought she knew pain, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the agony of seeing tears paint your soft cheeks as you lie in her arms, staining the burnt soil below you red with your blood.

It feels like someone has reached into her chest, fingers curling around her heart and squeezing tight. Everything else has faded to a dull sensation; the arrows lodged in her wings as she shields you both from the world; the gash in her side from an axe-wielding hilichurl; the throb in her skull from when an Abyss Herald had managed to get a lucky hit in. The war around you both is now an afterthought, even as the skies rage and the Abyss spills forth like a hellish tide. No, the only thing she can focus on is you, as your lips painted red part and whisper to her brokenly.

“Sara,” you choke out, “I love you.”

Sara leans down, pressing her forehead to yours. Her golden eyes meet yours, and she hopes you can see the sincerity within. “I love you too, dearest.”

Your breathing rattles ominously in your chest, and Sara holds you tighter. Closer. A small comfort as death approaches you both on silent feet, ready to collect. Your fingers grip the front of her uniform tightly, staining her white uniform red. “Promise me,” you rasp, and Sara exhales shakily.

“Anything.”

“Find me again,” you plead, your voice so small she would not have heard you, were it not for her tengu senses. “In the next life, promise you’ll find me again—“

She grips your hand tightly. “I promise. I promise, my love, so wait for me.”

She doesn’t even know what awaits either of you beyond this. Is there even such thing as a next life? Heaven? Hell? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care. If there is a next life, she will find you, over and over again until the end of time. If heaven doesn’t exist, she’ll build it with her own hands for you. It it does, she’ll meet you there. If hell exists, she’ll carry you out on her back herself. Sara would do anything for you—all you have to do is ask. She kisses you as your breathing slows, your final breath mingling with hers. As death’s shroud settles on her shoulders, she memorises every line on your face, the set of your jaw, the arch of your brows like they’re her north star, to shine forever in her sky and lead her home. Home, wherever you are.

(In another universe, a pair of crows roost on a powerline. In another, a black obi is tied around a beautiful kimono. In another, a museum’s display katana rests peacefully in its delicate sheathe.

In another, she stands hand in hand with you again, looking at them all.)

[miguelhugger2099]

Snowfall

Summary: You, the Goddess of Life, visit the God of Death in the forest during a snowstorm. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Proofread but I was half-asleep, Fluff, A smidge of angst, Word Count: 1,458 This song is what caused this fic to form in my brain.

A blizzard had made its way to the village, its cold and harsh winds slamming against wooden cabins and tiny snowflakes that only piled up into mountains by the hour.

However, by his lonesome, stood a man in the forest. A forest that had once been flourishing with soft green grass, and a gentle blue lake in the middle with the sun's warm rays peeking through the leaves of the giant pine trees.

His black coat and black shawl around his head was a stark contrast to the pure white snow on the ground and in the sky. But it matched perfectly with the splatter of blood that tainted said purity.

He bent down, kneeling before the creature that had spilled blood: a baby deer wounded by its ribs. It was shot for food by hunters right before the blizzard hit, leaving them to abandon the animal.

The fawn wheezed softly, its beady black eyes staring up at the man. It weakly twitched, its hind legs failing to push itself up. The baby had squirmed the closer the man approached it with a gentle hand. Despite the cold weather, the man never shivered when a particular gust of wind blew through the branches, making his shawl slip off his head.

He gently caressed its head, rubbing his thumb comfortingly under its eye. He felt an ache for the poor baby, lost and alone in the bitter cold.

The baby had bleated softly, perhaps a cry to its mother before falling limp–marking the end of its life. His frown deepened, flinching his hand back to his chest and standing up again. The soul of the animal ripped itself from the confinements of mortality, stretching its limbs. He watched it flail around in small hops, before staring at him for a moment, its nose twitching and scurrying away to the afterlife.

He then turned his head down to glare at the dead body until a kind voice interrupted him.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Miguel.” He turned around with his eyes widening slightly. He saw you stand a few feet away from him, your usual soft smile on your face. Quietly, he whispered your name.

You wore a white cloak over a warm thick white cotton dress–he assumed with many layers underneath– and a crown made of branches atop of your head. You seamlessly fit into the background of the snow with your outfit. Your hair was the same, perfect as ever, free and let down from any hairstyle. The cold had gotten to you, snowflakes on your eyelashes and you held yourself close to keep a bit of warmth.

You approached him, the crunch of the snow underneath following you. When you met with him face to face, you gingerly reached over to place his shawl back over his head to protect him from the cold even though you both knew he didn't really need it.

“You shouldn't be here.” Miguel worried, fussing over you as he held you by your forearms. “You're supposed to be resting.”

Every year for a few weeks, you would take the time to sleep after a couple of months caring for Mother Earth. Miguel, the God of Death, offered to help you by taking care of Mother Earth while you slept. So instead of flourishing crops, warm sun and bright scenery, Miguel's cold hands left trees dying, more opportunities for illness, and an even bigger chance of death–the season many humans know as winter.

“I wanted to see you.” You smiled at him which made Miguel scoff at your ridiculousness. He took off his shawl and placed it around you to keep you warmer. Miguel stopped you before you could protest.

“You and I both know that I wear these just so the mortals don't ask questions,” He grumbled, successfully wrapping the fabric in a snug manner. Since you were the Goddess of Life, you were more used to the warmth of the sun shining down on you and the blood pumping through your veins and to your beating heart. For Miguel, all he knows is the coldest feeling there is, so a storm like this could never harm him. You stared up at him with adoration before yawning. Miguel pointed it out. “I knew it. Go back to bed.”

Despite his warning you slip past him to stare at the deer that had fallen into Miguel's care. Your eyes glazed over its body, resting a moment longer on the gunshot wound that was still seeping red into the plush snow, the blizzard slowly covering its body in a white blanket.

He stands behind you as you bend down on your knees to kneel beside the deer, nervously awaiting your reaction. “You tried saving its life, didn't you?” You asked, never turning away from the animal. You began petting it gently as if it were still alive.

Miguel frowned, looking off to the side. “I was putting it out of its misery.” You huffed a small laugh through your nose and got up again on your feet. You turned to him again and reached up to cup his cheek. He melted into your hand, the only source of warmth he could ever get the chance to feel. His eyes softened down at you.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Miguel's face hardened again but he did not stray from your palm.

“For what? For killing your creations?”

You sighed. No matter how many times you've had this conversation with him, he always seemed to put himself down. “You don't kill, Miguel.” You assure him.

“My life's work is to kill. It's my duty.” He retaliated, his eyes glancing at the fawn before looking back down at you.

“You think lowly of yourself.” You slip your hand down to his chest. “Your work is beautiful.”

“There's no beauty in death, my lady.” Miguel placed his hand over yours on his chest. You don't feel a heartbeat drumming inside. “It's grotesque and heartless.”

You scrunch your nose, not believing a word he's said. “And who has told you this? The mortals?” You ask. His jaw clenches.

“They adore you and not me.” He says.

“Are you saying you're jealous, my lord?”

“I'm saying what is true,” He says firmly, not wanting to amuse your upcoming antics. “You are beauty. You are perfection. You are divine,” He cups your cheek and you shiver from the coolness of his fingers.

“Look around you. Mortals are struggling to stay warm, to find food and shelter. I've caused this. They…they curse my name,” He comes closer to you, tilting your head up to meet his ruby eyes. “I fear you shine too brightly, my lady.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him. You shake, not knowing if it's from the puff of wind passing by or your heart stuttering in your chest when he inches closer.

“What are you saying, Miguel?” You whisper.

His eyes dart to your lips, stopping the urge to kiss you. “I want to shine with you. But I'm not worthy. Not with the acts I've done. Not with the blood I've spilled alongside mortals and destroying your works of art.”

“Miguel,” Your heart speeds up, quick to calm the self destructive thoughts he's producing.

“My life has no meaning without you. What good is appreciating life if there is no death? You make living precious. You make it sacred. And when the time comes, you make it merciful,” Your other hand comes up to his hair, running your cold fingertips through his strands. “That is your true nature. Whatever humans do to abuse your power is not a part of you.”

Miguel leans his forehead against you, closing his eyes. You mirror his actions, pressing against him and simply feeling him. His hands move around you, bringing you closer by the waist. The wind passes by with a high pitched whistle. “So…warm.” He breathes out softly.

He pulls away from you, bending at the waist to pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. You feel your cheeks heat up while he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You must be tired, mi reina. I'll take you home.”

Miguel reaches down to pick you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled closer to him despite his freezing exterior. You feel him hold you tightly to his chest protectively as he walks out of the forest to bring you home.

The fawn's dead body lies underneath a pile of snow now, hidden from the world. Its remains will seep into the ground, nurturing the future plants that will grow in its place once the winter is gone and spring returns– the cycle of life and death– an eternal harmony.

A/N: man i fucking love anything to do with gods and goddesses. i might make this a mini series of just snippets of their relationship but ahhhh i dunno if anyone will even like this tbh. i did have fun writing it though

[heartfullofleeches]

Ngl Adonis’s idea of a first date is kinda romantic. Like- you buried them for me?? Aww stop it im blushing 🤭 now can we eat pastries and make flower crowns in the middle of the night under a wisteria tree with fairy lights and then catch fireflies and look at all the cool moths outside??

-🩷

"Hey.... I got a present for you...."

The butterfly can barely contain his excitement as you unwrap the purple ribbon lacing the gift box's exterior. He's worked so hard to do this right - the perfect start to your budding relationship. The light was just right. He was sure not to burn or undercook everything he made for you. And finally - he brought you to a gift that would make the night a staple in your memory for years to come.

Inside the box was a ring box settled next to a rectangular shape covered by sheets of tissue paper. The ring itself was a jade piece a few shades lighter than Adonis' eyes. Though refurbished, it showed obvious signs of wear. A small crack in the jewelry itself and minor dents in its frame. It was an old, but valued for piece - passed through many generations.

Adonis takes the ring and slides it on your finger, eyes lighting up at its snug fit. "It fits~ Ah.. thank goodness. I only had pictures and that one time you held my hand for reference when I had it resized. I'm so glad it fits.... a important as this ring is to me, I can't wait to see what you'll think of the next surprise. Hurry - we don't have much time."

While you should talk to him about passing off something so important - curiously gets the better of you. You move the tissue paper to find a walkie-talkie at the bottom of the box. Adonis turns it on for you and fiddles with the settles. Static fluctuates from its speaker before crashing to dead silence as it peaks - soft whimpering sounding from the other end.

"H....hello.....is anyone there.....its so dark.... I can't move...it's get hard to breath.....help....me"

Adonis plays with his hair - wings curving in on his hunched figure as he giggles, thinking back fondly on the memory of hours predating your outing. "So... remember when I asked you who you hated the most was? Well... your future husband and the person you'll love most - it's kinda sorta my job to get rid of the negativity in your life. If there's anything you wanna say to them before they die, go ahead. I promise I won't be too jealous."

"Dying of suffocation with your voice being the last thing they hear...."He sighs dreamily. "now I really am jealous."

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way: Chapter 1

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Chapter 2

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, an both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, attempted sexual assault (not Joel), somno, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot)but fair warning, major age gap

This is a reader fic, reader is early 20's, Joel is 40's at this point, reader is small enough that the men can lift her, but these are strong men. Reader is also refered to as little one, little girl ETC, but that's more in reference to her age/innocence than physical size.

*******************

The first time you met Joel Miller was a flurry of events.

“C’mon Joel, I don’t have it this time but I promise, next month its yours”

Jaimie, your dad, stood in front of Joel, who was unarmed but guarded by his group of fellow raiders who had guns pointed at Jaimie and his men. “Next time you’ll owe me nearly double, I’m tired of waiting, I got a reputation to uphold.”

Jaimie owed Joel money, and a lot of it. The amount of land Joel controlled was expansive, a damn near kingdom at this point that FEDRA didn’t bother with since it was so far out in the middle of nowhere. Joel and his gang of raiders made a near Viking-like living out here. You could either pay Joel monthly with small amounts of food or resources and in return you have a modicum of protection from him and other raiders as Joel’s men patrolled areas under their control, or Joel just raids you and takes everything you have. Easy enough choice. Problem was, if Joel’s men raided your farm or town, in general, they didn’t kill you if you didn’t try to fight. However, if he didn’t get what he expected from you, he was none too thrilled about using his men's resources to protect people who weren’t paying, and that debt could easily end up with someone dead, and that’s how Joel came to your dads house.

“Fine” Joel grumbled, turning to one of his men, a tall redhead. “Kill him”

“Wait!” Your dad shouted, and Joel held up a hand to stop the gunman.

“I’m listening”

“I have a daughter” Jaimie offered.

Joel narrowed his eyes at that. “You think I need help getting my dick wet?” He began to turn to the red haired man again, when your dad shouted the words that really piqued Joel’s interest.

“She’s a virgin!”

Jaimie continued, motioning for one of his men to get you from where you were hiding in the hall. “You can have your way with her, as long as you want, knock off some of what I owe you, and next month I’ll have the rest, unless of course you want her again.”

You’re pulled in before the two groups, and had the distinct feeling you were on display.

A man to the right of Joel, looking a little younger than him but only by a few years, with longer, dark hair, finally spoke. “You pimping out your own daughter?” He said with disgust.

Your dad glared at him. “Judge me all you want, Tommy, not all of us have powerful family to protect us” he turned back to Joel.

Joel held out a hand, stopping the interaction, then turned to you. His gaze was intense, focussed, harsh, and you couldn’t help but be afraid. You were used to this, of course, your dad using you as a bargaining tool, bad men who had used you and hurt you, leaving bruises and scars that were visible even from where Joel stood, but Joel was different, Joel was powerful, Joel was a cold blooded killer, and was not someone you wanted to upset or god forbid disappoint when he took you; you might end up with a bullet in the head if he wasn’t happy with a blowjob. 

Joel scanned you, taking in your body and no doubt the marks that littered your skin. “You let them do that to her?” He referenced the bruises.

Your dads hands were still raised. “Other men have used her mouth, but nothing other than that. Some men just want to toss her around, rough her up a bit, get themselves off like that, but you’d be the first inside her.”

“Joel.” The younger man spoke with a warning. “Don’t”

“I’ll do damnwell whatever I please” Joel grumbled, turning to your dad. “Mouth only, I’ll see if she’d worth buying more off after that.”

Jaimie nodded. “Sure! You can rough her up too, if you want, that’s extra, of course-”

“Shut up, I’ll decide the price when I’m done with her.” Quickly, Joel strode over to you and hanked you out of the other man’s grasp, half-dragging you to another room, your dad calling out to you not to mess this up.

Joel grabs you by the neck and shoves you to your knees, the cold, hard floor stinging against your kneecaps. You try your best to suppress the shaking fear inside you and play good little whore, reaching up to undo his belt buckle but Joel smacks your hands away, yanking you by your hair to look at him.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” Despite the pet name, his tone was harsh and condescending. “I don’t need you to do anything, you’re just a warm, wet hole for me to get off with, got it?”

You nod.

“Just stay still and this will be over soon enough. Hands behind your back, now.” He demanded and you did as you were told, holding both your hands behind you and opening your mouth.

Joel took his cock out, and an involuntary whimper escaped you; you’d never been with a man this big, and if he liked you, he was supposed to deflower you? How was all that supposed to fit?

Joel must’ve seen the fear in your eyes. “I’ll start slow, but after that, I ain’t taking it easy on you, little girl.”

You nod quickly, thankful for even small mercies. 

Joel kept his word, sliding into you slowly, carefully, pausing when you gag, and allowing you to adjust when his full length was inside. Tears pricked at your eyes, it hurt so bad, but you needed to do good. If Joel didn’t like you, whatever you dad would do as punishment would be way worse than this.

He pulled himself all the way out, and told you to take a breath. “This is where the fun begins”. When he thrust his dick inside you, you heaved so hard that if you had eaten anything, you would’ve thrown up all over him, spit spilling out of your mouth mixed with stomach bile, your scalp stinging from his painful grip on your hair.

“Fuck yeah, gag on it” You can hear him say above you, and it’s not like you have a choice, continuing to make a mess on him and yourself, the drool dripping down your chin.

“Such a pretty little mouth” he grunts with each thrust. “Wonder what that tight little cunt would feel like.” You can’t help but whimper, knowing how much it would hurt to feel Joel stretching you open. His breathing becomes heavier. “Don’t know if I can have you just once, princess, just look at you…” His fingers entangled themselves deeper into your hair, holding you still as he fucked your face. “Might just have to keep you, be my little pocket pussy to use whenever I want, you want that? Hm?” When you don’t respond, you keep your eyes tightly closed, as the pain in your throat grows.

Joel huffs a laugh when you don’t respond, not that you could say much of anything either way. “Well, you don’t really have much of a choice. But wouldn’t it be better? Only me? No more random men? Of course, I’d fuck you, be the first one inside you…” His pace was faltering, imagining breaking you open, your blood on him… “Fuck!” Joel cums in your mouth with no warning, and you begin to cough and choke, cum and spit falling out of your mouth and he pulls you off him by your hair, throwing you to the ground. 

You lay there, heaving and coughing, face covered in spit, tears and cum and maybe a little blood, your throat burns and your just want to curl up and cry, but Joel is pulling you up. “Let's go” he’s yanking you around again, and you stumble to the door, feeling somewhat like a rag doll. Before opening, however, Joel stops, wiping his sleeve roughly on your face. “Can’t let them see what a pretty mess you make, princess.”

When he pulled out outside, where it seems the tensions hadn’t eased, Joel announces he’s taking you.

Your dad immediately protests, and for a moment you think he might actually care about you, until he gives his reason, being that he sells your mouth for extra money, and Joel can’t take that away from him.

“I’ll wipe your debts clean” Joel isn’t even looking at him, yanking you to where his men had loaded resources onto their horses.

“But that’s-”

“And the next three months free.”

Your dad seemed to recognize that Joel wanted you, and tried to trade for more and Joel hoped on his horse, never letting go of your arm. Effortlessly, he reached under your arms and pulls you up onto the horse, and you suddenly realize the weight of the predicament. Joel was taking you, and you weren’t coming back. He was going to fuck you until he was tired of you, then throw you away, if he doesn’t kill you. You were never going to see your friend or your brother again.

“Joel, come on, she’s my only daughter” You dad tried one more time, and you begin to squirm in Joel’s lap, wanting out. “She’s worth a little more than that, untouched.”

“Dad, please, don’t”

Joel wraps an arm around you and points a gun at your dad's head. “Three months, and I don't blow your brains out right now.”

Raising his hands, Jaimie backs down, giving up.

“Lets go” Joel says to the younger man from before, and turns his horse around.

You hear your name called from the house, and turn to find your brother running outside. 

“ZACH!” You scream for help, the fight in you kicking in, desperately trying to get out of Joel’s arms. The horse takes off, and you turn to see Zach getting on his own and starting after you and your dad telling him to stop.

Turning around, in one movement, Joel turns your head into his chest to cover your ears, and shoots.

You scream, and turn to see your brother fallen off the horse, laying still.

The first time you saw Joel Miller, he fucked your face, bought you, kidnapped you, and killed your brother in a span of ten minutes.

“One stop princess, then we can go home, and you get to be my little toy.” Joel spoke, his breath hot in your ear, as if he was your husband taking you home after a wedding, not the man who just uprooted you from everything you know.

The stop, as it turned out, took 2 hours to get to, and you were exhausted and in shock by the time you, the younger brunette and the redhead separated from the group. Joel had tied up your arms in front of you, not that you could escape even if you tried. Joel was much stronger than you. You were nearly nodding off, Joel’s hold on you keeping you upright, the adrenaline rush leaving you bone tired, when you heard a woman’s voice.

“You trafficking girls now, Joel?”

You open your eyes wearily to find a woman on a horse with two others flanking her, she had dark skin and her hair was in braids, eyeing Joel with disgust.

Joel’s hand ran across the top of your chest, closer to your collar bone but enough to make your whimper. It was a display, more than anything, meant to get a rise out of the woman. “What would you do if I was?”

“Not much I can do, it seems.” She seethed.

“Relax, Maria. Her dad was the one was selling her, I bought, she’s staying with me.”

You were dreary, unable to keep your eyes open, only listening to the voices.

“And that’s supposed to be better?”

You could feel Joel shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. But she’s not getting passed around like she was at her dads. We ain’t making a habit of it, if that makes you feel any better.”

Joel motioned the redheaded man over, who Joel referred to Nick. “Take her, just up the hill there, out of earshot, but where I can see her. Do. Not. Touch.”

Falling asleep against your best attempts to stay awake, you feel yourself getting picked up and handed off into another's arms. Over the next few hours, you were in and out of sleep, unable to fully rest but unable to stay away either. Passed back to Joel, who you only knew was him from the smell of his leather jacket, and another long ride for god knows how long, you finally awaken when Joel passes you down from the horse and into the brunette man’s arms before climbing down and reclaiming you. You felt like an object they just passed around as needed, no regard for you. You open your eyes in front of a large house, trying to take everything that had happened in the last few hours, but between your sleep addled brain and the general shock of it, you found yourself unable to. This is where you’d stay for the remainder of your short life, Joel rapeing you and letting god knows who else do the same until you die. Joel starts pulling you inside.

“Please” You whimper before you can stop yourself.

Joel thrust you up against the door, his face right next to yours and his beard rubbing against your skin, burning it. “What was that, little one?”

But you don’t reply.

“Joel…” the younger man says from behind the two of you.

“Shut up, Tommy.” He pulls you back, opening the unlocked door. “You ain’t fucking in charge here. I paid good money for her.” He snaps to Tommy, his large hand around the back of your neck tightening, making you whimper. “And I’m bout to get my money's worth.”

“I know” Tommy steps forward, carefully, like he has experience cooling his leader down. “We just road 4 fours, maybe you should wait, you’re tired-”

“You calling me old?” Joel fully turned around, his hand moving to the front of your throat, pressing your back into his front.

“No, that ain’t what I’m saying, Joel. I just mean you got her as long as you want her, no need to do it tonight, you can enjoy yourself more later.” Tommy’s eyes flickered over to yours, and you saw just a smidge of sympathy before they went back to Joel. “She’s had a long night, Joel, she just lost everything. Give her one night, please?”

You stood there in Joel’s arms, your hands still tied in front of you, feeling the rapid rise and fall of Joel’s chest, praying to whomever that you can have this; if Joel took your virginity tonight, you were sure you’d simply break.

Grabbing your bundled hand, Joel begins dragging you inside, and you see why the door wasn’t locked. In the living room, several more men were sitting inside: some drinking, some playing games, some just… sitting. Joel turns to them “She is mine, no one fucking touches her.” he demands as he pulls you, stumbling and trying to keep up with his long strides. Opening up a door, Joel thrusts your back to the wall, taking out his knife and you gasp, trying to get away; to where, you don’t know.

“Hold still, woman, or I’ll cut you for real.” Joel cut off your hand ties, and literally threw you onto the dirty mattress. He stomped over, towering above you, and pointing. “One night. Tomorrow I get what I paid for, and you’re mine, wherever, whenever, and however I want you, no matter what Tommy and his bleeding heart think. Understood?”

You nod, but that's not enough for him.

“Say, ‘yes, Sir’”

You swallow, and speak as much as you can imagine. “Yes sir”

“Go to sleep”

And with that, he leaves the room, and you can hear it locking. How are you supposed to sleep after all that? After everything?

Not long after, the door opens again, and you scramble up thinking Joel changed his mind; it was Tommy, but that didn’t ease you at all. Maybe Tommy showed you mercy to save you for himself.

“Relax, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

He’s got a bowl in one hand and a bag in the other. “Don’t got much by way of a bath tonight, but here's hot water and a towel, you can at least wash your face, and here’s clean clothes and a pillow”

You don’t move, frozen in fear, almost as if he was a t-rex; if you didn’t move, he wouldn’t see you.

A soft smile. ”Alright, I’ll get out of your hair” and with that he leaves you, your room dark save for the moonlight coming through the window.

********************

You know, when I made this side blog it was initially gonna be like. Secret. Like I wasn't gonna tell my mutuals i had a side blog for dark content

But even if I decided to stay anonymous, the fact I have a fic with a song title, a shitty dad and a good brother would've given it away lol

Anyway, if you want to read more, comment to be added to the tag list!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[wolven91]

Dev Gun

Elliott opened his eyes and immediately winced; slamming them both shut again.

It was too late though, pain lanced through his skull, like two lightning bolts that entered through his eyeballs before ricocheting around his head. He did the only thing he could in this kind of situation and groaned in pain. The sound added to the bombardment and bounced around his skull, taking time to stop and kick the various creases and lumps of his brain as it did.

The human winced again and instinctively curled in on himself, defending himself from the onslaught, only to find that the attack was from within. As time passed, the human found that if he didn't move, didn't speak, didn't open his eyes, and took very shallow breaths, he didn't hurt. He could happily live the rest of his life like this. He'd had his adventures; he'd survived Earth and made it all the way out to a blackhole where he had personally helped advanced the march of science.

He could rest now. He may only be in his twenties, but he'd lived a good life...

The squeak and hiss of the door to the room that the miserable body was laying in caused the curled-up lump to flinch.

"Oh no..." Spoke a soft lyrical voice. "Is he dead or just dying?" It asked, more curious, rather than concern.

Elliott couldn't acknowledge or even understand the voice and merely lay there. The man hoped that if it was a scavenger or predator, they'd either think he was rotting and leave him alone or perhaps, if he was lucky; the beast would finish him off.

Maruu refrained from shaking his head or rolling his eyes. As a male taurian, it was his duty to be upstanding and always maintain his dignity and honour, even if the only person to perceive him appeared to be incapable of opening his eyes. The taurian's hooves barely made a noise on the cool metal of the laboratory floor as he strode over to the human.

These kinds of event weren't what the taurian was expecting when he had answered the summons for a personal assistant at the end of a galaxy spiral. The scientist who owned the hidden science and research station was a different human, one by the name of Doctor Nough. The human Maruu was current crouched over was the long-time suffering assistant; 'Elliott'. The taurian merely glanced at the strange, jerry-rigged weapon that was mere inches from the human's hands.

Maruu had trained himself on many different subjects, as per expectations of a taurian of his breeding and standing, so he knew first aid and how to triage a patient. A clawed thumb pressed into the soft, flesh cheek below the human's eyes causing the eyelid to reveal eyeball. The veins there were coloured purple. Otherwise, Maruu would have described it as 'bloodshot'.

The taurian sighed in disapproval.

"Drugs now Master Elliott?" Maruu asked with a disapproving tone. Allowing himself a click of the tongue, the taurian flowed upright once more and strutted across the room towards a medical cabinet.

"P-please... have mercy...." Mumbled the human.

The taurian allowed a smile to grace his cheeks as he pulled a container, checked its contents and dosage rates. He plucked the canister that contained all the 'Refresher' doses from the cabinet and began to saunter over to the prone human.

"Mercy? My dear Master Elliott... You will find that a male such as myself as been at the mercy of others many times." Maruu explained slowly, relishing the sudden change of power. Maruu wasn't cruel, but when one is born into a society of brutish women and are sidelined and ignored by society as a whole as it believed the best you were was 'eye candy', one enjoyed the moments that the horns changed heads.

Still, as the male folded himself down next to the human, careful not to crease or pinch the silken dress that hung off him, he took a moment to run a caring hand through the young alien male's hair. It was soft hair, unlike the fur that dominated the galaxy.

Maruu raised the human's sleeve and wiped a spot with a disinfectant before touching the pen-like 'Refresher' to the human's arm. There was a quite 'hiss' and the minute judder from the device as it dispensed a dose. Maruu retreated from the human with haste and stood far enough away that he, or more importantly; the taurian's clothes would not be affected by what came next. Maruu plucked the sidearm that was left next to the human from the ground. It was in what could only be described as a 'splash zone' and it appeared like effort had been put into it.

A 'Refresher' was of taurian design. It would flush a patient's system of anything and everything harmful or potentially dangerous. Poisons, drugs, alcohol? All were rapidly removed and filtered from the patient's bloodstream and into their stomach. After which, the fastest and easiest way to get rid of the unwanted matter?

The curled human made a quick noise as his whole body convulsed once, then twice before he tensed across his whole body as his stomach was released onto the laboratory floor. Maruu merely closed his eyes and suffered both the noise and the smell.

Opening his eyes once more, the tuarian turned the weapon in his hands over. He had never fired a weapon himself but knew not to touch the trigger or point the barrel at anything important like a bulkhead or person. Aside from the grip, trigger, and barrel however, the gun was very much strange. It appeared mechanical at first, like an ancient slug thrower, but the exposed circuit board and wires that connected a screen to the gun where the hammer should have been confused the taurian.

The screen was blinking, waiting for a command prompt. The text above the flashing line was; 'Program Loaded, Execute? Y/N'

"What's this Elliott? Why were you taking esquinine tranquilisers?" Asked Maruu, holding the weapon in one hand, ensuring he didn't touch the trigger.

"Because-Because science waits for no man!" Called a slurred voice from deeper within the lab. From behind a desk, Doctor Nough appeared. Unlike Elliott, the human seemed to be fighting the desire to collapse despite his eyes also showing the extremely bloodshot/purple viens.

Maruu sighed through his muzzle and retrieved another Refresher from the canister and swayed over to the good doctor.

"We... *had to* expand... our... minds... no... Why can I not think?" Demanded the human, holding a hand to his head as the taurian approached.

"Because the drugs are wearing off. For one of the smartest creatures, I've ever met, you are quite... challenged at times." Explain Maruu as Doctor Nough presented his own arm. The poor human looked as if he was on the very edge of crumpling to the floor. Maruu merely reached down and plucked a bin from beneath the desk and handed it to the doctor whilst the taurian slipped away.

Maruu had cared for many female taurians in the past. It was a thankless task, but that was the unspoken duty of taurian males. If not for them, the women would merely be without a guiding hand.

The recovery rate once Refreshers were given was quite a marvel. Within a scant few minutes, both Elliott and Nough were finished wiping their mouths and mobile once more. Once they seemed stable and could answer questions without slurring their words, Maruu presented the strange gun once more.

"What is this and do I need to be worried?" Asked the taurian firmly, crossing his arms and staring disapprovingly at the pair of humans. To their credit they both seemed appropriately chastised. However, both of them seemed to know what the device was, both with equal fear and respect for it.

"So, I do need to be worried." Finished Maruu, briefly touching a set of fingers to his forehead where his own headache was beginning.

"How did... Does it work?" Asked Elliott.

"The drugs... it worked... We did it... But... if it does work... Not only could we easily kill ourselves, one misfire and we could tear a whole world from its orbit..." Doctor Nough immediately responded, quickly assessing the dangers that this apparent doomsday weapon had.

"Doctor Nough... I will not be part of-"

"My dear Maruu, my science is often a question of if I can. Once I have the answer to that question, then comes the moral ones. I have no intention of this existing for longer than today."

Elliott and Maruu both stared at the human doctor who merely sighed and blinked, looking down forlornly at the weapon.

"It must be disposed of into the blackhole. It cannot exist in this galaxy and I sleep with a clean conscious..." Declared the good doctor.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[pacifymebby]

Peaky Blinders Headcannons

Tommy

🌿Calls you his angel

🌿He comes across as stoney and cold, struggles to show his adoration, but it all comes out when he says thay word. "Cmere angel," "You're my angel," "behave yourself angel,"

🌿Sometimes he really does believe you were sent from heaven to save him

🌿Or to test him... He's so hellbent on protecting you, preserving your innocence, not letting you get close to the darker side of him and his business that he almost loses you

🌿You're always trying to soothe him, to get under his skin, heal him. You're not stupid, you've heard he's a bad man and you know it too

🌿But even bad men deserve love and you adore him

🌿So you keep trying to look after him. At night when he has his terrors you hold his head to your chest and let him fall asleep there, your hands combing through his hair. You'll fall asleep with him resting there like that and in the morning when you wake up, he's usually woken up before you and moved so that its you resting on him. His hands playing with your hair. You know hes trying to pretend the terrors didnt happen, but you let him pretened. Its slow work getting a man like Tommy to open up, the fact that he let you hold him at all is miracle enough for now.

🌿He's killed for you, he thinks you don't know but you do. Of course you know, he's done it so many times, too many times to hide it. The first time it happened you put it down to coincidence. The man who groped you in the Garrison, he was an unpleasant man, exactly the type of man you could imagine would get himself into a fight he couldnt win. When he got stabbed with a broken bottle in a bar fight no one had been surprised. But when it keeps happening? Its hard to ignore the fact that any man who so much as looks at you for too long seems to end up dead or blind.

🌿Is haunted by dreams of you dying, morbidly convinced hes going to lose you, that youre going to be stolen from him. This is why hes so possesive.

🌿 Nothings going to happen to you because hes not going to let you out of his sight, there will always be peaky boys guarding Tommy's angel. But...

🌿 If something does happen to you, Tommy's calculating the cruelest revenge, the slowest most painful method of killing. Hes militant about it. He'll hunt them down. But he'll be so caught up in planning his revemge that instead of being gentle with you and holding you/comforting you, he'll sit at your bedside with a face of thunder, holding your hand too tightly, his mind far away, plotting the finer details of revenge. He will not sleep until the bastard who harmed his angel is dead.

🌿 He doesn't involve you in business at all, if he had it his way he'd keep you at home in the country forever, never let you leave the sanctuary of the home he's built for you.

🌿And why would you want to? Your doting Tommy has done everything he can to craft a little piece of heaven on earth for his little angel.

Alfie

🐻 You're far too young, precious and pretty to be sitting in this old mans lap but

🐻 Theres nowhere else youd rather be

🐻 An unforgiving brute to everyone but you, his "ziskeit" (sweetness). He goes 0 to 100 and then straight back down to 0 for you. By this i mean, he's threatening a man's life in one breath, evil in his eyes, cold and cruel with all that sadistic humor mixed in, but then upon turning to see you've slipped into his office by mistake, he drops his tone, speaks to you calm and quiet and soft.

🐻 Has a habbit of beckoning you over to him so that he can whisper instructions for you. He loves how obedient you are and how delicate you look when you tread soft and quick/nimble across the room to be by his side.

🐻 "shikseleh, go wait outside for your old man, thats a good girl, you wait for me and I'll come find you as soon as i can" "patience ziskeit, will you do me a favour? I want you to go find olly for me right, and you tell him, that i told you, that if he doesn't come get this selfish little bastard out of my office I'll kill him...."

🐻 Sending you on your way with a little pat on the cheek only to stop you as you get to the door... "wait a minute, wait... I forgot something very important didnt I... Don't swear..."

🐻 He knows he can't protect you and he doesn't want you to be too innocent - after all hes a dirty old man and there are things he wants to do with you that innocent girls just can't do...

🐻 But he likes to pretend you're innocent and hes determined to keep you good so there are rules. Alfie loves rules.

🐻 No swearing, no answering back, you're to do as you're told by him, youre not to speak to the men in the bakery (they aren't even allowed to look at you) and if you're going to sit down? Well you must sit in your old mans lap.

🐻 He hasnt had to kill anyone over you yet but thats only because he strikes the fear of god into everyone he meets. No one in their right mind would lay a finger on you. The men in the bakery know to turn their heads away and avert their gaze when you walk in looking for your old man.

🐻 He has thought about it many times however... What he'd do if anything were to happen to you. Thats why he wakes you sometimes in the middle of the night, his fingers stroking your cheek, his lips skimming your hair. He'll lie on his back, the weight of your sleeping body on top of his, his fingers tracing down your spine, your head held in the palm of his hand. And he'll hold you all night, thinking about the violence hed commit if anyone ever even threatened you.

John

🌼 Brings you flowers all the time, buys you so many pretty things. He doesnt think he's good enough to win you over with looks/charm and personality so this is how he tries to attract you. With gifts.

🌼 But you adore him, and you don't need all these gifts to attract you to him because youve only ever had eyes for him.

🌼 He's a little insecure, so he's always getting into fights over you. Nothing serious really, but if anyone dares to observe how beautiful you are, John takes offense. "She's too good for me aye? That what youre saying?" "Reckon you'd like to try a piece of my girl?"

🌼 Calls you all manner of sweet little pet names but his favourite is "little flower,"

🌼 You bring out the child in him, he's boyish and careless with you, will play fight, sneak up on you and make you jump just to hear you shriek and jump into his arms. Will chase you and sling you over his shoulder when he catches you.

🌼 Can't take his eyes off you, you really really ruin his cool. His brothers and sister take the piss and he often finds himself embarassed and blushing because they've caught him watching you again.

🌼 Worries about you, worries you will get hurt because of his deeds with the peakys, naively thinks he can protect you from everything.

🌼 When you are hurt he's both full of guilt/shame and desperate for revenge. Whoever hurt you is going to pay with their life... But his first worry is you, he won't leave your side until youre better, or unless you manage to convince him to go.

🌼 Is always always big spoon, even when really hes the one who needs hugging. He likes to wrap you up in his arms, hold onto you and bury his face in your neck. This way when hes hurt you wont know hes crying (you know but you let him pretend)

Arthur

🍂 Kind of whipped?? Dotes on you completely, his brothers think its imasculating but he just worships you.

🍂 Anything you want or need, he'll get/do/give

🍂 Knows he should do more to protect you from business but feels hopeless to do so.

🍂 More than this though he wants to keep you safe from himself... He tries to keep a distance from you, and when hes angry he wont see you, he'll avoid you... Which you hate...

🍂 He has it in his head that youre more innocent than you are until one day you catch him when hes feeling violently angry... Hes in the most tumultuous mood, his brothers pissed him off and he's all riled up on snow...

🍂 Hes storming down the night time street, going to find a whore to use up all his anger on before he goes to meet you... Just so he can calm down... Really hes doing it for you...

🍂 But you catch him and tell him to take it out on you... You tell him not to hold back but he does, he can't do that to you...

🍂 But now youve been together so long and he knows he wont hurt you... That you like it when hes violent with you. He'll be so rough with you, he'll choke you, slap you, throw you over the table, treat you so harsh, but he'll always say the sweetest things to you. He'll fuck you real hard whilst grunting the most complimentary and gentle things. "Youre my fucking cherub darling, my fucking little cherub..."

🍂 He. Has. Killed. So. Many. Men. Over. You. So many. Even before you were his, if he saw someone look at you, or flirt with you, or just talk about you, he'd cut in and tell them to watch their tongue. Hes been known to lose his temper over almost nothing, beat a man half to death over one glance.... But you, in your own fucked up way, kind of love that.

🍂 Likes to take baths with you, in the bath hes gentle with you. Will sit between your legs and have you wash his hair, your fingers massaging his scalp make him feel so calm.

🍂 You are the only person who can really calm him down and dull his pain.

🍂 He calls you his angel, his saving grace, because he believes youve been sent to save him, to heal him.

🍂 Lets you hold him when he's calmed down from a rage and is upset, lets you see him cry but isnt shy about telling you it bothers him. You are often big spoon at night, wrapped around him comfortingly. He will take your hands and bring them to his lips, kiss every one of your fingers and hold them close to his face.

Bonnie

🍀 You are his little dove, he hasn't used your real name since the day he learnt it, you have just always been his little dove.

🍀 Tries very hard to keep his innocent dove away from the peaky blinders. You haven't met them yet and Bonnie doesn't intend for you to.

🍀 He just feels so protective of you. Youre much smaller than him, he can pick you up with one arm and your hand feels so small held in his. The thought of you being in the same room as the blinders sends a shudder down his spine. Youre too good, too precious.

🍀 Always holding your hand, whenever he has the chance. Always doing things for you, making sure youre okay. He's absolutely obsessed with how small your hands are in comparison to his.

🍀 Even before you were together he felt protective over you. He would walk you wherever you needed to go, or give you rides on his horse. He socked another lad at the camp once for pulling your hair and trying to tease you.

🍀 It took him absolutely forever to admit to anyone that he actually had feelings for you...even though it was very obvious. He gets far too shy and blushes around you. He thinks the world of you and can't believe his luck. Hes absolutely giddy with pride whenever hes with you.

🍀 Is so sweet, picks you wild flowers, brings you little gifts. He made a little wooden crusifix for you once and threaded it onto a piece of string. Its not the most glamorous jewlery but you never take it off.

🍀 Always holding your hand, playing with your fingers. Likes it when you wear his jackets and shirts. Especially when he has to leave you and go to do work for Tommy. He feels as though having his jacket around your shoulders lets him keep holding you even after hes gone.

🍀 Hasn't killed for you yet... Would kill for you in a heartbeat...even tommy shelby.

🍀 Is nervous for you to see him fight in case it scares you, or makes you scared of him, because youre timid and because you were scared of him when you were younger and before you were friends.

🍀 But he also feels really proud when you come to his fights, he wants to impress you and make you proud.

🍀And he especially likes when you patch him up afterwards and carefully kiss his bruises.

🍀 Dreams of running away with you, the two of you going to live in a vardo together, far away from the peakys, somewhere safe, travelling together, always alone together.

🍀 Desperate to put a baby inside you, tells you all the time.

🍀 There were signs at first which you supposed you missed, but once you're together a little while he has a real soft dom side to him youre not expexting. He's determined to stamp out any insecuroties you might have, praises you all the time, always telling you how beautiful /pretty/adorable you are and...

🍀 They're never said out loud but he has rules for you. They aren't like alfies rules, they're not as jealous. But,

You have to look after yourself, he reminds you when you need to eat, he likes to be the one who washes your hair, he doesn't like it when you leave the camp on your own and especially doesnt want you going into birmingham without him.

🍀 When you look back you realise he always had these rules for you, he'd never let you off on your own, he'd always been over protective... And you also realise youd always complied amd been good for him... You don't know why.

🍀 Absolutely will not sleep unless hes holding you, likes to feel your body pressed against his with you sleeping on top of him. Will play with your hair and draw patterns on your skin. Unless its the night after a fight in which case youre permitted to hold him instead.

Isiah

🐀 Knows he shouldnt but definitely starts fights to try and impress you

🐀Is always a little bit paranoid that if he lets you hang around with finn and michael, one of them will steal you away from him.

🐀Over protective, puts on a front of being a fighter who's tough and quick tempered, but is actually just very sweet and in love with you.

🐀Is quite cocky, always flirting with you, really enjoys showing you off... Very tactile, always touching you. He is especially tactile around you in front of his friends and you know this is because he wants to remind them that you belong to him.

🐀Asks you who you love/who you belong to on a regular basis, multiple times a day. He'll catch your hand as youre leaving the room, pin you down in bed or up against a wall, get all up in your personal space and ask you... Won't let you go until you answer him so sometimes you stall on purpose

🐀And sometimes you hmmm and give him the wrong answer just to see what he'll do...

🐀Poor boy feels he has to prove himself and so usually you end up getting fucked real hard, only allowed to cum when he asks you the question again and you give him the right answer.

🐀Doesnt have to prove he's a man because he's so sure of himself in that specific way. Which is hot... You like the fact he lets you be big spoon sometimes, that he lets you cling onto him and nestle in as close as you can. Secretly he likes the feeling of being held.

🐀Does have a bit of a temper, will get angry with you if you've been flirting with other men, sulks if youve spent a lot of time talking with Michael or Finn. Doesn't like when you join in their teasing of him... Has plenty of ways to punish you for it later. Isn't gentle.

Michael

☘️ When you first met you thought Michael was just a mummys boy. You thought he was too soft for you...

☘️ My god were you mistaken.

☘️ Michael has an underdog complex worse than Tommy Shelby, he is ALWAYS trying to prove something. That he's a man, that he's a bad man, that you're his girl, that he's good enough for you...

☘️ Sometimes he speaks too harshly to you when hes in one of his moods but when he sees the hurt in your eyes he apologises, makes you come to him so he can kiss you and stroke your cheek. He never tells you he's sorry though and you always know hes going to do it again.

☘️ But you kind of like it like that. You like hos angry streak, it excites you, you want to know how far he'd go if you pissed him off. He wouldn't kill you, youre almost certain of that.

☘️ And besides you have the temper to match... If he ever slapped you he knows you'd hit him back twice as hard. Sometimes That is the only thing that stops him hitting you... Not his deeply ingrained principles about hitting girls.

☘️ You watch him change, no longer soft and easily bullied, but fierce, just as cruel, just as rotten as the rest of them... Part of you is sad to see his sweet side leave him but another part of you, and not a small part of you, finds it hot, exciting.

☘️ You like pushing him to his limits, arguing back until he snaps. You like seeing his temper flare and youll do anything in your power to make him snap.

☘️ He's unnaturally loyal for a peaky boy, at first you don't believe it when other people tell you they've seen him turn girls down because of you, then you think it's just a phase, he's got that new love obsession. But after awhile you realise his obsession with you is all consuming... He won't cheat on you because to him theres no point in fucking someone who isnt you. He wouldn't get any pleasure or satisfaction from dominating and owning someone else... Only you...

☘️ You argue and fight a lot, you both have sharp tempers and the relationship looks toxic... It probably is toxic, but you don't care. You set eachother on fire, breath life into eachother. You like getting into trouble with Michael. It started as partners in crime, the two of you against the world, and in many ways it is, youre ride or die, no one can come between you...

☘️ Except you love to make him angry. You love to push him over the edge so that he grabs you by the throat and squeezes, choking you whilst he tells you youre his, "you belong to me so be-fucking-have yourself you ungrateful little brat"

☘️ Youre spoilt because he spoils you and he loves to remind you. Hes proud that he can. He was raised a gentleman remember and he knows exactly how to treat a woman. When you're good you get showered in gifts and praise and kisses.

☘️ He likes to control you completely, down to the way you wear your hair and the clothes you dress. He tells you what to put on in the morning and if he doesnt like what youve chosen he demands you change.

☘️ And this is where his softer side comes out... If he doesnt like what youre wearing he demands you change, but he's the one who changes you. He undresses you, he helps you into your new outfit. If he doesnt like your hair he takes it out gently and fixes it the way he wants to see it. He wipes your make up off, tells you you look too much like a whore... His words are always so harsh but his actions so gentle and caring.

☘️ When hes done he'll say something like "there, thats better," and kiss you sweetly.

☘️ Hates it when other men talk to you, most men don't because theyve seen what has happened in the past but Tommy has no respect for Michael and no respect for your relationship. He doesn't even really find you attractive, but he will touch you, flirt with you, try to make you blush, just to piss his cousin off. And it works. And you'd be lying if you said you didnt try to encourage that behaviour because when Michael has something to prove...

☘️ Its delicious.

[axelsagewrites]

Hi. Can I request Edmure x female Snow (Jon’s sister) where Edmure, reader, Jon etc learn her heritage and after dany’s mad queen thing is reader selected to be queen and Edmure her consort. Maybe smut too, either way more Edmure.

Edmure Tully*My Queen, My Love

Pairing: snow!f!reader x husband!edmure

A/N: I did change your request slightly since I just couldn’t think of how to write danny as the mad queen or how to get the plot going so now its edmures reaction to her heritage and danny naming her as her heir and them celebrating with some soft smut at the end so I hope you still like it!

Word count: 2705

Warnings: talks of death/red wedding, praise, ‘my queen’ honorific, f!receiving oral, fingering, slight teasing, thighs, soft smut 18+

Past

When Jon left for the wall, you thought you’d never see him again. When your sisters got taken as hostages in the red keep you thought they were as good as dead. When Winterfell was taken you thought your youngest brothers were gone for good. Everyone around you began to drop like flies and if not for Edmure you would have thrown yourself from Riverrun’s walls when you got the news of Robbs brutal murder and at a wedding no less.

Your stomach churned at the memory, and you wondered what your own fate would have been if Robb had not sent you and Edmure back to Riverrun to defend it from Lannister attacks. Sometimes you wondered if he knew, if somehow Robb felt the unease in the air of the twins. When you hugged Robb goodbye for the last time you clung on, but you did not know why you did or why your direwolf star was so reluctant to leave Greywind’s side. She, like ghost, was a pale white but unlike his red eyes hers were the palest of purples, so pale you wondered if they were clear in certain lights.

You were only halfway to Riverrun when you heard the news. You tried to back, hell bent of trying to avenge Robb with a sword, a wolf, and only three men but Edmure had to hold you back. He screamed at you in the forest ‘do you want to die? What of your sisters who will they have to save them when your dead at Walder Frey’s feet? Dying won’t bring him back.'

'My father is dead. My brothers are dead. The girls are as good as dead and only the gods know where Jon is, you screamed it back, face wet with tears and your voice tearing the air. I have no one.'

'You have me and you have star and the gods be good your sisters in time, but you won’t have anything if you run without thinking.'

His words swam about your heads for the weeks you spent traveling with Edmure and the two others Robb had sent with you. Your gold ran out quickly and there were no friends for you to find. That was until you came across the man with half his face scorched off. You’d found him in a heap at the bottom of a mountain and were shocked when you noticed his shallow breaths.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to stop your travels for a week to nurse him back to health, but you did and when he was not insulting you or trying to start fights his roughness started to slip. 'Did you see a girl dressed as a boy? Brown hair, face like a pinched arse, a tiny needle of a sword. Goes by Arry.' Arya. Your sister was alive. You had hope again.

Eventually the gods turned your fate. You may have lost the two guards Robb had sent with you in skirmishes, but you were left with Sandor and Edmure and eventually the brotherhood found you. With them came travels and with travels came Jon. Finally you had Jon back. Then Sansa too and with the hope Arya was out there you dared continue.

Meanwhile you had Edmure beside you the entire time. He backed all your decisions publicly and debated you in private but never to berate. He helped you heal the wounds you couldn’t reach and didn’t eat till he made sure you had your share. He was the rock securing your tie to reality.

You remember his reaction to meeting Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name. Its not her dragons we should fear. A woman who brings the Dothraki across the sea on the hope of a promise not given to her holds power. Her words hold power.

While Sansa was sceptical of her you felt yourself drawn to her. As time went on you began to view her as more of a friend than a foreign queen. You found yourself added to her small council. Despite Tyrion being her hand, it was you she turned to in her dilemma.

Then one day Jon barged into one of your chambers, insisting it could not wait a day longer. He forced Edmure to leave the chambers despite you insisting that the man who had become your husband could hear anything he had to say. 'Ned Stark was not our father sweet sister, but he was not a stranger either.' You felt the colour drain from your face as he spoke. 'Bran, he saw it, Lyanna Stark on her birthing bed. Twins in her arms. We had a mother sweet sister and a father too. Rhaegar Targaryen.'

Present

After he broke the news, you demanded he leave, not wanting him to speak another word till you could bare to tell Daenerys yourself. Then Edmure returned. As you told him everything Jon had revealed you felt your world spinning as Edmure sat silently taking it all in.

The feel of Edmures hands grabbing yours slowed your rant, your breathing steadying. “Breathe my love. It is going to be okay,”

“But what if its not?” You asked, a break in your voice.

You looked to the man that had kept you afloat during this war with wide eyes brimmed with tears. His hand gently moved to hold your face, “You are still you, my love. This does not need to change your world unless you choose it too. Your brother will back you; he always has. I am here for you love. We are safe, we will survive this,”

“What if she thinks us a threat?” You said, voice barely above a whisper, “Rober Baratheon would’ve murdered them in their cribs if he had got there in time to swing his hammer. What will she do to me?”

“She has shown you no signs of tyranny, no signs of madness. If you lie to her, scheme against her, she will know but even if ned Stark was not your father you still have his honour,” Edmure said, leaning to kiss your forward softly, “and you have me. I may not breath fire, but I would fight any dragon for you,”

You watched as Daenerys face turned as Jon told her the truth with you by his side. “If it were true, you would be the last living male Targaryen. Are you here to threaten my claim?” She asked, her face twisting into betrayal.

“No,” you said, finally speaking up in the silence, “Jon has no interest in the iron throne, do you brother?” You said, scared when he paused for a moment before agreeing with you.

Daenerys turned away, pacing to the fire in silence, “Leave us,” she said, her head raising to face Jon, “and do not speak a word of this to anyone. Swear it,”

“I swear it your grace,” Jon said, nodding his head solemnly before leaving.

As the door shut Daenerys finally turned to look at you, “I assume Edmure knows,” she said dryly, “Who else?”

“No one your grace,” you said, crossing the room to try come to her side but she backed away, “No one needs know if you don’t want them too. But you cannot deny you need a family,”

“I have my dragons,” she said, almost spitting the words before looking into the flames, “A woman told me once they would be my only children,” she said with a softer tone.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," you whispered back, having heard her tales of her first marriage many nights.

“When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves,” she said, her eyes not leaving the flickering flames, “I believe I will see my child when I die. The son a witch stole from me. The family I was told to dream about having as a child, gone. What is a queen with no heirs?” She said, finally looking from the flames. “If I was to name Jon my heir people would cross their fingers for the day I died. Your land has never cared much for their queens,”

You paused for a moment, thinking back to the talks you had with Edmure the night before. “There is another way your grace,” you said, moving over to sit in the armchair by the fire, Daenerys moving to the other, “The northerns have never liked to bend their knee to the south but what if you didn’t make them? Allow Jon to be king of the north, recognise Robbs kingship and his will naming Jon as his heir. No southern lord is going to fight for a bastard to sit the iron throne,”

Daenerys sat back in her chair, thinking over your words carefully, “And what of you? You would stay in the north to take the throne after him?”

You shook your head lightly, “No your grace. He may be my brother, but you are my queen. I will follow you south, fight your battles and die for you, if need be, serve however required,”

Daenerys paused, chuckling slightly under her breath, “Even as my heir?” She said, her eyes hard to read.

“Unless you have children,” you said but Daenerys just laughed and stood again.

“No. My dragons are my children. One of them is already dead. My womb has been cursed and the child bed is more dangerous than any battle ahead. Now I will not have children. But I will have an heir. An heir who will act as a delegate to the newly independent north. You,” she said, finally turning back to see you, “You shall be my heir and you shall rule when I am gone. Not your husband, not Jon. You,”

The feast announcing Daenerys decision was one of the last moments of joy for many before the long night. You sat at the head table, Daenerys on one side and Edmure on the other. He held your hand under the table, his thumb stroking over your hand. Jon sat on the other side of Daenerys; a shoddy silver crown placed on his head unlike the one Daenerys wore made of gold.

After the festivities you walked back to your chamber, slightly lightheaded from the wine but with Edmures arm wrapped around yours to steady yourself. “One day you will be a queen,” he hummed, smiling down at you, “The title suits me,”

“Hopefully not for a long time,” you said, kissing his cheek as you stumbled to your chambers, “Excited about your future promotion?” You joked with a drunken grin.

He shook his head with a chuckle, “the title is yours not mine. I will not rule for you love for you will be my queen. Though I hope you will at least allow me on your council when the time comes,” he said as you turned into the corridor your chamber lay in.

“Of course,” you said, hugging his arm tighter, “You have always been my hand. Without you I am nothing,”

“No, my love,” he said as he unlatched the chamber door, “You are everything and more,” he said, kissing your lips softly in the chamber doorway. “Give me a moment to light the fire,”

As Edmure stoked the flames you began to slip out of your northern clothes, leaving them in a pile at the side of the bed and leaving only your shift on for coverage. You sat on the foot of the bed, watching as Edmure finally had the fire burning bright before he took his own outdoor clothing off.

“You look divine my love,” he said as he sat his neatly folded tunic on the armchair by the fire.  You held your hand out to him across the room, silently beckoning him over. Edmure did as you asked wordlessly, gently taking your hand and moving to stand between your legs. He bent down, pressing a slow soft kiss to your lips. Your hands rested on his shoulders, his cupping your jaw lightly before he stood up straight again, “It is time for rest my love,” he said, moving back to kick off his boots.

You shook your softly at him, a smile toying your lips, “We are celebrating tonight remember?” You said, standing so you could wrap your arms around his waist to pull him closer. His body, left with only his trousers, pressed flush against yours leaving no gaps between your skin. “Wont you celebrate with me, husband?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I suppose some celebrating could be in order,” Edmure said with a light chuckle. He lifted your chin with his fingers, his head dipping to reconnect your lips. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer somehow. You were breathless as Edmure walked you back till the backs of your thighs hit the bed frame. “Lay down my queen,” he said, panting as he pulled away from your lips.

“I am not queen yet,” you said, the wine making the idea more funny than terrifying. None the less you moved to lay on the bed, letting your shift bunch up to reveal more of your thighs.

Edmures eyes scanned your thighs, soaking in your frame. You couldn’t help but notice the outline in his trousers by this point but you did not protest as he began to crawl up the bed to you, kissing your calf then knee and up to your thighs, “Let me serve you my queen,” he said as he placed a kiss to your inner thigh, “You have always been my queen,”

Your breathing was ragged as you felt him kiss up your inner thighs, his breath fanning over your skin making it tingle. Your fingers ran over his hair, toying with it softly, “Serve me husband,” you said, aching for his mouth which was less than an inch from where you wanted it to be, “Serve your queen,” you inhaled sharply when you felt him place a soft kiss to your wet cunt, his lips moving up to place another wet kiss to your clit. Your fingers tugged his hair gently as he began to lick soft stripes up your cunt, his pressure increasing with each lick to tease the feeling. While you were usually the one doing the teasing Edmure wanted to make sure this was truly a celebration for you tonight as his tongue worked its wonders while his hands softly squeezed your thighs.

His mouth moved up, his focus turning to gently sucking your clit as curse words slipped from under your breath. His hand slipped from your thigh, slowly grazing over your skin till his fingers began to tease your hole. You moaned lightly when you felt his fingers slowly slipping in as he had practised many times with you over the years. You could feel your thighs tighten around his head and how he moaned sending vibrations through your wet cunt.

You could feel your body tightening, a knot forming in your stomach as Edmure began to hit your sweet spot, his fingers curling gently to hit closer with each move. “Yes,” you gasped, your fingers suddenly tightening in his hair, “Like that,” you said, your voice caught as your body tightened.

Edmure did exactly as he was told as he felt your thighs begin to twitch. Your body felt close to bursting till your orgasm spilled over you, your legs clamping around his head as your body tensed up, toes curling. Edmure did not attempt to remove his tongue or mouth as he let you ride out your wave, only moving when he felt your legs begin to release his head.

He came up for air, his face slick and an adoring smile on his face, “You truly are amazing,” he murmured, kissing your thigh before moving up to lay beside you.

You turned, trying to reach for his trousers to return the favour but Edmure caught your wrist, raising your hand up to his lips to kiss, “Not yet love. Catch your breath my queen,”

You laughed lightly at his words, “Are you always going to call me that?” You asked.

“Yes, for it will always be true,”

Taglist @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics

[tunnelofdusk]

mlcb ficlet: red thread of fate, ot3

A soft ticklish sensation awakens Li Lianhua as he twitches his foot awake. Blearily, he opens his eyes and meets the twin gazes of Fang Xiaobao and Di Feisheng. They each have a hand wrapped around one of his bare ankles and the ticklish sensation that had awoken him is the sliding of red silken cord against his skin. Red thread encircles his ankles, flush against skin.

“It’s lotus silk,” Fang Xiaobao says. The natural curve to his mouth is nonexistent with none of his hurt outwardly to twist. Yet his eyes are dark and deep with a well of sorrow that Di Feisheng’s gaze mimics. Li Lianhua looks away.

Cautiously, Li Lianhua withdraws his feet from their calloused grasps, and he shivers at Fang Xiaobao’s parting stroke and Di Feisheng’s parting squeeze. There is a chill in the room that raises the hair on his skin. He shifts into a sitting position and brings his knees up to his chest. His robes fan down to cover his bare feet as a blanket remains crumpled at the foot of the bed where the other men sit like protective statues.

Like sliding on an operatic mask, Li Lianhua lets the disquiet of his awakening fade away to an insouciance that smooths the planes of his face. “Red threads?” he questions with a smirk tugging at the edges of dry lips.

Fang Xiaobao only stares at Li Lianhua, unperturbed by the mockery of the question. “For all that you want to die alone,” he says, “you should know that not even Meng Po could make us forget you.”

“Ah, Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua tuts, “even the moon waxes only to wane just as the flowers bloom only to fall.”

Di Feisheng scoffs. “Your sophistry does not negate our grief,” he says bluntly. “We searched the thirty-six cities of nine states, sixteen rivers, and the twenty-eight mountains for you.”

“Your shiniang found you before us,” Fang Xiaobao says devastatingly.

And Li Lianhua freezes as he circulates his qi through his meridians. Given time, he would be recovering the entirety of his power and on the cusp of immortality, he could even surpass his prior peak. A life for a life, he thinks, as his heart judders not from weakness but from the sorrow taking root in his chest. His chest burns; his throat burns; and his eyes burn as an ache works its way up.

“I did not want this,” Li Lianhua says with a shuddering breath. He wraps his arms around his raised legs; he feels like a child again. Even now, his mind betrays him as a memory of Shan Gudao arises. Once Li Xiangyi had burned with a fever on the streets—he had been shivering with cold and Shan Gudao had desperately embraced him. By then, his brother had been dead and he supposed that Shan Gudao had always liked being depended on. There was something about that embrace that had nestled deep into his soul; it was the uncomplicated intimacy of it that reality could no longer allow in his life.

Something in Li Lianhua shatters with the response Di Feisheng offers.

“Nobody wanted you to give up and die either,” Di Feisheng says. 

“Di-mengzhu,” Li Lianhua says hoarsely. “‘The bird in the cage longs for its former woods, while the fish in the pond misses the deep.’”

“You quote Tao Yuanming as if the jianghu is your worldly cage and we your worldly affairs to abstain from,” Fang Xiaobao comments.

“Li Lianhua,” Di Feisheng says slowly, as if savoring the name upon his tongue, “why run from those who love you?”

“If you loved me—,” Li Lianhua begins sharply.

“You wanted to die with dignity,” Fang Xiaobao says with a bitterness he must have cultivated from the seeds of the grief Li Lianhua planted. “You wrote that letter and you thought that all loose ends must have been severed…”

“It was selfish,” Di Feisheng says.

And Li Lianhua smiles as a tear finally escapes his pooling eyes to trail down his cheek, wetting the collar of his robes. “You found me—wasn’t that selfish of you? Was it so hard to fulfill a dying man’s wishes?”

“But you didn’t have to die,” Fang Xiaobao damns. “Why couldn’t you let us help you?”

“Help me?” Li Lianhua says coldly. “My shiniang is dead!”

“So, you’re the only one who can decide the terms of their death? Your shiniang wanted to help you. She was tired too,” Fang Xiaobao says.

Li Lianhua closes his eyes for a long moment, tears squeezed out in trails shimmering in candlelight. “Why couldn’t you let me go?” Li Lianhua finally says. 

“We love you,” Di Feisheng says. 

“The ending you wrote for us could never have worked—not when what we wanted was you,” Fang Xiaobao says. 

“A-Fei, Xiaobao,” Li Lianhua entreats, “you don’t love me. You love the ghost of Li Xiangyi. I don’t want to fight with you, A-Fei. I can’t be your shifu, Xiaobao. I’m so…tired.”

Without even a rustle of his robes, Fang Xiaobao leaps to his feet to sit at Li Lianhua’s side at the top of the bed. This is what he uses Yangzhouman for: to hug a ghost. His arms are warm and strong around Li Lianhua as Di Feisheng looms nearby.

Li Lianhua tries to swallow down the sobs in his throat, but it is like a drowning person swallowing the ocean to survive—inescapable. The porcelain of his heart finally cracks with the propagation of old and new hurts. In the candlelight, his mask cracks and saltwater leaks. His body shakes and he seethes with the shame of it—of his damnable weakness. It contradicts his intent to free them to live their lives; they did not need him.

Nobody ever truly wants to die. In the moment, death seems preferable, but in the next moment, the enormity of the loss strikes and for some, it is too late. For Li Lianhua, there is nothing wrong or right about this moment in Fang Xiaobao’s arms. It is a moment that needs to pass for too long has Li Lianhua lived in the stasis of Li Xiangyi’s character. 

Li Lianhua could never move on until Li Xiangyi was dead in one way or another.

(feel free to join my mysterious lotus casebook discord server.)

[steviewashere]

3, 7, 14, 20, 29 Numbers for the Drabble! Can I get really angsty here with like Eddie being depressed and almost dying and Steve saving him?!

Okay, I don't know if I went the route you were thinking, but I tried. Also, I definitely think I went a different way with the 'saving' thing, but here we go. This also got way longer than a drabble.

3: "Please, don’t leave.”, 7: "I almost lost you.", 14: "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”, 20: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”, and 29: "I thought you were dead.”

CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Eddie's Sacrifice Being Referred to as a Suicide Attempt

Established Steddie, Pre-Season Four Relationship

——— A voice low and raspy floats through his head. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” it says. There’s a pressure to Eddie’s hand. The firm squeeze of somebody else. Somebody who doesn’t remind him of his uncle. He can’t pinpoint who it is exactly, but it’s somebody familiar. A person who knows him, most likely. A person who’s willing to talk to him in the in-between of somewhere and nowhere.

Though, it’s not the first time he comes to hear this phrase. Uttered to him day in and day out. A constant reminder that he’s not gone, but he’s not there. Not with this person. This somebody that seems to care about him. And he should know, because their voice is familiar. Strong and urgent and pleading and soft, all at once. It’s the burn of a mid-winter fire in his backyard, tossing butt-ends of cigarettes into its mix, drinking spiked eggnog until he can’t sense the numbness of his cheeks and is lost in the glorious laughter between him and his uncle. It’s the push come to shove.

The shove that he needs to wake up. And wake up he does. Startled and groggy, too. Choking in the back of his throat. Jump the wire with hands out in front of him, clawing at his mouth, at the contraption stuffed down his throat. Then, in a blur of motion and noise and light, it’s gone.

He can breathe. He can blink. He can smack his dry lips and suck down on the plastic straw offered out to him. Offered to him by a shaky hand that doesn’t have the same rugged, aged quality to them that his uncle’s do. He can see, so he looks. Up the person’s arm and to this stranger’s face.

Yet, he’s not a stranger. No, not at all. It’s Steve.

Steve Harrington, the guy he’d been kissing back at his trailer nearly every night before the bullshit came to bulldoze him. The guy he’d held on the couch when he had concussions number one and two. The guy that makes him cry.

The cup and straw is set aside hastily. Outstretched hand to his uninjured cheek. And a thumb, steady and warm wiping at his tears. “I gotcha, baby,” Steve murmurs. Leans tight and close, pressed warm against Eddie’s side. And kisses at his overheating skin, at the tear tracks, and his hiccuping chest. “I gotcha,” he coos again. “I almost lost you, but I have you. I have you.”

Days move like that. Nearly like that. Eddie wakes up sobbing and choking, too warm and agitated. And Steve holds his face, kisses his cheeks, and brushes back his hair.

It works until it doesn’t.

When he’s discharged, he moves into a drab apartment. Too far from his childhood home. Away from a room that was brimming with him and his love for all the people and all the things he’s ever known. He’s lost everything. Lost tattoos, patches of smooth skin, books with margin notes, tapes and records, poster and banners, clothes and old stuffed animals. It’s all gone from him. Anything he’s saved from his and Steve’s time together, that’s all away from him, too.

Even as he unpacks the boxes of things that replace that of which he’s lost, it doesn’t soothe him. Nothing does. He had expected to never see the daylight again. To have left everything behind, with Wayne and Steve and the other people he’s come to know. That he wouldn’t have to see it again, but even if he had to, it would still be there. But nothing is. Then, he doesn’t graduate. Doesn’t even want to try again; just tells everybody, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll get my GED or something, y’know? Maybe just go to trade school.”

Though, he knows that’s a lie, too.

Because he’s ten times worse off than he was before. Nothing to stick to his name. A distance that stretches between him and everything he’s ever had. It’s noticeable in the way he’s prone to lash out more. Prone to laying in bed, tight under his blanket, not doing anything. How quiet and how unnerving he’s become. Staring off at nothing, caught in flashbacks and blinking lights, holding to himself tightly as if he can will the normal to creep back into his body. He figured if he had died, sure there would be a bad taste to his name, but at least he wouldn’t have to keep making up for things he didn’t do. He wouldn’t have to justify who he is. Or find a way to hide in broad sunlight.

Everything he’s ever known is twisted backwards and shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine. He tries to do the things he loved, but all that it reminds him of is playing a demented concert, creatures come to life, bites and scars and blood and screaming. And death. Sometimes, he wonders why he didn’t just die down there. How he survived.

So, he asks. He asks because it’s his story, too. He deserves to know, right?

It’s during a stay-in date night at his new apartment that he asks. “Hey, Steve?” And part of him grimaces at the last time he used those words, in that exact progression, in the moment that should’ve been his last.

Steve startles on the couch. Untucks himself from under Eddie’s arm. And full body faces him. Wide eyes, tight mouth, and wrinkled brow.

“Nobody’s told me how I…how I managed to survive. Will you tell me?” He asks quietly. Even his voice is as tired as his brain is. He used to be good at masking this. The waves of discontent that flood from his body every once in a while. It was manageable because it was just about his parents, or his living situation, or the bullies at school. But now it’s just him. It’s him as a whole, as a person who shouldn’t have lived. How nobody’s written Zombie Boy on the side of his van, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about a damn thing anymore.

But instead of answering, Steve just shakes his head. Tries to tuck back in close.

Eddie won’t have it. He scoots farther away. More distance. Why is there more distance? His emotions are haywire, he knows that. Something sparking red inside his chest, ready to light up in bright shades of orange through his mouth. “Why not?” He questions, though it falls flat and bitter. “Tell me,” he demands. Has practically skipped over the pleading stages, he’s done begging.

“I—“ And something in Steve’s eyes harden. Jaw setting with an unsubtle twitch. “I can’t tell you, Eddie,” he bites.

“You won’t tell me,” he accuses. “Which, I don’t get why you won’t. It’s something I want to know, don’t make me go to Dustin. Or Robin. They’ll fucking tell me.” The words fall from his mouth dark and slow. Dripping from him like the hot churn of tar. And he should regret how sour his tone has already gone, based on the hurt creeping into Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. “Please don’t make me fight you on this right now. I—I literally can’t bring myself to say it. It’s…I shouldn’t even have to explain this to you, but it was one of the worst moments of my life. Is that not enough of a reason for you?” He could take this all back, really should, but Eddie just shakes his head stubbornly. Furrows his eyebrows and wags his hand as if to gesture for Steve to keep going. Instead, Steve stands from the couch and makes way to the door, hand stretched out for his sneakers. “I’m not fighting with you,” he states calmly. “I know that you’ve been curious or…or that you’ve been trying to come back to yourself or whatever, but it’s not something I’m willing to share. And it’s certainly not something I want to argue with you about.”

“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs. “It’s probably bullshit anyway.” The fight leaves him all at once. As he leans into the couch, head at his lap, picking at his sweatpants. He sniffs, an attempt to rescind the tears that want to fall down his face.

But instead of leaving, Steve stays by the door and sighs. “Why do you want to know so bad?” He asks. Before Eddie can give him the same response, Steve quickly adds, “Don’t tell me that it’s ‘part of your story’ or whatever. I know it is. It’s just…Something’s different about this.”

He used to be unreadable. Unfathomable. Jumping between all kinds of things, unable to pinpoint him in a single way. But he shrugs. Goes quiet again. And mutters, “Just go, Steve. It doesn’t matter.” Even if he wants to say something about how he was supposed to die, or how he should’ve. Even if he wants to show all his cards: I’m lost, I’m different and everybody can tell, I’m falling apart, I’m close to death anyway. 

Steve still doesn’t move.

“Go, Steve. I said that it doesn’t matter,” Eddie snaps. He raises his head. And for some reason, Steve is still there. Concerned and confused and sad all at once. He hates it. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it! Why are you still standing there?! You can go! I’ll find out one of these days, so stop looking at me like that!” He shouts. And he hates that, too. But he lets himself loud and angry, red faced and harsh lines. Because why won’t Steve just—

“You’re being a real dickhead, you know that?” Steve asks rhetorically. “I’m trying to save myself the fucking heartache I went through, and you—What, you think bullying words out of me is going to get you an answer?! I just don’t get why you’re so curious about what I saw! You’ve never pushed before, y’know, back during Starcourt or after Billy or whatever, but now it’s—“

Eddie groans and stands. Interrupting with his own words, “I’m not forcing you anymore, so let’s just drop it!”

“—Why does it matter in the first place?! You know what you did! It’s nothing different from—“

“Nothing different?! God, do you hear yourself?!”

“—Seriously, why does this matter so bad?! I don’t get it—“

“Because…Because I—“

“I thought you were dead!” Steve screams, just as Eddie shouts back:

“I wanted to die down there!”

And then the room fills with suffocating silence. As they stand merely four feet apart from each other. Wide eyed, red in the face, shaking. Immediately, Eddie looks down to the floor as Steve stops closer. Stepping back when he thinks they get too close to touching.

He doesn’t say anything about wanting to die, even now. Doesn’t say how even when Steve is doting on him, massaging his scars with lotion, taking care of him all sweet like—Eddie still wants to crawl outside of his skin and bury himself under the ground. Won’t say something about how he thought about all the ways in which he should’ve died, or could’ve died, or could still die now. Won’t.

Now, he understands why Steve can’t talk. Because he’s realizing he can’t talk either.

Steve’s voice is wet and heartbreaking when he asks, “What? Baby, why would you…”

Eddie just shakes his head. Heaves his own little wet thing. A sigh or a sob, it’s hard to tell. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry,” he says first. “Please…Please go, Steve. I think I should lay down.”

“Hey, wait—No, Eds,” Steve calls out, his hand brushing briefly with Eddie’s wrist. But he can’t grasp. Not with how Eddie turns away, down the hallway, and slams his bedroom door behind him.

They don’t see each other for a week after that.

Eddie stays closed up and silent in his bedroom. Under his comforter. Unmoving. Briefly gets up to go to the bathroom. In which he tries to avoid how his uncle stares at him. Doesn’t want to eat, can’t bring himself to eat. Not with the guilt that fills his stomach anyway. Steve shouldn’t have heard that. Shouldn’t know that that part exists inside of Eddie, but it does. And it festers. 

Festers uncaring that Eddie doesn’t want to feel this way. Just lingers heavy on his shoulders, tight in his belly, grumbling in his chest. It, that desire, tingles in his fingertips. As he takes his medications, holding onto the plastic bottles longer than he needs to. When he carries a cigarette between his two fingers, eyeing the embers sparking over his bare skin. It’s in the haunting images in his nightmares, where he lays bloody and exhausted and finally in solitude. But he wakes up sobbing anyway. Grasping to his elbows, rocking back and forth in his bed, biting down on his comforter or his blanket as to not wake up Wayne.

It’s still there when he sees Steve next.

A knock to his bedroom door, hesitant and small. Then, the bustle of movement clambering through. His shadow standing over the end of Eddie’s bed. “Eds?” Steve’s voice is low and cautious, standing on eggshells. “Baby? I—uh—I got a call from Wayne saying you were…That you weren’t feeling good. Just wanted to check on you.” Eddie pulls his head out from under his blanket and just blinks at Steve. He takes that as some sort of cue, though, and comes closer. Hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. He lays his right hand over Eddie’s forehead and frowns. “You don’t feel warm or anything. How aren’t you feeling good?” He asks. And his face is all too soft. A little smile. The creases at the corners of his eyes. How his body language is still so sweet and caring and…It just doesn’t make sense with how Eddie treated him last.

So, without a response to give, Eddie allows himself to weep. A quiet thing at first, but that bubbles and pops and explodes from out of him in the next moment. Tumbling from him admits blubbering, apologies and terrible explanations and how he didn’t mean to push. Steve startles lightly, pulls his hand away, but doesn’t get very far. Eddie plunges his hand out from under the blanket, grabs to Steve’s retreating hand, and holds on firmly. “Please, don’t go,” he pleads, “Don’t go, Steve. I don’t—I can’t—“

Carefully, Steve burrows himself into Eddie’s blanket. Flush against Eddie’s torso. Arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. Lips to his forehead, murmuring, “Hey, hey, Eds. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.” And when Eddie’s crying only gets louder, Steve squeezes impossibly tighter. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always, Eds. I’m right here with you,” he attempts to placate.

When the crying gets hoarse and Steve’s words are just sticky kisses to Eddie’s forehead, does he calm down. Sniffing loud, burrowing in close to Steve’s warmth, scratching his chin with his wild and unwashed hair. “I didn’t mean to say it that way,” he mumbles, “It’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

Steve lets out a carefully measured breath. “I just hope that you don’t think like that now,” he murmurs. A tinge of sadness at the edges of his voice.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and the scream in his chest. The quiver in his palms and the thoughts in his head, he tries to steady. Of course this isn’t easy. “I do, sometimes. I don’t like it, though. And I’d never…But I thought my life was over at that point, you have to understand that, Steve,” he begins to explain. “And like—My life now, I may have some things. I may have you still and Uncle Wayne. I have Dustin and Mike and Lucas, our game and whatnot. But I can’t…Things that used to matter to me, they don’t mean anything at all. They just make me think of that place. It’s just…My life feels drastically different now and like there’s nothing to fix it.”

Above him, where Steve’s chin rests on the top of his head, he hears and feels the hum Steve emanates. He swipes one hand down the center of Eddie’s back. The other holding tight to the back of his head. “I think fix is the wrong word. Maybe just…You just need to be guided. But I don’t think I’m the right person to do that.”

“I know,” Eddie mutters. “I’ll have to find something because I’m not putting the people around me through—I’m not going to let you lose me,” he states determinedly. “Just please don’t go. And know that I really am sorry, that I am grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“It sucked,” Steve admits. “But I’m right here with you. By your side through the thick of it. And I forgive you, as long as you stick by me.”

All Eddie can do is burrow in closer, nod, and let himself succumb to Steve’s warmth. To be saved from near death is one thing, but to be held away from it is another. And Steve has done that for him. He kisses Steve’s chest, where his heart is, and makes a silent promise that he will find a better tomorrow for himself.

[acaaai-t]

in another world

gn! reader x scaramouche

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death

The stars were cruel and unrelenting. He had come to learn the hard way.

There was nothing he could do, as he watched you link arms with someone else that wasn’t him. The smile you gave them was meant for him, not for the loser that captured your heart. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, skin on the verge of breaking.

But what was he to do?

He was dead. Gone.

…

Perhaps in another reality, he was well and alive, spending the precious moments with you.

He’ll still be yours, and in turn, you’ll be his.

The two of you will travel the world together, and he’ll take you to the highest cliff of Mondstadt, where he had laid out a small blanket upon the grass. Baskets and plates of food he had cooked himself sits neatly upon the checkered sheets, its aroma alluring you in. Cecilas dotted the plains, the white specks of floral inviting the presences of the butterfly and bees. “Surprise,” he said, giving you a crooked smile.

He’ll have to fight back a laugh as he watches you trip over a camouflaged root somewhere in the heart of Sumeru’s forest, only helping you up when he was done laughing at your clumsy mistake. You’d whine and playfully punch him, but he’ll dodge out the way and catch in a tight hug, muttering sorry’s and I love you’s.

He’ll be on one knee, the sand digging into his skin, a camera held up as he playfully shouts at you to stay still for the picture— the image of you standing underneath a canvas of the sunset in the beaches of Fontaine, wind gently tugging at your hair, giggling as you watch your beloved struggle.

Click!

He’ll be the one to paddle the tiny canoe that he had scrounged up in an old shed around the bioluminescence beach in Inazuma. And you’d be sitting across from him, eyes bright and curious, laughter spilling from your lips as you watched the stars dance along with the shimmers in the sea. The moon hung high in the skies, blanketing you with a soft white glow.

He’ll be the one to introduce you to his family, your fingers anxiously fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt as the two of you stand outside the large brass door, waiting. You tell him that you’re nervous, and he reassures you that everything will be fine. His family will adore you. And even if they don’t— which isn’t true— he’ll still take you as his lover, because there is nobody else in the entirety of Teyvat that he wants.

It’ll be the first night of the annual lantern rite, and he’ll take you to a secluded area within the trees to release lanterns of your own. Sweet promises scribed in the lantern that captures a glimpse of your future with him, the path that you’re willing to take down with him.

…

You were his first everything, just as he was your first everything. So when Scaramouche had suddenly departed from your side, it left you in a crumbling wreck of emotions.

He hated seeing you like this. Eyes puffy and red from all the crying, voice hoarse and body weak.

He hated even more the sight of you with someone else, all lovey-dovey.

Yet seeing you finally open up to someone new brought him a sense of relief. He may not like it, but if it meant that you’ll finally stop sobbing your heart out every night, that you’ll finally regain that bubbly personality of yours, that you’ll find that light to guide your path— he was willing to accept the loss.

Still, it was unfair.

Maybe in my next life, he whispered, words carried away by the wind, falling deaf to the wonders of nature.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— (it’s been a year daddy) :: jokes aside, junior year had been insane, and I’ve been stu(dying) for the upcoming SAT while also trying to write a book of my own WHILE looking for internships, maintaining good grades, stressing about EVERYTHING… you get the idea... ending was slightly rushed sorry 🫶

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[theship-thewalrus]

why had it have to be you?

daryl dixon x reader

what if you died instead of Glenn?

word count: 1358 words reading time: about 6 minutes warnings: angst, death, blood, gore, real sad yall

The road was hard against your knees, and the night air licked at your exposed skin. With ripped clothes and what felt like hundreds of eyes on you, you were more exposed than ever before. The throbbing pain from your face was not at the forefront of your mind. Instead, it was on the caravan in front of you. Eyes scan the group gaging their reactions, fear, anxiety, stone-faced. They were mixed. You could only guess the fear that was clear on your own face. Fear of the unknown, of what might happen, of what you feel will happen.

Your eyes lock with Daryl's, the man on his knees beside you. He looked sickly, pale from the blood loss. The gunshot going off was still fresh in your mind. How he folded and his blood splashed on the tree beside him. You were fearful then like you were now. Fearing for his life. But he held strong on like he was now. Stone facing. Not showing his emotions for the betterment of others or to keep face, to keep the people around them thinking he was strong. But even with his best effort, he was weak, hanging on by a mere thread.

The creak of a door brought your attention back to the caravan. A shabby-looking man, dressed in leather pranced out of the caravan. A stupid grin on his face and without a care in the world. Why would he care? He had everything how he wanted it. All lined up in perfect order, just for him. "Pissin' our pants yet?" Even how he spoke held cockiness. Like he was untouchable. His steps were heard throughout the group as no one dared to speak up. Too afraid of the consequences at this time. They were outnumbered, and at the mercy of these people. There was nothing they could do.

"Boy, do I have a feeling we are getting close," His eyes scan the group as he made his way to the end, towards Gabriel. You watched and listen as he spoke to the group, looking everyone in the eyes with little remorse for what he might do. He portrayed your group as the villains in this story. If you had never bothered him, he may have never bothered you. But you all knew it was bullshit. That with enough time he'd come knocking at your door looking for supplies. A payment to not come in a kill what little remained of Alexandria. That in some shape or form this was kindness. Only dealing with a small amount was kindness.

With wide eyes, you watched the barbed wire bat move closer to Rick's face. These words not registering to you, only the stubble threat. If he so please he could hit Rick with the bat. He spoke as he walked, waving the bat around like it was nothing, looking at each person with a sickly smile. How that smile burned into your brain, creeping its way into all the little corners of your mind. It was sinister. It was deranged. It was delusional. He spoke as though this was already decided, that they worked for him, that they would not fight back.

The headlights of the car were blinding, illuminating this death circle. You watched him walk closer to you, his boots crunching on the earth you kneeled on. Looking through the strands of hair you watched him eyeball everyone. Weighing them all up in his mind. He was putting a value on everyone and you only prayed you did not fall short. The question he asked lingered in the air for a moment, Rick was broke down to speak up. They had all gotten too comfortable, too soft and their softness had been exploited. This was your consequence.

"For now, I'm going to beat the holy hell out of one of you," His words stung in your brain. One of your friends, your family was not coming back with you. Was not seeing the sunrise one last time. This would be the last thing they experienced. The fear of waiting. The fear of the unknown. The fear of death. After surviving all you had endured one of you was going to finish your journey here. Not dying at the hands of the dead but instead the living.

His teasing words were met with silence as he went around testing everyone. Wanting a reaction from someone, for someone to slip up. Glenn could not keep still as he threatened Maggie. Lurching forward in her defence even if it cost him his own life. For he loved her. But he was only met with grabbing at him and blows given to him. "Nope, get him back in line." Negan couldn't care less about what happened, he seemed rather annoyed with it all, as though this was a chore. Glenn continued pleading as he was dragged back into line. Though no one seemed to care. Hope was lost. You all held no power. Rules were set after Glenn's outburst. Rules should not be crossed. Rules for this execution you had found yourself in the middle of. And yet, Negan teased, he pushed for a breaking point.

It was all like a game to him, going around pointing the bat, randomly deciding. He found this fun, your lives were nothing to him. You weren't the real threat and yet were treated as such. It sickened you to your core. The whistling. How it curled around your head before bouncing around in your brain. He was so relaxed at the chance of taking a life. You felt fear strike through your body as his bat fell on you for a moment, yet your eyes met his. The bat moved to Daryl next, making you tense. Watching from the corner of your eye. Yet, he moved on again. Dragging on this choice of life or death. It made your stomach turn and your eyes water. It made everything that came before this feel like it was for nothing.

The first smack on the back of Abraham's head was sickening. It rang out, the sound of wood meeting his head. A gasp mixed with a cry ripped from your throat. Yet, Abraham did not fall meaning he had another smack and then another and another. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you could not tear your eyes away. How his blood stained the floor and the bat. How it deepened his red hair. How it ruined his clothes. You wanted to move, to save him, to do something. But you could only weep. Only when his head was a mess on the ground could you look away.

Negan then mocked the death of Abraham. Like it was all a big joke,s something for him to look back on and laugh at. A strangled cry let you as your eyes drifted back to the scene. It was so alarming that you could not look away. That your had to keep glancing at it to wrap your head about that mush and body there was Abraham. Again and again and again Negan beat on the already dead man. There was no respect for the dead. Little care for what he had done. Even then he threw the blood in Rick's face, the blood of his friend, his brother, and his family.

You listen as he mocked Rosita. Claiming this was all a consequence, there was a reason. He wanted her to look at the bloody bat, to see how the blood coated the bat and his flesh still clung to the wire. Daryl's patients wore thin from the constant insults to people he saw as family. Death weighed heavily on his mind. For a moment you look at him and all you can see is a built-up rage, a need to act. With your eyes, you plead him not to act. You could not lose him too. But rage was stronger than love. Daryl jumped up from his place and attacked Negan. Only landing a single punch before being grabbed by his man. Even after he was shot and lost so much blood he had fight in him.

It seemed for a moment the uncaring image of Negan broke as he let out an angry no. Two men pinned Daryl down and you were powerless to do anything, to stop them, to cry out. But as the image slipped it returned, speaking of rule-breaking and the consequences this brings on the group. Daryl's outburst would result in another death. The man with the scarred face, Dwilight, offered to kill him with his own crossbow. Only then did your voice seems to find you, pulling out a weak no. A plead to stop. To show an ounce of mercy to you all. Negan's smile stretched out as he looked at you, eyes connecting with your own as you watched a plan form in his mind. Harshly he had grabbed Daryl's head, pulling it back as he spoke about not killing him. He liked Daryl's fire. But he knew killing someone else he loved would be worse than killing him.

You watched him get closer to you, his boots inching closer to your knees. You were fearful for you knew what was coming next. Daryl's eyes were already on you, you could feel them. Negans words did not register to you, it didn't matter what he said the outcome would be the same. Death. The first strike was sickening, right on the top of your head. You could feel it dent slightly, your bones snapping under the pressure. Blood was pursed from your nose and mouth from the hit. You could hear the cries. Cries that would haunt you for your last few moments. They would circle around in your head like a bad song. Cries ripped through you as he hit you again, pushing your face further into the dirt below. Daryl's cries were loud, you were sure some of your blood had stained his skin. You were so close to them that if he just reached out he could stop this. But he could not find the strength.

Blood bubbled up your throat before passing your lips and dribbling down your chest. Blood surrounded you. The colour red stained you. With what strength you had you leaned up once more. The assault had stopped for a moment. You felt numb but full of pain at the same time. Your face beaten in by the bat, breathing was hard, and strangled breaths were not providing you with enough air. Your brain was dying and there was nothing you could do. Moans of pain left you as you looked around at your family. Wanting them to be the last faces you see before the blows continued. They all held sadness at your state. Tears were in their eyes and streaming down their faces as they looked at you in horror.

Negan's mocking words did not register with you. Not being able to hear anything above your slowly beating heart and your own choked breaths. You're body convulsed with tremors, your body shutting off. Your last words were strange and stretched out, a mangled mess of groans and moans of pain. "Dar-yl... I-I'll... fin-find... yo-you." It was a mess of soft words but ones the man could make out.

The next hit of the bat came from the side, knocking you into the dirt below. Your blood spilled out from your mouth on the dirt. You no longer felt it, the pain, the fear, the despair. Hit. Hit. Hit. Until you were nothing more than mush in the dirt. Your body twitches with the last of your life before falling still. You were nothing but a stain now, a memory to your friends. Your presence would no longer bring light. Your words no longer comforting. You were gone, ripped from them, from Daryl.

His heart was no longer the same after that. You were ripped from him like everything good in life. Taken forcibly before your time. Killed in front of him, because of him. He had killed you. He had done it. He swore to protect you. To look after you. But he couldn't do it. He was too weak. He failed you, the love of his life. And for that he will never forgive himself

[fauna-a]

VI The Lovers

¡Reincarnation AU! Who knows me knows I have a soft spot for these two.

Life has its own way to slam doors in your face. You lived for millennia and millennia, dodging death with virtuosity and grace; when your time came, you accepted the Dark Lady’s hand with the same grace, almost looking forward the upcoming rest.[1]

And instead, the universe had found a way to tell me one more time how incomparable and unique was my presence on Earth; and, if that wasn’t enough, had made me human.

Talk about good luck.

It was a very different Earth compared to the one I’d left: no magic, no spirits, no Other Place to my knowledge. In other ways, instead, it was sadly the same, see wars, violence, assorted spite.

In my other life, I had met humans who believed in reincarnation, but no one had ever applied the concept to spirits, maybe because no one thought we had a soul. And instead, look at this: until now, I had met only spirits transmuted (can’t find a better word) in humans.[2] Maybe things  were going like this: in the other world humans went on and beyond, while we had to do all the procedures. Bah.

The gust of wind preceding the metro coming distracted me; the train came, the doors opened, people came out… A girl bumped lightly into me with her shoulder; she had long dark hair gathered in cornrows whose tips were dyed green. That green made something spring in me, a recognition.

Without thinking twice, I turned around and followed her,[3] hoping to not receive some pepper spray (very much justified anyway).

«Excuse me!»

She turned around suddenly, and I recognised her without a doubt. Don’t ask me why or how, but I knew it was her.

«Queezle?»

«Bartimaeus!»

In my other life, I had never been used to hug people; it wasn’t something you did among spirits, that usually don’t have a body. And, well, it’s not I was going around hugging humans.[4]

But Queezle had always been particular, different; and I wasn’t surprised to find her in my arms. She was very thin: I could feel her shoulders’ bones under my hands.

«I was wondering when you’ll show up» she muttered; she had those stupid airpods on her ears, with a cascade of earrings. «You have to tell me everything».

«Nah» I shrugged. «Nothing much to say. Saved the world once or twice, dead, came here. Nothing more».

Her bony arms couldn’t let me go. «Idiot. I’ve missed you».

Hugs, huh. Maybe a thing that humans got right in all the world there was.

[1] Some humans believed there was a place after death, sort of reward (or punishment) because of your conduct during your life. I had never thought about it. But maybe it would be nice getting some rest in company of some old friends… Even if I doubted that spirits humans could end up in the same place, if it even existed.

[2] Yes, I had met Jabor. No, it hadn’t been pleasant. No, I won’t elaborate because we both were in a phase of a life when humans are barely sentient.

[3] I just had to go to work, after all. A human nonsense.

[4] Unless it was a way to stab them in the back.

[dearsnow]

YOURS (3)

"the lake" is a familiar spot, and yet you visit it with a freshly expanded relationship. (patrick verona x gn!reader, part of the summer before senior year series)

word count: 1,036

TSBSY: School is finally out for the summer, leading you to discover all that the sunny months have in store for you and your best friend, Patrick Verona.

a/n - AHHH I LOVE PATRICK I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

Nothing is better than this, you think. The sun is on your back, its fingers tickling your skin, and the water lapping at the shore reaches out to lick at your feet. Patrick is beside you.

If you’re being honest, you don’t even remember the name of the lake you’re sitting at. It’s just “the lake” to you, as it always has been. You’ve been going to it since you were a kid, and it has always been one of your favorite places to share with your friends. Patrick has been here before, of course, but this time it’s different. Today, he’s here as your boyfriend. The notion quirks the corners of your lips up as you watch him wade into the blue-green water.

He turns to face you, a wide grin on his own face. “Come in! The water’s warm.” You can feel the water already on your skin up until the bottom of your calves, and despite the pounding warmth of the air, the water is not warm. 

“It’s definitely not.” You counter, dipping your feet in further anyways. He moves closer to you, a specific little sparkle taking hold of his expression. Before you can tell him to stop, and before you even consciously acknowledge what he’s doing, his hands are on your ankles, dragging you into the lake. You’re submerged in the cold in seconds, as something else, something slimy touches the bottom of your feet. You gasp underwater- a terrible move. Just as you’re about to panic, Patrick pulls you up and holds you firmly above the water. The slope of the lake has always dropped off quickly, something the two of you often forget. 

As you splutter, he pats you on the back. His fingers linger on the tip of your spine for a soft, quiet moment before he removes them to look at you humorously. “You good?”

You take a second to catch your breath before smacking his bare chest lightly. “Not after what you pulled. God, I hated that.”

The danger is over. Despite your desperate need to drown him as he almost did you, you think you just might be able to look past the terror. Until, of course, he opens his big mouth. Just like he always does.

“You looked pretty fucking funny flopping around like a dead fish.” His deep voice is certainly still attractive. You try to dispel the flurry it causes in your stomach.

“Don’t you mean a dying fish? Dead fish can’t move, Pat. Seems like I’m not the only one with water damage.” The water you’re submerged in smooths gently around your body as he lets go of his grasp on your waist. The warmth from his touch quickly vacates your body, leaving a tingling sensation as you tread water. It’s slowly becoming more bearable to swim in, and you have to admit that it’s a bit refreshing. The wet cover-up still sticking to your body, however, seems to dampen the moment. 

He shakes his head, leaning back to dip the ends of his hair in the water. “Then you’ve never seen a catfish with its head cut off. Those things flop around and wiggle even when they’ve been dead for minutes.” His hands come up to pinch your sides, and an unintentional laugh bubbles up your throat.

“That’s disgusting.”

His eyebrows raise, slightly amused as the familiar brown of his irises glimmers in the sun. Now that you’re looking at them, though, there’s something more. Something you couldn’t really see in embarrassed fleeting glances. “Hey, your eyes have a little green in them.”

He smiles. “They do, do they?” He asks. He hadn’t noticed that about himself. He was never one to obsess over the way he looked, and if he’s being honest, he never really cared. The fact that you could see something he couldn’t, some part of him he didn’t even know he had, made him love you so much more than he ever thought he was capable of. You’ve always been able to make him better than he could have ever been. You, and your warm smile. You, and your searching eyes. There is no one else in the world who could make his slightly green eyes crinkle the way you do.

“Yeah. They’re really pretty, Patty.” You smile, reaching up to drape your arms around his shoulders. He’s shirtless, and the feeling of his skin on yours sends a warm feeling creeping up to your cheeks. He kisses you gently, his palms holding your face like it's about to break. 

“If you say so, babe.” He whispers against your lips. You shiver. Everything he does drives you absolutely mad, with annoyance or love or a combination of both. You relish the feeling; if you could bathe in it, with his chest pressed to your back and steam fogging the bathroom mirror, you would. You love him endlessly.

The sun is full and bright in the sky as you stand there with him, breathing in his air. It is a perfect day. School starts again in half a week, but it is a perfect day. You pull him closer, as close as he can be to you. You can feel his heart beating against you, and in that instance, you know that nothing will ever be able to pull him away. Not distance, not anger, not despair. He will always be yours.

He smiles softly as his heart rate picks up ever so slightly. “Let’s get back to shore, before the birds pick our sandwiches to pieces.” He murmurs. “I’ll race you!”

He lets you go, wading through the water like his life depends on it as you frantically chase after him.

“That’s so unfair, you play dirty!” You yell at his head start. He simply laughs over his shoulder as he continues on, splashing water right into your face as he goes. A nice feeling bubbles in your stomach, like feeling his fingertips on the palms of your hands.

Everything will be okay, you think. Your final year of high school, your internship, your college applications. Even if Patrick Verona is halfway across the world, you will be okay.

He will make sure of it.

Taglist: @skeletonfromthecloset

[tklpilled]

nikolai's hair is dyed red in sticky patches.

he drags his fingers through it, undoing the braid he'd carefully made. he tries not to wince as he runs through tangles, his jaw clenching as he stops himself from hissing in pain. he looks down at it once he's done, long and draped over his shoulder.

"fedya," he murmurs, "you've ruined my hair."

"cut it," fyodor replies simply.

nikolai gazes into the mirror, locking eyes with his reflection before quickly glancing away. "i'd rather not." he tries to picture himself with short hair. he decides he doesn't like it.

he runs himself a too-cold bath, washing and rinsing his hair in a monotonous cycle until it's back to its regular white colour and the water is tinted a rosy pink that reminds him of the crystals he's seen in shops. and then he has to get at his skin, to remove the dried blood that isn't his, and he scrubs until his flesh is raw and red. the faint scent of iron is drowned out by lemon-scented soap.

he shivers when he gets out, haphazardly throwing on the pieces of his outfit that aren't completely soaked in blood. he sits on the floor and begins to pat his hair dry. the towel is pulled from his hands, and when nikolai looks up, he sees his companion kneeling next to him.

"let me," fyodor says, and nikolai quietly obeys.

nikolai focuses on fyodor's soft breathing, and he closes his eyes and tries not to show how much he enjoys when fyodor combs through it with his fingers. he almost wants to purr. you do things to me, dostoy, he wants to say, but he doesn't dare open his mouth and ruin whatever this moment is.

that is, not until he feels fyodor parting his damp hair into thirds. "i thought you wanted to cut it."

"no," fyodor replies, beginning to braid it with practised ease. "i prefer it long."

nikolai plays with a lock of silver hair that had fallen out of fyodor's grasp, twirling it around his pointer finger. he lets the man tug at his hair, leaning his head back again when he realises he's straightened up too much. he shivers and tries not to jerk away when he feels fyodor's warm breath on the back of his neck.

fyodor fastens the end of the braid with a small rubber band, and nikolai knows that it's going to hurt like a bitch when he takes it out but he doesn't say a thing about it.

"should i braid your hair now, dos-kun?" he asks as he turns to face fyodor, only halfway joking.

fyodor hums. "i doubt it's long enough."

"not all of it," nikolai corrects himself. he takes a bit of dark hair between his fingers before letting it fall back. "only a bit."

to his surprise, fyodor nods.

nikolai moves to fyodor's side, taking the same bit of hair he'd just let go of, detangling it gently. fyodor closes his eyes, and nikolai swallows thickly and tries not to stare at how beautiful he is.

he produces a tiny, clear band from his coat, and silently apologises to future fyodor when he decides to remove it as he wraps it around.

"there," he says, leaning back and observing his work. fyodor reaches up to feel it. he doesn't open his eyes.

"thank you, kolya."

nikolai thinks he may be blushing.

fyodor tells him, later in the day as the sun sets, hands curled around a cup of tea, "you could kill me now."

nikolai doesn't look at him. "why would i do that?"

he hears fyodor take a sip. "it's what you want, is it not?"

"i'd rather not ruin such a quiet evening."

"you know, gogol," fyodor says, an amused smile finding its way to his lips, "i'm beginning to think you don't actually want me dead."

"that's not true. i despise you," nikolai tries to say, but he thinks his mouth forms the word love instead.

he doesn't bother correcting it.

it makes fyodor laugh, a quick chuckle slipping out, and nikolai finally glances over at him. he doesn't think he's heard fyodor genuinely laugh before.

he likes it.

"dostoy," he starts, tilting his head slightly. "why don't you ever laugh?"

fyodor looks up, setting his cup to the side. "why would i?"

nikolai huffs, because he's the demon king's jester, and being indirectly told that he isn't funny is hurtful. "i'd like to hear it more often."

fyodor smiles up at him. "well, then, i suppose you'll have to make me laugh more."

fyodor is teasing him, nikolai realises. he's hit with the sudden urge to tease him back.

"k-kolya—!" fyodor stammers, eyes widening as his breath catches. "stop that—"

nikolai practically lights up, excitement sparkling in his eyes as his fingers crawl over fyodor's sides. "don't tell me you're ticklish, dos-kun!"

"of course i'm not—n-nohot—" fyodor hisses, his pale cheeks turning a wondrous shade of pink.

"don't worry! i won't tell anyone~!" nikolai promises with a giggle. "our little secret! just laugh for me now, 'kay?"

so fyodor does, laughs his raspy and breathy laugh, and nikolai closes his eyes with a giddy smile as he listens to it. fyodor seems to be trying to control his laughter as if to compose himself, so nikolai scoffs and digs his thumbs into his hips to make him yelp and ruin all his progress. it sends fyodor into a wild and uncontrollable state and nikolai loves it.

he looks down when he feels hands gripping his wrists, pushing him away. he laughs. "how fun~! the demon fyodor can be ruined with just a simple touch! i might have trouble keeping this to myself…"

"nikolai," fyodor glares, but he's still blushing and sort-of-almost smiling, and it ruins the entire intimidation aspect.

nikolai coos. "i'm only joking, dostoy!" he wiggles his fingers, being held just inches away from fyodor's torso. "as long as i get to play with you sometimes, that is~!"

fyodor huffs and shoves him away. "ridiculous," he says, but nikolai already knows that he'll allow it anyway. he almost mentions it, in hopes to see that pretty blush again, but he decides to be merciful for once in his life.

(quietly, nikolai starts to wonder if he really wants to be free.)

[practically-an-x-man]

Cuddle ask!!!

6 for Kat

11 for Eris

I've actually written 11 for Eris before! Here's the link to that one, it's cute :3

Now for Kat...

6. trying to crawl under their shirt Cuddle & Snuggle Prompts

Not completely sure what that one's supposed to mean, but I'm sure I can come up with something! Thanks!

____

She loved these little movie nights.

Katherine had long since grown used to the lack of normalcy in her life. She cherished it, even. The museum was alive, the Egyptian gods were real and their magic flowed through her, her boyfriend was a millennia-old pharaoh (she still wasn't sure whether which side of that bent at her mind more, the age or the fact that he'd once ruled over an entire city-state), and she was comfortable in the midst of all that chaos. She loved her life.

But sometimes it was nice just to curl up and pretend things were ordinary.

She stretched to reach the remote control and flicked the volume down a couple ticks. It was late enough now that everything felt just a hair too loud, but Katherine couldn't tell whether that was the ambient noise around her dying down or simply her own body getting tired and becoming more sensitive to input. It didn't really matter which.

Katherine tossed the remote back to the other end of the couch and shifted to a more comfortable position. She'd seen this movie a hundred times before, but Ahk hadn't - his eyes were glued to the screen. It was cute.

He sat beside her on the couch, his arm around her shoulders. He'd been just as wowed by the pop-up footrest as he was with the movie itself - also cute, she thought. He'd given up his usual garb for the night, and was instead dressed in a black knit sweater and a pair of slacks.

"I like this look on you," she murmured, admiring the soft, cozy way the sweater fit around his body. The royal look was attractive of its own right, of course, but it was rare that he let himself just be comfortable. Even this outfit was still a little academic, she thought, the sort of thing she saw her college professors wear during the week of midterms - when it was cold out and nobody really wanted to be there anyway, but they still weren't willing to totally fudge the dress code just yet.

But he looked comfortable, his posture loose and his arm tucked tucked around her, and that was what really mattered to her.

"Hm?" Ahk hummed, his attention finally drawn away from the screen.

"You look really nice," Katherine echoed, and slipped her hands under the hem of his sweater. His skin was warm underneath, though she felt him flinch a little when her fingers made contact. Katherine drew her hands back and offered him a tilted look. Ahk laughed a little, under his breath, and folded his fingers around her own.

"You hands are cold," he said, and lifted them to his lips. Her face exploded with heat at the gesture, but Katherine just gave him a light scoff.

"Okay, dead guy." she teased, smiling when the remark made him laugh. Ahk gave her hands a brief squeeze, warming her skin, then released his grip. When Katherine didn't move at first, he gently took her wrists and guided her back to where she'd been, a clear invitation for the touch.

So she let her hands creep back under the hem of his shirt, palms sliding softly up his back until she held him in an odd sort of embrace.

To another person, the touch might've become a signal towards something more. But Katherine had never particularly wanted sex, and it didn't seem like Ahk did either - at the very least, he'd never felt enough of an urge to expect it from her, and he'd always been respectful about those boundaries.

It wasn't meant to be a symbol of any intent, and her pharaoh didn't take it as such. She just wanted to be near him. That had always been enough. Katherine counted herself lucky (very lucky) that she'd found someone who understood that so easily. She counted herself lucky for a lot of things. She'd never have imagined a man like him caring for her the way that he did.

So she didn't mind the adventure. She didn't mind the chaos. She didn't mind the nights spent playing cards in the lobby of the museum, or holed up in the planetarium theater to look at manufactured stars. She didn't mind the way none of her college friends believed she had a partner, because she couldn't ever bring him around to her afternoon classes to meet them.

But once in a while... it was nice to pretend.