#the way i SCREAMED he shows up with a title that says “’Death From Above’

[heydragonfly]

okay I’m playing Hades 2 and every character has been absolutely wonderful BUT

ICARUS IS IN THE GAME!!!!! (this is the incomplete/temporary art they’ve used for the other allies of this section hence why it’s sketchy)

also??? I think he’s Melinoë’s ex???? “not about to let you fly out on me again” is LOADED

meli 😭😭😭😭

[devils-dares]

Safe and Sound

summary: what happens when matt finds a little girl hiding from her dad in her room and takes her home.

pairing: matt with unnamed!child!oc

wordcount: 2842

warnings: abuse, mentions of abuse, mentions of abandonment, mentions of death, a father being shitty to a child, crying. like a lot of crying. matt having attachment issues, mentions of bluey the show, scraped knees, ends semi-sad.

a/n: this isn't x reader, because i thought that would be kind of strange to write in this instance. this is really just headcanons turned into a fic, been sitting on it for like a month. let me know if you guys want a part two.

comments and reblogs appreciated!

-----

Matt couldn't begin to understand how this day was ending. A long day in court followed by anger management patrol, and now he's in some little girl's room shushing her before she cries and alerts her already drunk and aggressive dad.

"Hey, hey! It's okay, it's just me! Do you know who I am?"

"No but you look scary, please go away."

"I'm here to help you get away from your dad, but you gotta be real quiet alright?"

"Are those horns?" Matt rubs the forehead on the mask.

"Yes they are, and if you come with me I'll let you touch them, but I gotta get you out of here."

"Are you the stranger danger man?" He needed to find a way to get her out of here.

"I'll explain everything if you can pack a bag with everything you need so we can leave alright?" She nods reluctantly, grabbing what seemed to be her school bag.

"It's a Bluey bag. You know Bluey?"

"I don't."

"Boring." She walks over to him, and he takes the bag from her, slinging Bluey over the coarse armor. He steps out onto the fire escape, signaling the girl to follow him.

"Wait!" She whispers, "I'm scared of heights." He beckons her over still, yet she holds steadfast in her grip on the window frame.

"Will it be better if I hold you?" He asks, and she nods, so he picks her up, arm wrapped around her as her legs wrap around his hip and her head thunks on his shoulder.

Matt wracks his brain on where to take her for the night. He could just take her to a police department or a hospital, but there’s no evidence of harm on her, and they’d just return her. Crisis centers weren’t open 24/7, and the only place he could think of was his own apartment.

This was a stupid idea.

She was shaking, the poor girl, when they reached Matt’s rooftop. She couldn’t have been older than seven, and she was freezing cold. Her breaths froze midair, amusing her slightly as she kept making huffing noises next to Matt’s ear.

“We’re here.” He says, gently placing her on the ground before opening to the rooftop door.

“Head inside, it should be warm.” Her shoes tip tap down the stairs, pausing at the bottom.

“Where are we?” She asks.

“My apartment.” He sighs, scratching at his chin.

“Are you going to hurt me?” She asks.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but if you could tell me about your dad, I can make sure you never get hurt by him again.” Her body jolts ever so slightly at the sound of the title.

“How did you know?” Childish wonder pours through her voice, but Matt can hear the undertones of skepticism.

“I heard your mom scream.”

“Not my mom, dad’s girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Matt listens, “tell me more. Does he do it often?” She pauses, and then nods.

“All the time.”

“Has he hurt you recently?” She nods again, then pulls both her pant legs to above her knees. Matt smells dried blood.

“He pushed me.” She says simply, and Matt feels his hands curl tightly into fists.

“I’m going to get you something for that.” He walks to the bathroom, and she wraps her arms around her stomach, trying her best to make herself appear smaller.

“I got you some bandaids and some antibiotic cream, but I gotta clean it first okay?” He gestures to her to sit on the chair by the dining table and kneels in front of her.

“Do you have the bandaids with the smiley faces?”

“Hm, no. But I can draw on these ones with a marker?”

“Okay.” She did not sound amused.

“Can you take the helmet off?” She asks, touching the horns.

“I can,” he says, “but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?” She nods enthusiastically, and his fingers graze the helmet before tugging it off.

“I’m going to clean your scrapes now.” He says. Her whines break his heart when he presses the alcohol wipe to her raw skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He says, and he can tell her bottom lip is quivering as the smell of salt fills the air. He goes through it as quickly as possible, grabbing the marker behind him to cheer her up.

“Want smiley faces?” He asks, and her mood shifts almost immediately. She wipes her tears away and nods. She watches as he finds the edges of the bandaid with his thumb, drawing within the barrier he created with his fingers. It’s then that she notices that he’s not made eye contact with anything.

“All done.” Matt stands up, smiling at her.

“Are you blind?”

“Oh- uh- yes. I am.” He rubs the back of his neck, as if he’s been cornered.

“That’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“I’ve never met a blind person before.”

“Oh.”

“Can I ask about stuff?”

“About being blind?” She hums.

“Okay,” Matt says, grabbing her a glass of water from the kitchen and some snacks, she must be hungry, “but you gotta eat these and drink this while you ask, I don’t want you going hungry.”

“‘M not hungry.” Right on cue, her stomach growls.

“You sure about that?” She grumbles and takes the snack.

“How does the cane help?” Her voice comes out mumbled from her stuffing her face.

“It helps by telling me what I’m going over, like if I’m going to run into something, or if I’m going to hit a curb. It also helps people know that I’m blind.”

“What color are your glasses?” He laughs.

“I’m told they’re red.”

“Red glasses are cool.”

“Thank you.” She falls silent, the only sound coming from her chewing.

“Are those two the only questions you had?” He asks, amused.

“Mhm.”

“Okay, is it alright if I leave you for a bit? Just to take a shower?”

“Do you have Bluey?”

“I’m- not sure what Bluey is on.”

“Do you have a tv?”

“I have a laptop.”

“Gimme.”

He gets her set up with the show, and before he steps into the bathroom, she has another question.

“Why is there a man talking on the computer?”

“What do you mean?”

“This man is not on Bluey.”

“Oh! Those are audio descriptions, they help me ‘watch’ tv by describing what’s happening. Here, I can turn it off for you.”

-----

Matt’s rubbing his damp hair dry with a towel when he emerges from the bathroom. The kid’s not on the couch, and Matt realizes she’s rummaging around the kitchen.

“Are you still hungry?” He asks, checking the time on his watch. It was just half past two in the morning.

“I didn’t have breakfast or dinner,” she explains, “just stinky school lunch. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think I have anything you’ll like, but I know a diner that’s still open and delivers. Does that sound alright with you?”

“Waffles and hot chocolate?”

“Waffles and hot chocolate.” He confirms, a smile growing on his face.

“Can I have whipped cream?”

“On the hot chocolate or on the waffles?”

“Both! And chocolate chips on the waffles!”

“Okay kiddo,” Matt says, chuckling, “let’s see what I can do.”

Thirty minutes later, the two of them are sitting at the dining table and eating waffles and drinking hot chocolate. Matt also indulged himself in whipped cream, and the kid was laughing from his whipped cream mustache. Her giggles are interrupted by a yawn, and Matt finally realizes just how late it is for her, even if this is normal operating hours for him.

“Why don’t you finish up that waffle while I set the bed for you? It’s been a long day.” She nods, and Matt gets up to set the bedroom for her. He’s glad he put in the investment to get curtains installed in the bedroom, so it’s easier for her to sleep. He grabs a few pillows and thicker blankets for her, as well as plugging a nightlight into the wall. She’s falling asleep at the table by the time he comes back, and he resorts to just carrying her to the bed.

“You’re sleeping here tonight, I’ll be on the couch. If you need anything you can wake me up, okay?” He explains, and she nods.

He settles on the couch, blanket up to his chin. He ventures in and out of slumber, listening in to the kid’s heartbeat until he realizes it hasn’t settled or slowed. He listens a bit more, getting up when he hears soft sobs.

“Hey,” he slides the door on its rollers, “are you alright?” She shakes her head quickly and reaches out for him. He rushes to her side and allows her to wrap her arms around his neck when he sits next to her. His hands rub up and down her back, as she buries her head in his neck and he lets her cry to her heart’s content. She cries about everything her dad did to her and his girlfriend, to her mom, she cries about her mom leaving her, she cries about getting bullied at school and being hungry all the time. The one thing that breaks Matt’s heart the most is how badly she cries about how nice he’s been to her. That the waffles were the most she’s eaten in one sitting in a month. That this is the first time she’s had clean sheets since she can remember. That he let her watch tv on his laptop.

He lets her cry until her sobs fall quiet, hiccups running through her little body. She asks him to stay, and he does just that. He props himself up against his headboard with a pillow tucked behind his back while she stays in the same position, body tucked against his, and she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder.

-----

He gets woken up by small taps on his shoulder. He jolts awake, trying to get his bearings.

“Why are you up?” He asks, hands coming up to rub his eyes.

“I have school. You gotta take me to school.”

“You have- can you miss today?”

“Nuh uh, they’ll call my dad, and plus I have a spelling test.”

“When does your school start?”

“8:30.”

“That’s in- that’s in twenty minutes. Oh god.” He springs out of bed, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

The two of them are out the door in eight minutes, Matt’s tie is crooked and his hair isn’t brushed, but the kid looks impeccable and that’s what matters.

“What time does school end?”

“Three.”

“Okay, I’ll be right here to pick you up alright? I’ll try to get something sorted for you as far as everything else goes.” She nods, hugging Matt quickly, and before he can react she runs through the doors of the school.

-----

“Do I want to ask what happened last night?” Foggy says, but Matt’s focus is on Karen.

“Can you call Mahoney up here? And also child services? I have a- case, an important one.”

“Child services?” Karen asks.

“I’ll explain everything when they get here.”

The good thing about Mahoney knowing that Matt was Daredevil was the fact that he never questioned where exactly Matt got the kid from. He knew it was probably some vigilante act, but all Brett really cared about was knowing that there was a kid out there who was safe.

“Where did she stay last night?”

“She stayed with me.”

“Okay, we’re going to have you fill out some paperwork, Mr. Murdock, and then we’ll need to talk to her. Do you know where she is right now?” The woman from child services asks.

“School. She’s at school,” he turns to Brett, “could you request a wellness check on the girlfriend?” Mahoney nods.

“I’ll call it in.”

A few hours of paperwork and worried looks from Foggy and Karen puts Matt at 2:45. He asks if he can leave to pick the kid up from school, and they agree. Brett accompanies Matt in the fear that her dad might show up to pick her up, but nobody’s there when school lets out. Matt’s relieved and also a little heartbroken for her; Jack wasn’t the best father but he was still present and loved Matt as much as he could.

“You’re here!” He hears her squeal, her body making impact against his legs, her head thudding against his stomach.

“‘Course I am,” he says, taking her backpack from her and slinging it across his back before picking her up, “told you I’d be here.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight.

“Murdock, I gotta talk to you when we get to the office,” Brett says, “in private.” Matt nods, and the girl peers at him.

“Who’s he?” She points at Mahoney.

“He’s someone who’s going to help put you in a safer place, I promise. Are you hungry?” She nods.

“Why don’t I meet you two back at the office?” Mahoney suggests, and Matt agrees.

“What are you in the mood for, kiddo?”

“Fries!” Matt sighs happily.

“Fries it is.”

Twenty minutes later the two of them show up, fries and burgers in tow. The child services worker pulls the kid away, and Brett finally gets to talk to Matt.

“They performed that wellness check, the dad answered, and officers were able to enter. They found a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. Matt, the girlfriend’s dead.”

“So you’re saying-”

“Kid can testify for assault and a witness for murder.”

“Jesus.” Matt rubs his forehead.

“We get her into some foster care or orphanage, we can keep her safe.”

“What about her mom?”

“Not on the records.”

“Birth certificate?”

“Was changed not to include her.”

“So she’s alone now.”

“Yeah.”

“That poor kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So what part do I have to take?”

“Nothing. As far as I know, you’re done with caring for the kid.” Matt rubs his forehead again, only looking up when the door to the conference room opens and little footsteps charge towards him.

“She said she’s taking me somewhere fun, are you coming with us?”

“Sweetheart-”

“You’re coming with, right?” Her voice softens, “he’s coming with us?” The lady shakes her head sadly, and the kid almost bursts into tears right then.

“You’re leaving me? I thought you liked me!” Her voice raises in anger and sadness, and Matt kneels in front of her.

“I do, sweetheart, I really do. But you’ll be better off with them. They’ll keep you safe.”

“You’re leaving me just like Mom did!” She bangs her small fists against Matt’s chest. He lets her, her anger bubbling over until she can’t contain it anymore. When she stops and begins crying, Matt takes her into a hug. She squeezes tight, and he lets her sob into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but they’re going to take care of you.”

“I want you to take care of me.” She says, and Matt bites back tears at her confession.

“You’ve known me for a night, love. They have the resources, I don’t.”

“I’ll be so good! I won’t ever get in trouble!” A tear does fall from Matt’s face now, and he hugs her back tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gets her to settle down slowly, “I’ll come visit. I’ll visit you all the time with chocolate chip waffles and whipped cream on everything. I’ll be there, I promise.” She nods slowly in understanding.

“You have to make a pinky promise.” He holds out his pinky solemnly, and she takes it with her shaky hands. She hugs him again, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Time to go,” the worker says, “you get to meet new friends there!” She tries to entice the kid, but she stays glued to Matt.

“Do you want me to walk you to the car?” She nods, holding his hand as she walks with him.

The goodbye at the car was tearful. She clung to him, wishing she didn’t have to leave while Matt sobbed silently. She tugs her backpack in with her and waves bye to him as the worker rolls up the window.

Matt goes straight home. He tried to stay in the office, but Foggy and Karen told him to leave, come back tomorrow when you feel better. He throws out the empty boxes from last night’s dinner and opens his laptop on the couch with a beer in hand to distract himself with case files. Except he’s not greeted with case files. He’s greeted with the Bluey theme song.

He sits there as episode after episode of the Australian show plays, sipping his beer as tears run down his face.

“This is stupid.” He mutters. He knew that kid for less than a day and was already so attached to her. He wipes his face and cleans around the house to distract his mind.

And then he gets waffles and hot chocolate with whipped cream for dinner.

[two-white-butterflies]

WAITING FOR A BUS

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Daemon Targaryen x Reader (MODERN)

Description: A new promotion at work prompts you to move into a small modest town with your boyfriend, Aemond Targaryen. There you meet a few friendly faces. It seems like life is going where it's supposed to. That is until you meet your new boss, Daemon Targaryen, who is your boyfriend's estranged uncle.

It doesn't help with the fact that you've been having dreams about him since birth.

masterlist | chapter twenty

After the conversation, Olenna left the both of you alone - she figured that giving you time to think was important. "He murdered someone. Bloody crazy." you mumbled, retracing the conversations that you had with him - searching for signs that he was only showing you a facade of what he was.

"I knew that he was unhinged, but not fucking mad." he replied rubbing circles on his palms.

When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin - madness and greatness are their two sides.

"That could've been me," you huffed, forgetting about the coffee in front of you. Aemond has always been - different, anger pumped through his veins and his emotions changed as easily as he breathed. "I wanna get the hell out of here, Daemon." you added, finding comfort in his presence.

"I don't want to see anyone that we know. I don't wanna see Aegon, or Helaena or Alicent." you rambled off, remembering the times that they defended Aemond's hostility towards you. They didn't harm you - but they tolerated the harm that was happening to you.

He would scream at you in front of them, talk about indecent things in your presence, and all that they could say was: it was normal.

Yes, it was normal.

It was normal for Aemond to act that way, but it didn't make it right.

Daemon watches you descend into the past. His hands snake towards the small of your back, comforting you silently with his warm palms. He could see right though you - every neuron and thought that went through your brain.

"Did they know about the murder?" you ask, eyes narrowing at the thought of death. Alicent was a good person, but a mother will go through lengths to protect her children.

He leans into his chair. He takes a deep breath before opening his mouth. "Apparently, Aegon testified in his defense." he answered truthfully, recalling the words that were written in the report. "Fuck, that's messed up." you cursed, burying your head in your palms.

"I-I don't think I can ever look at them in the same way again." you stuttered, a permanent title was etched above their names. Criminals and defenders.

"You don't have to look at them again. We can move away from here - and forget all about them. You studied five-years in law. You can continue studying if you want to." he offered, retracting his hand and playing with his watch.

He's been thinking about leaving for a long time. He's been wanting to finish his Ph.D since he's stepped foot inside Dragonview. He only stayed because there was a reason to stay.

"I'd love that."

(Five-Years Later)

It's been five years since you disappeared off the face of the earth. You can still remember the day that you left: May 8, 2023 - and everything after that was pure bliss.

You and Daemon quickly moved into Switzerland, enjoying the snow - and the scenery around you. He finished studying for his Ph.D a few years quicker than he was supposed to - you however postponed finishing your law degree. Instead, you focused on teaching kinder-gardeners and healing from your scars. The both of you were lucky to welcome your first child, Maekar Targaryen.

After Switzerland - you moved to Siargao.

The warm sand was kissing your barefoot. The shoreline was beautiful in the morning, but the sun was far different than what they had in Canada. There was humidity in the air, and the sun felt like razor blades in the afternoon.

"Do you wanna go for a swim?" Daemon asks while pulling your hand closer to the water.

"It's not safe yet, I don't want to get stung." you whined but he keeps laughing and pulling you inside the water.

The water was warm - slightly colder than the sand. It was comforting to be in paradise - the constant feel of the current on your legs, and his warm hands that were wrapped around yours.

"They're not gonna bite you, I promise." he smiled, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He was enjoying life - the both of you were. "The last time we took a morning swim, I had to get hauled to the hospital." you recall and he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry for that," he laughed, as the both of you walked deeper into the water. The seaweed was tickling your feet. You tried to avoid the corals and the fishes. The smell of salt-water flooded your nose. You remove your hand from his own. You lift both of your arms, holding onto him for balance.

You couldn't reach the water anymore - and he was the only person tall enough to reach it at this point. "It's nice here," you mumbled, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like home.

"Let's stay here for a while." you add, his hands wrap around you for balance. "We should live here - I'll buy a house right there, beside the celebrity's house - so Maekar can swim whenever he wants to." he imagined, earning a playful glare from you.

"And who's going to watch him?" you huffed, his hands wrap around you tighter. "Me." he answered, reaching for your jaw with his free hands - pulling you closer and bridging your lips together.

His lips tasted like salt, but his mouth was sweet.

"I love you, Dae."

"I love you too."

You walked slowly to your beach-chair - hair dripping with water. Maekar and the maid were sitting on one of the chairs, watching the sun shine. Your little boy liked being on the beach - he also hated wearing sunscreen, much to your dismay.

He was wily, and talkative. He blabbered about a subject, but none could understand what he was talking about - he was only four months old anyways. He always reached for your hair, bite his father's fingers - and laugh at everything he saw.

He was half of your soul. You love him with all of your heart.

You fish for the phone inside of your bag. There were a few notifications from work and pilates, but one of them managed to catch your eye - it was Rhaenyra messaging you from the abyss.

NYRA 5:49AM It's been a while. I was hoping that you and Daemon could come back here. It's very important. NYRA 5:49AM As you know...Alicent's been struggling with her disease for a long time now. She died peacefully inside her house. Aegon and his kids were there, but she's getting buried a few days from now and none of us know where you are. NYRA 6:00AM It would mean the world for us if you attended. The funeral's being held in the Clubhouse, come whenever. 💚

You read out the long message, tears flooding your vision as the news became too heavy for you to bear. "Daemon!" you call out to him and he emerges from the waves, wearing a badge of confusion.

"Yeah?" he asked, reaching for the towel on the sand. He wraps it around his torso - eyebrows merging into each other as he sees the tears that were flowing from your irises. "Alicent's dead." you informed, before wrapping your arms around him in grief.

"Oh no," he replied, combing through your hair.

He didn't believe that Alicent was part of the family - but she was the mother of his niece and nephews. She suffered under the abuse of her husband, his brother, and that earned her respect. Her existence didn't leave a mark on his life - but it left a mark on yours.

"We need to be there, I need to see her." you pleaded and he nodded his head. He could never disagree with you. "I'll book the tickets. We'll take the quickest flight out of here." he promised while turning his head towards his baby boy. "Hello, Maekar." he leaned down on the chair, taking the boy out of Liz's hold.

"We'll bring him. His cousins should meet him." you inform, staring lovingly at the little boy. He tried to reach for your hair, but Daemon pulls him away.

"You silly boy, always reaching for mama's hair." he chuckles, rocking the baby gently.

next chapter>>

taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @namelesslosers @immyowndefender @ammo2022 @perihelioneclipse @gracielikegrapes @joliettes @ammo23

ONE LAST CHAPTER (for my own self-indulgence)

[sugaryapplepie]

🦉Twin Chrysanthemums🦉

Pairing: Huntsman & Xingshen Tags: Non-romantic, angst, grief, drabble, comfort, S3

The night was quiet aboard the airship. Huntsman hadn't been able to sleep, not with the manic grins of skeletons and the screams of his queen filling his head. Everything had happened so fast...too fast. He needed a break. The spider demon made his way to the large deck of the ship, and there he'd see her. A familiar tall figure wearing white, her long black curls hidden in a cloak. How could he forget? She must be hurting too. Before he could turn and leave, he heard her rich voice speak to him: "Do not go. Stay with me."

It was such a simple request, how could he say no? Huntsman made his way over to her by the railing, looking up at Xingshen's face. Ever since the queen's death, Xingshen had lost the iron authoritative aura that kept those around her grounded. Now she looked hallow, as if stars soul had been carved from stars body. Her golden eyes looked heavenward. The night was clear, allowing the masterpiece of the cosmos to act as their ceiling. Yet she saw not its beauty.

"You could not sleep." Huntsman startled a bit when she spoke. "No, my princess. I-" "You do not need to explain. You miss her just as much as I. Not to mention your friends."

The screams of the dead filled the void between them. Huntsman shuddered. No- don't think about it. Don't think about how if you'd been there, if you'd been faster, if you'd only-

Suddenly, something was draped over his shoulders. Xingshen's cloak. "We are high up, you must keep warm." It was such a simple gesture, but it hurt something in Huntsman. He didn't pretend to be a man of 'sappy' emotions. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, anger at Syntax trying to show him up in front of the queen and princess, the glow of accomplishment and satisfaction when his queen gave him that delighted smile. He wasn't used to loss. It was all-consuming, soul-shattering, it ripped the ground from under him and left him falling back into a dark chasm he couldn't escape. But...he wasn't alone. Someone was falling with him, and though they didn't know where they'd land star was willing to offer even the slightest bit of comfort.

This realization made him feel he had to speak. "My princess..." He faltered. What could he say? He had lost a queen, but she had lost a wife.

"I think about that, you know," Xingshen said, still looking at the sky. "By rights of inheritance, now with Zhizhu...gone... I inherit her queendom. Her titles. What a cruel joke the gods have played on me. I wonder, is this to be my fate? Queen of two dead queendoms? My vassals shall be naught but corpses, and the slaughtered are the only ones left to sing my "praise". What a heavy crown to wear."

Oh boy he was really out of his depth here. Xingshen had barely opened up about anything, and it made her sudden bout of sharing that much more jarring. Just how much did Huntsman not know about the monarchs he pledged his fealty and life to? What was Xingshen like before she met the queen? He'd never known. They were as parents are to a babe, they simply always Had Been. The Queen and the Princess, those whose approval he would seek above all others. But they'd been more than that. It made the loss of the queen so much worse. Could he have learned more about her? The Spider Queen had once had a mighty empire, but that was about all Huntsman knew. His musings were broken by Xingshen speaking once more. "Forgive me, I should not be ruminating in such a bleak manner. There is still battle to be done. She may yet be saved, may yet be avenged." But her empty eyes said star held no hope. Even if the Bone Demoness was slain, that would only leave the two of them.

There was only one thing Huntsman could think to do. He reached out a hand, gently grabbing hers. Xingshen's expression morphed to one of shock as she looked down, but soon it became one of understanding. Slowly, she pulled Huntsman into a hug. Huntsman tensed, his first instinct being to shove back, but he made himself relax.

The ocean. Xingshen always smelled like the seaside...

He felt tears pricking his four eyes, and before he knew it his princess was knelt in front of him, letting him bury his face in her chest. Star sushed him, holding him close and wrapping her cloak tighter around him, whispering reassurances that star would not leave so long as star could help it. Promises that they would make it through. Star swore it.

After he was too tired to cry more, Huntsman just sat there, clinging to Xingshen. He felt like an idiot, bawling like a spiderling, but his ravaged heart didn't care. While in those maternal arms, he felt a resolve forming. The Queen was gone, they might not be able to get her back, but there was still Xingshen. There was still his princess. He could still protect her, even if he died in the attempt. He'd continue his duty and deal with the confusion- the grief- once she was safe.

[wackybuddiemewbs]

WIP Wednesday Buddie Edition

What can I say? I'm a hoe for angst and drama and hurt/comfort and misunderstandings and did I mention drama? So yeah, this is self-indulgence. And as per usual, I make you sit through it! Cheers!

Working title: No Love Letters

Basic idea: Buck returns to the 118 after the lawsuit, all the more unsure of his standing at the station and with his friends. Sadly, someone seeks to take advantage of that, leaving some none too kind messages feeding right into some of Buck’s worst insecurities. Can his friends get through to him before it is too late?

Find out more here: Part 1, Part 2

Of course only Buck manages to land himself in hospital on a regular ass super easy call. He didn’t do anything reckless, he didn’t. He just stood there. He stood there and waited for instructions. He stood in someone’s driveway, after the neighbor’s house had started spewing what the caller had referred to as “charred popcorn, jumbo size” to Dispatch.

Apparently, the neighbor thought it was a good idea to experiment with chemicals in his shed, chemicals and fire, mind you. And since his wife had repeatedly told him to not be so loud now that they got a kid, he put old mattresses on the walls. One of his creations blew up and sent bits and pieces of mattresses flying through the air, among other things.

They were only called there for clean-up and remove flammable bits and pieces from around the area. Doable enough for Buck to tag along.

At least that was the idea.

So no, he wasn’t recklessly throwing himself into harm’s way. He wasn’t playing hero. He didn’t venture off on his own. He just stood in a driveway and waited for Bobby to finish talking to the other captain to send out the firefighters most effectively. He stood in front of that garage and waited for those bits and pieces of his old purpose to flood him with some kind of feeling, a small spark.

And sure, great irony there.

Because then there was a bang, his whole side felt like it exploded, and then all went to black. By the time he came back around, Buck was on the ground and Hen and Chim were hovering above him, bombarding him with questions and checking him over as his ears kept ringing. And for a brief moment, Buck thought his leg was under a ladder truck again. For a brief moment, he thought he was right back in that moment that fucked up his already pretty fucked-up life.

Apparently, some of the “charred popcorn” got swept by the wind and made itself very comfortable next to the gas canisters until it got a bit too hot in there.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids, never leave old gas canisters around just because you don’t want to throw them out. They don’t like heat at all that much, even if it is under control. And even if you do have them, inform firefighters of it before it blows in their faces.

Thankfully, Buck had been far enough away from the garage to mostly earn himself just bruises and small cuts and soreness for at least a week. Courtesy of the blood thinners, he still looks like death warmed over. The look on everyone’s face when he got wheeled away told him as much even before he had a chance to sneak a peek at himself in a mirror.

“I guess that was a short intermezzo of actual duty again,” Buck sighs, shifting on the hospital bed uncomfortably. “Maybe even the shortest in history. That’s gotta be a new record.”

He has been focusing on the small crack in the tile on the floor with all of his might. Because somehow, looking at Bobby’s concerned face makes it so much worse. Even though it shouldn’t. Because he cares, because he shows up, even though Bobby would rather not be on that side of the door. But looking at that concerned face, Buck simply gets smacked across the face with the fact that this is really happening.

Because the universe is screaming at him, has been this whole time.

But Buck doesn’t want to look, not yet. Just like he doesn’t want to lose it in front of Bobby. He doesn’t want to answer any more questions. He doesn’t want to say anything anymore. He wants to crawl under the blanket and wake up when all of this is just over, one distant day.

“Two weeks and you should be alright again, the doctor said.” Bobby’s voice beside him is mild, gentle, comforting, all the things Buck would normally crave, may actually need, but can’t.

Some time back, Buck would have found that reassuring. It would have made his heart flutter for the mere fact of being offered the affection from the man he looks up to. But now? It makes his skin crawl. The gentleness is putting him off. Because Buck can no longer make sense of it.

Does Bobby just feel obligated as the captain to show the care? Or is he just freaked out because of the blood thinners? Does this cement his opinion that Buck is not ready? Won’t ever be ready? To be more than the errand boy who gets hurt on even the easiest of calls?

“And how long until I get to go on a… on a small call again, you think?” His voice is quiet as he is biting his lip, not daring to meet the older man’s gaze.

Bobby frowns at him. “We’ll have to see how you are once you get back.”

“I see.” Buck nods his head.

That settles it, right?

Buck actually had the answer already. He just keeps asking questions, hoping for the answer to change. But many failed multiple choice tests back in school should have taught him that this is not how it works.

“Buck…”

“No, it’s… you’re right. I just…” His voice trails off, leaves him, flits away.

“You were looking forward to being on the easy calls, at least. Yeah, I know, kid. Sorry that it ended like that on the first call. That was some damn bad luck.”

Tell me about it, Buck thinks to himself, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Because bad luck almost seems too comforting. Bad luck feels like something that will pass some time. But that’s not what this is.

“Well, wasn’t meant to be.”

“We’ll work something out.”

“Yeah.” Buck looks down.

No, not really. Though he’d want to. He’d want to put this on someone else to figure out for him. But Buck starts to feel like this is something only he can work out. Because it is just him. It’s been only just him this whole time. And he is done dragging everyone down with him.

“… Thanks, for sticking around,” he continues in a small voice, not daring to meet the older man’s gaze. “I think you should head back to the station, though. Maddie’s already on the way to pick me up.”

“I can wait till she’s here,” Bobby argues. “Keep you company.”

“And I’m surrounded by medical staff that already knows me by first name. Don’t bust your back in those chairs unnecessarily, Cap.”

Don’t bother.

“You know I don’t mind.”

Just that you do, Bobby, c’mon. You don’t want to be here any more than I want to. You are tensed. Uncomfortable. And it’s not because of the chairs. You said that you don’t want to stand on that side of the hospital doors anymore. You said it. Meant it. You don’t want to be here. Because you don’t want to see people get hurt, feel like you failed people though you didn’t. Just like me. And that’s okay, that’s alright, that’s not on you. So why are we still pretending like this is something else? Why can’t we just stop playing this game no one wins anyway?

“It’s fine. You should be out there,” Buck mutters.

Just because I can’t be there, doesn’t mean it has to be the same for everyone else, right?

The words hang in the air for a long moment. Bobby is waiting for something. What for? Buck is not sure. Maybe he waits for the younger man to keep pressing. To change his mind. But Buck just sits there, in the stupid hospital gown, in the stupid hospital bed, and he waits. Waits for this to be over. For this moment to pass.

“And you’re sure?” Bobby asks at last. If Buck didn’t know better, he’d think there is defeat in the captain’s voice.

“Positive,” he replies curtly.

Don’t bother with me anymore.

The corner of Bobby’s mouth twitches into a grimace Buck can’t read, though neither does he try. “Well, if that’s what you want, kid.”

No.

“Yes. Thanks.” Buck nods.

“… Not for that.”

Yes, for that, for making the effort. For caring, even though I’ve made it so damn hard to do it as of late. It’s nice, more than I could ever expect, really. But also no longer necessary, is it?

Bobby gets up slowly. It still seems like he is waiting for Buck to change his mind, but he doesn’t. He won’t keep his captain from doing his job. He won’t keep anyone from serving their purpose.

“Call me if anything’s up or if you need any help, okay?”

“Sure.”

Bobby slips on his jacket and taps Buck on the shoulder once. “Get better.”

“Sure will. Thanks, Cap.”

The older man opens his mouth to say something, but then doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and heads out. Buck lets out a shuddered breath once he is out of view. Once he is alone.

It’s only half a lie this time. Maddie said she’d be out of work within the next two hours and then come get him. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore, does it?

I know I don’t.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

Afraid of a little water? /// merman!Scaramouche x reader

just mermaid scara being sassy and flirting with you

༻Scaramouche༺

You were down by the sea hopping from stone to stone and gazing at the tide pools, making sure the loose clothing you wore didn’t get wet. The cool blue-green water of the ocean crashed against the sand as you heard the caws of the birds and the sounds of the waves. A small hermit crab crawled out of a small pool of water and onto a nearby rock, stopping to look at you and hesitantly moved closer.

Reaching your hand out, the hermit crept onto your hand and moved back and forth when you bridged your palms together. You laughed at how amusing it was, going to show someone when you heard a splash behind you. That caught your attention and searched for whatever made that noise.

“What was-” You trailed off and spun around when you heard another, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw it was just a boy with dark violet hair and vibrant purple eyes. Blushing when you realized he was shirtless but it made sense since it was the beach and all.

You couldn’t see the bottom half of his body as it was covered by a rock he was laying on, a smirk crossed his face and surveyed you. He was eyeing you up and down, you cursed yourself for staring but he was very attractive. “Hello~”

“Hi…” Something felt off and you carefully put the crab down, seeing it scamper off back into the seaweed-covered tide pool. You moved closer and steadied yourself so you wouldn’t fall in, despite the ocean being beautiful you had some past trauma with it and swore to never swim in it again.

“I didn’t expect to find someone so… intriguing at the cove today. What brings you here to my abode?” His abode? Your throat hitched as you realized why the bottom half of his body was hidden, he was a mermaid.

The deep violet scales forming along at his hip and ending in black, the scales shimmered in both red and gold highlights. It was genuinely beautiful the way the droplets glistened when the sun shone on it. The man caught you eyeing it and lifted his tail up and out of the water, saltwater dripping off of it.

“Hm see something you like? Why don’t you come closer and I'll let you touch it? I know you want to, it's practically written all over that cute face of yours~” He was right and you were entranced by the merman in front of you, cautiously stepping forward. His short hair damp but being blown in the wind, leaning on his elbows as he looked you up and down.

“I would but I don’t know you. You could drag me down to my watery death!” He rolled his eyes and scoffed, almost offended. “You humans will believe any old folk tale, won’t you? I have no reason to and anyway, you interest me.” You guess he was right, no one to your knowledge had ever seen a merperson and even if they did, who would believe them.

“Well, okay then but I still don’t know you’re-“ “Scaramouche. My name is Scaramouche. Yours?” Telling him your name he went on to say how some people he knew called him by a couple different titles, one being The Balladeer. You both seemed so fascinated with each other and desiring to know more.

You wished you had kept closer to the rocks and not to the water beside you had you known Scara was going to “joke” around, yanking your hand and pulling into the water with him. There was one problem, you didn’t swim and that crucial detail is why you almost died all those years ago in the same ocean and refused to go any deeper into the ocean than your knees or thighs.

Everything happened in slow motion, your instinct was to scream but your body caught itself and looked around for any sign of him before racing to shore or trying to get to the surface. Flailing your arms and holding your breath, you tried to mirror how you saw others swim just enough to reach the bottom but your foot slipped on a seaweed-colored rock, and in panic, you tried to scream for help.

Slowly, your vision became dark and darker, hoping that someone would find you or attempt to save you. Seeing someone dive in above you before blacking out and trying to reach your arm up. You could feel someone rubbing your cheek and a muffled voice trying to speak to you, a sky of blue greeted you and you felt choked up.

Turning onto your side and throwing up all the saltwater you had swallowed, your throat nearly hoarse from coughing you did. Your savior continued to comfort you as they kept mumbling to get it all out and ran their hand against your back, easing you back onto their lap to rest more. Their soaked violet dripped onto your shoulders and deep purple eyes flashed concern, trailing his hand down your cheek.

Your savior was the one person who nearly killed you in the first place and who was now comforting you as he laid your head against his dark tail, the end half splashing in the water so he didn’t dry out. Fearing he was tricking you, you sat up trying to get away from him, having arms wrapped around your waist as you struggled against his hold.

“You’re going to hurt yourself again- Wait!” Figuring that struggling against someone who was seemingly stronger than you wasn’t going to benefit you and resting your head against his chest, “Why? You pushed me in to die than to save me? What the fuck-” “I thought all humans could swim, I intended to just get you wet jokingly but when I saw you fall unconscious I knew I seriously screwed up.”

“I never meant to hurt you, well, fatally that is.” As much as you wanted to argue with him, all the energy you previously had was sucked up by being revived and laid your head against his bare chest. Scara’s hand ran through your hair and sighed, asking you if anyone you knew was here or would be looking for you.

“I came down here alone, so no. You’re not going to kidnap me are you?” Try to laugh but ended up coughing, doing your best to bring some humor into the serious situation and he chuckled as well. “No, although you are adorable enough to try to keep to myself. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to my home, you can rest there if you want or you can go back home but I just want to apologize.

You weren’t in any condition to go back home and even if you did your roommate would be insanely worried as to why you were soaked and looked dead. So you agreed but the look of hesitation he gave if he asked if you were scared of deep water might have dissuaded you, seriously rethinking your decision and how'd you even be able to will yourself up to it.

Scaramouche lifted your face to his and bit his lip, thinking over what he was about to say. “I know you have no reason to trust me but I just want to make sure that I didn’t cause any serious harm, if I did I want to help. I can help you with the breathing part, merpeople can give humans the ability to temporarily breathe underwater for a couple hours with a kiss.”

Further explaining how the kiss worked, casting something like a spell and giving you the temporary ability, saying you didn’t have to open your eyes if you were scared. A part of you did truly believe that he was sorry but the other half of you didn’t want to have anything to do with the ocean, even though it was a bit too late for that.

Reason overpowered your decision when you realized getting yourself to a medical center was going to be tough in your condition and he was your only hope. You agreed and he cupped your face, looking into your eyes for confirmation, smirking when you leaned closer and he closed the gap. His lips pressed into yours, you returned the kiss, humming when he wrapped an arm around your waist.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Blood for the Blood God

(Technoblade x Reader)

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

~~~

A young hybrid stood at the edge of the world, his pink hair tied up in a bun, face free of scars he’d acquired in his later years, and he looked decades younger. A diamond-encrusted dagger rested against his hip in its holder, his feet nervously tapped on the dirt. Silence surrounded him, maybe he should’ve told Phil where he was going, what he was going to do, the deal he was about to make. There were no trees on the cliffside, no signs of life anywhere for miles, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he stepped into another realm altogether. It was just him, the cliff, and of course the ancient scrolls in his bag. Technoblade frowned slightly thinking back on his old friend once more, would Phil’s family and his old friend be disappointed in his choices. Did he even care? He swallowed thickly holding out his hand, he pulled out a dagger from its holder, and drug it across his palm. Blood spilled from the wound, Technoblade let out a hiss of pain watching the blood pool in his palm. He held his hand out over the void and let a few drops of blood seep into space. He had long since memorized the words on the scrolls in his bag, Technoblade chanted the words written in Greek and he felt the wind begin to pick up around him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, He was grateful his hair was wrapped up in a bun or else it would be tangled and blowing all over the place. At this time in his life, his hair was down to his ankles, getting it calm in any sense of the word was a struggle.

Dust picked up and he covered his eyes, by the time Technoblade opened them a beautiful figure stood in the void, the goddess was giant, towering far above the treelines below the cliff. A crown rested on top of the Goddess’s head, it was golden and formed a halo above her head, stars littered across her face as her eyes opened. Her gaze bore straight into Techno’s soul, her gown was a deep black with red lacing across the neckline, and it flared out at her feet. A corset tight around her waist, intricate gold was embedded into the fabric, her (h/c) hair floating around her head.

“Technoblade,” Her voice sounded like silk in his ears, and he loved the way her voice said his name. Pink blossomed in his cheeks as his eyes widened, he didn’t even comprehend that she knew his name without even asking. “Why have you summoned me here today?” The Goddess hummed softly leaning downwards her giant face in front of Technoblades, he was in awe at her majesty. He gaped like a fish for a few moments and she lightly giggles pulling away from his body, Technoblade swallowed thickly recovering from his shock.

“You’re the Blood God?” He questioned not expecting you to be so womanly, you hummed softly tapping your nails on the ground causing it to rumble under his feet.

“I go by many names young one, but yes that is one of them.” She hummed the clouds began to swirl around her head, “I’m known as the Blood God, Blood Goddess, but if we strike a deal you may refer to me as (Y/n).”

“The scrolls said you’d be a man.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, not at all.” Technoblade hurriedly corrected himself, “Just startled.”

“Men always like to change history,” She clicked her tongue in distaste brow furrowing in frustration. “Changing the great things women do, the fear of powerful women is only felt by weaker and pitiful men.” He watched the Goddess’s eyes turn blood red a smile came across her lips, “They deserve to bleed. Pitiful men don’t deserve to walk the same earth of those worthy.” Technoblade felt himself nodding alongside the Goddess’s words, she had a point. Any man who disrespects or underestimates women deserves the fate she mentioned. “Now Technoblade tell me what you need from me?”

“I wish to never die.” The words hung in the air, he watched the goddess lean back in contemplation.

“I cannot make you immortal, I’m afraid you’ve contacted the wrong God.”

Technoblade shook his head, he knew he contacted the proper God, if he tried to contact the God of Death, Phil would know immediately.

“It’s not necessarily immortality I am after,” You titled your head curiously urging the young man to continue his point. “I just want something to make me never die, whether it’s power or unaging, I need something.”

“Why? Are you aware of the consequences of becoming immoral or like an immortal,” The Goddess gently reached her hand out nudging her giant finger against his cheek, “To see those who love you die around you while you never age? Anyone, you fall in love with won’t grow old with you.”

“I don’t plan on falling in love.” He interrupted the goddess, standing up straighter. He watched her purse her lips, in a blinding flash of light a woman was standing in front of him. Technoblade felt his face heat up, in her mortal form she was much smaller, but her outfit remained the same, the crown still on her head, showing off her power.

“You cannot comprehend the ideas of the goddess of love Technoblade. She has many interesting ideas on who should fall in love.” Technoblade straightened as she leaned in closer to his face,

“I’ll fight them.”

The Goddess blinked a few times as Technoblade looked away awkwardly at what he blurted out, and you burst into hysterical laughter. You covered your hand with your mouth trying to stifle said laughter, he made a small ‘heh?’ like sound as you clutched your abdomen.

“Sorry- Sorry! I just never heard someone so willingly eager to fight the God of Love so they don’t fall in love.” Your eyes lit up with delight as Technoblade visibly relaxed, for the self-proclaimed Blood God you sure were child-like, much like Wilbur, “You’re so cute yet so naive.” He tensed again his teeth grinding together,

“I’m not naive.” He huffed narrowing his eyes not even processing that she had called him cute. You hummed a few more giggles spilling past your lips, before collecting yourself and straightening your dress.

“Technoblade, before we continue forward with our potential deal there are some stipulations.” You hummed softly holding out your hand, “If you wish for my power to never die this is what I can grant you.” You pressed your glowing red finger to his forehead, his pupils shrunk in and he saw himself in the future. Scars littered his face, arms, and back, his hair was tied into a tight braid, gold jewelry coated his ears and fingers. He had a scruff of a beard on his chin, and he overall radiated power. By his side in some form of a Tundra, was Phil, looking a little older, his right-wing shredded beyond repair. On Technoblade’s back were three Wither Skull tattoo’s one in the middle of his back and the other two on his opposite shoulder blades. A netherite sword hung on his hip and it seemed to be coated in dried blood, his arms were crossed in distaste, he caught a glimpse of three lines on his arm.

He never lost a single life. Suddenly he heard thousands of voices echoing in his head, he clutched his ears falling to his knees, all of them were screaming, pleading for blood.

Technoblade breathed heavily snapping back to the current reality, “what was that?” He panted eyes a bit frantic, “the future?”

“One version of it,” You hummed pulling your hand down to your side. “The future can change on such a whim there never may be a true future I can show you, but it was one.” His brow furrowed watching you reach out and trace over the lifelines on his wrist, a pleasant tingle was sent up his spine. “I can assure you the power I can give will not make you immortal, but it will give you the power to slaughter all your enemies on a whim. Reach your goals and make it nearly impossible to die, that is the power I can grant you.” He watched his lives glow a soft gold and he choked on his spit, another tingle shot up his body, “but there are consequences as there is with every deal one makes.”

Technoblade nodded in understanding willing to risk anything to be that powerful, keeping his life and living with Phil. So the older man won’t have to lose anyone else in his life due to his immortality.

“While you’ll be powerful and practically impossible to kill you will still be mortal. You will be able to die and will still be bound to the three life systems my brother has set up. However, you will live forever so long as that does not happen.” He felt your hand move up his arm and he involuntary flexed his muscles. “But, you’ll have to bear the curse of the Blood God,” You whispered eyes flashing in regret, “The voices.”

“Voices?” He questioned with an eyebrow raise watching you nod almost sadly.

“They will be hard to ignore and occur almost instantly once the deal is in place. There will be thousands of them, always talking or screaming begging you to kill and slaughter. Begging you to kill and supply me with the blood I so desperately crave be spilled on the land. They will say other things too, commenting on your thoughts and your life, you’ll eventually learn to live with them. Especially with my help, but they’re hard to deal with, hard to ignore their yearn for the slaughter of anything with a pulse. You’ll have to learn to get along with them, that is your only hope to not lose yourself to them.” He felt your hand up to his cheek, thumb brushing against the apples of them, “It will be painful and you’ll still need to train to gain more muscle and strength, but it will be easier for you to reach that goal. So with that in mind Technoblade, do we have a deal?”

Technoblade locked eyes with the Goddess in front of him, he could deal with a few voices screaming in his ear, after all, you’d be by his side, helping him learn and grow.

“Deal,” Technoblade spoke gruffly, “how do we go about this?” He tensed swallowing thickly watching you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re touching my face, that’s fine this is fine, not intimate at all.” He watched you raise an eyebrow,

“It’s about to get a lot more intimate I’m afraid,” You purred as Technoblade flushed red, he felt your one hand remove itself from his cheek. She trailed her hand down his neck and his body, he was a shivering, red mess, she found the dagger at his side. He watched in awe as it floated in front of her, slicing open her palm, blood bubbled from the wound it was laced with golden flecks of ambrosia. Technoblade looked at her nervously, “Drink.”

“Eh?” He made a disgusted face eyeing the blood smearing on your palm, he watched it drip intimately down your wrist. Technoblade swallowed thickly, “why?”

“You have to take a piece of me to grant my power, you’ll grow fond of the taste of blood eventually.” You smiled pityingly, another hand gently squeezing his neck and Technoblade let out a shaky breath. He placed a hand on your wrist looking up into your eyes, you hummed sweetly urging him to continue, “I don’t bite. Hard.” You mused, eyes sparkling, dangerously, the look was verging on flirty, the young man flushed. He leaned forward, hesitantly licking the dripping blood that spilled down your arm up to the cut you made with his dagger. The ambrosia in your blood tingled his tongue tasting sweeter than honey, his pupils blew wide dragging his tongue across your palm. He barely registered your hand in his hair, curling around the loose stands tenderly, and much like a kitten, he began to lap at your palm. Technoblade felt like his entire body was on fire, but the blood you possessed tasted so sweet, he felt as though he’s never tasted anything better. He drank until your body healed and he couldn’t taste any more blood, he felt a whine bubble in his throat desperately trying to get more blood from your healed cut. You shushed him softly poking his nose, which seemingly snapped him back to reality, ears turning red as a small amount of blood stained the corner of his mouth. You leaned forward standing on your tiptoes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue lapping at the left-over blood. He let out another whine as you pulled away licking your teeth, humming fondly at the taste. “Such a good boy, listening to your god,” he felt himself pant his vision blurring the praise from you swimming in his head, doing things to him he didn’t quite understand.

Technoblade’s eyes snapped open as the world around him filled with screaming voices, he yelled out in agony as a fire shot through his skull, burning his brain and licking at the top of his spine. Voice pleading and screaming for more blood, to paint the entirety of the cliffside with sweet blood, to grab the nearest thing with a pulse and tear it to pieces. His pupils shrank and his mouth began to water helplessly,

‘Blood for the Blood God! Serve her! We live to serve her, get her blood. Feed us, Feed her. Blood. Blood. Blood. Kill anything that tries to stop us. Blood. Blood. Blood.’

These millions of voices pounded heavily in his ears, he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Suddenly the voices quieted and he was vaguely aware of your hand on his forehead,

‘Goddess, our goddess.’

“Shhhh,” You whispered fondly and Technoblade leaned into your cool touch. “Be kind to this one, he’s special.” He didn’t understand what you meant but heard the voices calm down as you spoke to them. “Play nice,” Techno realized that you weren’t talking to him but the voices in his head.

‘Yes ma’am. We’ll be good. But I want to break this one. Don’t be rude to our goddess! Bark, bark, bark. Don’t bark at her! She’s gorgeous though! Truly a work of art. We just want to provide you with blood! Let us play with him a little!’

“I know my darlings and I appreciate it.” You cooed fondly and Technoblade felt warmth flow through his entire being. “But try to get along with this one, he’s special,” Technoblade watched the goddess wink at him. He found himself asking her if he would see her again and she snickered softly,

“Of course you will. We’re interconnected now,” you took his hand, allowing his bigger one to encompass your own. “I’ll see you again soon, try not to die.” In another flash of light, the goddess was gone, he was left alone with the roaring voices and deep-seated loneliness that he was not accustomed to feeling.

It only took a few weeks for Phil to find out about his meeting with the Blood God herself he was immediately worried for his friend. Scolding him for doing something so stupid and reckless, even if what he was preaching was largely hypocritical. The newly acquired voices seemed to have a different interpretation of his nagging, instead, they urged Technoblade to call the man Dadza. Behind Phil his crows cawed and flocked around the both of them, Phil’s brow furrowed and squeezed Technoblade’s shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re doing mate. Dealing with gods is a dangerous game,” Phil sighed “I know that better than anybody. You need anything, contact me immediately.”

“I will,” The young man nodded in response to his old friend, “Trust me.”

“You know I do.” Phil responded his wings fluttering anxiously, “Just know how dangerous the Blood God can be, the voices granted to you will be hard to resist.”

“She gave me the spiel Phil, I can handle a few voices.” Technoblade scoffed crossing his arms over his chest, “Have a little faith.” Phil only grew more concerned watching Techno’s hand twitch, he could only hope he knew what he got himself into.

~~~

“Oh, Technoblade what have you done?” Your voice echoed in his head as he snarled loudly, red eyes blazing fire. Corpses littered his feet, blood staining the floor and walls, he was older than the last time she had visited. Hair was tied in a braid, scars littered his face and arms that seemed to only accentuate the blood staining his face. His ax was in the corner of the room blood stained the weapon as well, “You poor man.” He turned towards you and snarled the voices in his head roared needily, his head and heart were pounding, “Use your words.” You commanded hardly red mist swirling around your fingers, it hit him square in the chest sending him flying backward into a wall. Behind you stood a taller figure, in his state Technoblade could only make out a mask with a large ‘X’ carved into it.

“Your little plaything seems to be struggling with your curse dear sister,” XD mused from behind you, “Your supposed prodigy seems to have lost control.” You clicked your tongue in distaste sending your brother a look.

“Technoblade come back to your God.” You commanded your voice harshly seeping into his ears, he only roared in response, steam coming out of his nostrils. “I’m disappointed in you all,” the voices all at once stopped their screaming and Technoblade fell to his knees the sudden shift to silence throwing him off. You walked over to his crumpled body, bare feet stepping on the wooden planks marking the floorboards with your bloodied footprints. You knelt in front of him, the hybrid breathing heavily, his tusks tried to cut your skin and succeeded in pricking your fingers. You grabbed onto his tusks, those were also bigger than the last time you saw them, you tugged them harshly. He grunted in pain, “No.” You snarled looking deep into his eyes, “You slaughtered an entire village of innocent lives! That is not in my plan or my wishes you stupid mortal!” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his clarity was slowly coming back to him. “There were children here! Children you tore apart, I trusted you to have some semblance of control, and you!” She pressed a manicured nail to the top of his head speaking directly to the voices, “I asked for one thing from you and you make him do this!”

“Get ‘em, girl. You tell them.” XD mused from behind you, snapping his fingers almost sassily. His robes flowing around his arms, you turned over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Oh, go fuck George Lore.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting cackled from behind the God of the SMP his long nails digging into the flesh on his arms. You huffed glaring at your older brother, from behind you Technoblade tried to lunge at God for disrespecting his Goddess. “Watch your dog,” He scoffed another growl bubbling in Technoblade’s throat.

“Techno.” Your voice filled his ears again and he fell against your shoulder, “I haven’t been a good Goddess to you have I?” You spoke softly, his entire body relaxing into you as he listened to you. “You cannot handle the voices on your own that was my mistake, I will train you so this doesn’t happen again that I can promise you.” Your fingers gently played with the hair on the back of his neck,

“(Y/n)?” He mumbled groggily,

“There he is, welcome back to the real world.” The goddess pulled away from his beaten body, he looked around seeing the blood and the bodies. His ears twitched something akin to guilt curled in his stomach.

Had he done this? To a village of innocent traders?

“Did I..?”

“You lost control I’m afraid.”

“I- that’s impossible, I was doing so well I had control-”

“Technoblade!” A voice called out pushing past XD, an older gentleman with messy blonde hair a bucket hat. “You’re alright!- Who the hell are all of you?” The man seemed to realize they weren’t alone and his eyes locked onto yours. “(Y/n)?”

“Philza Minecraft. Long time no see,” You hummed a smile spreading across your lips, “Kristin says hello.”

Phil’s entire face flushed to the tips of his ears and he coughed nervously, “Er...tell her the same and that I miss her.”

“I will,” You gave a little bow of your head, “Is Technoblade your son?”

“More like an old friend, but I see him as such.”

“Shut up old man,” Technoblade grumbled sitting up on his knees without you to support him.

“I didn’t realize you were the Blood God,” Phil continued dropping by Technoblade’s side the old man was missing a few of his flight feathers. A large cut was gouged into his shoulder, that was it that was the trigger, something must’ve hurt Phil and caused the halfling to snap.

“That seems to be a common theme,” You frowned a little with a gentle sigh, you tried to glance at your brother, but XD had long since disappeared from the doorway. Most likely because he was bored and wanting to go bother Foolish, “Philza.” You declared as Technoblade glanced over at you through hooded eyes, “Will you allow me to train and help your son."

“He’s not my dad-”

“Of course Goddess, whatever will help him stay in control.” You nodded your head at the consent, in a flash of light your entire appearance changed. You looked much more human, with a simple yet sophisticated outfit that fit the period

“Then let’s begin.”

~~~

The sun began to rise above the cliff where Technoblade had first summoned his Goddess. He took in a deep breath inward and then let the breath outwards after a few minutes of holding it. He sat criss-cross on the cliffside letting air into his lungs as he remembered the meditation techniques you had taught him many years ago. The voices were particularly antsy today but he had learned from the best how to control them, to quiet them down, talk, and reason with them.

‘The sun is rising. It’s very pretty, can we please just spill a little bit of blood?’

“No.” He murmured under his breath, “We get to see (Y/n) today. Don’t ruin this for me. We need her help.”

“They bothering you?” Your voice flowed through his head like butter, and warmth engulfed his entire being,

‘We are not! Come on, we love you! E!!!! Don’t be mean to us!’

“They said you’re being mean.”

“Am not,” You snorted wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and fell across his broad shoulders. Surprisingly the goddess’s touch comforted him, while others’ touches felt like fire, yours was pleasant. “Just want to make sure my prodigy is safe and in control,”

“I am thanks to your lessons.”

“Good, now. You said you wanted to talk to me about something important. Do tell, I’m very curious. It’s not like you to keep secrets from me.” A feather-light kiss was placed on his cheek as you moved from behind him to the front, he adored you. The sunlit up your cheeks and framed your head like a halo, it was like everything on earth was made to make you look perfect.

“I have a predicament,” He tapped his nails on his knees as you hummed thoughtfully, “There’s a war brewing between the government of ‘New L’manburg’ and myself. The government killed Wilbur, drove him so mad that Phil had to kill him to stop his nonsense.”

“I remember that,” You said with a stern nod, “there was a lot of blood spilled that day.” The people who fought in the war lost a lot of lives and you remembered it vividly, XD watched the battle with you from above, you wanted to keep an eye on Technoblade. When the battle was over and his allies betrayed him it took all of your willpower to not go down there and kill them all where they stood.

No one touches your prodigy.

XD had to physically hold your powers away from you, it was the closest you’ve come to losing control of since you were a young Goddess.

When Technoblade escaped to the Tundra that’s when you appeared in front of him, giving him a bone-crushing hug. He grunted at the unfamiliar body but there was only one person that he knew of who could appear out of nowhere and that was his Goddess. You remembered him apologizing to you, fearing you’d be mad at him for failing to kill all those who opposed you and him. You shut him up with a searing kiss, he was dizzy as you pulled away,

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” he murmured still recovering from the shock of the kiss, recovering from how much he enjoyed feeling your lips press against his own. “I won’t disappoint you again,”

“You better not.” You cupped his cold cheek with your hand, he nuzzled into it, “You have so much more to give.” Technoblade gave a stern nod as the voices urge him to kiss your forehead, and he listened. “My strong prodigy,” you recalled how he shivered at your words “Are you mine?”

“Only if you’re mine in return.”

“I can live with that.”

His big hand cupped your cheek and you snapped your attention back to the mortal in front of you, you smiled and kissed one of the scars on his palm. Techno brushed his thumb across your cheek, the stars on your face left his fingers tingling. “I need your help, they tried to execute me and hurt Phil they need to be taught a permanent lesson. Please fight by my side,”

“Love, you know I’m not allowed to interfere with wars of mortals. My brother will demote me.”

“I know that,” Technoblade assured reaching out to squeeze your hand, “that’s not what I mean or what I want for you Goddess.” You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head,

“Explain,” consider your curiosity peaked.

“Grant me more of your power, fight through me, my dear.” Your eyes widened as his eyes flashed red,

“That’ll tear you apart, you will not be able to handle that.”

“I will.”

“Techno-”

“I trust you.”

Your lips dipped into a tight frown, “I don’t trust myself.” You admitted closing your eyes, “I’m called the Blood God for a reason Technoblade.”

“You’ve taught me how to keep control, I know you can as well darling. Please.”

“Fine,” You agreed after a while looking at the ground, “I’ll let my power flow through you on one condition. You only use it once when it’s life or death.”

“I promise you,” he leaned forward and kissed your lips causing you to purr happily. “I’ll only use it once just keep an ear out for when I call for you.”

“I will.”

The battle came much faster than Technoblade would’ve liked, he had Dream, Phil, and the dogs by his side. They would blow the government to smithereens and won’t stop until they hit bedrock. Above the clouds, he knew his Goddess was watching over them, there was no way they wouldn’t succeed. He felt the voices yearn for blood, yearn to serve and please their god, to wreck the entire governmental system. Dream told Technoblade and Phil their duties, which consisted of distracting the government with as many Withers as possible, so Dream could set up the canons. Technoblade could feel the buzzing in his skull knowing the voices were itching to set off the Withers and conquer. They gathered the wolves from underneath L’manburg and Technoblade ruffled their fur and gave them each some last-minute treats, he hated to think of that as a last meal for some of them, but that’s essentially what they were. As he made his way into the country Phil had squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be affectionate in nature.

“Try not to die.”

“You too old man. You still have the totem I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Now let’s kick their asses,” Technoblade grinned viciously. He looked up into the swirling clouds in the sky, crows screaming overhead, “Watch over me, my goddess.” His head filled with warmth and he knew you were by his side like you promised you would be, Phil smiled over at Technoblade and looked to the sky as well.

‘Watch over him (y/n), Kristin,’ He thought getting into a position to release his Withers onto the world.

Technoblade followed suit, the citizens caught onto his presence almost immediately, ready to battle him with weapons drawn. Luckily the dogs took care of anyone who dared try to get a hit in, ripping apart any exposed flesh and spilling their blood on the ground. The dogs allowed him to set up two Withers and send them into the battle, exploding and targeting individuals in their line of sight. Technoblade escaped into a small area by a river and was suddenly attacked by Sapnap. The fire demon spawn’s eyes were alight with bloodlust, seemingly from slaughtering half of his pet wolves singlehandedly.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Sapnap grinned swinging the sword in his hand, fire sparking from the horns on his head. Technoblade had no time for the cocky man’s small talk as he charged at him, he blocked the blow with ease, golden ring glinting in the fleeting light. “Not much of a talker huh? No matter,” Sapnap snickered, “I’ll be the one to take your first life.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Technoblade snorted pulling away to kick Sapnap in the chest, he stumbled back but he was known for his quick recovery time. He grunted a little and sent a trail of fire-spitting towards Technoblade’s feet. Technoblade was distracted by the fire and it allowed the demon to slice a deep cut into Technoblade’s chest, the man didn’t have time to block. He grits his teeth and felt blood seep across his chest, pain ricocheting through his body. The voices roared to kill the idiot, to get up and give him a severe wound back, but before he could he was kicked in the chest by Sapnap and fell to his back. The sword was pointed at his neck and it dug in just deep enough for a droplet of blood to bubble under the sword.

He was fucked.

‘Call her. Call (Y/n). Call the Blood God. Call our Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.’

“Any last words?”

“(Y/n) I need you.”

“Who the fuck-” A blaring light blinded Sapnap as he stumbled back, squinting his eyes he could barely make out Technoblade in front of him. Technoblade’s eyes blazed a scarlet red, the wound on his chest healing over rapidly like he just ate two god apples. That wasn’t the worst of it though, Sapnap stumbled back some more, above Technoblade’s head was a stunningly gorgeous woman. Her hands were cupping his head, red seeping from her fingers and licking at Techno’s head like flames. The Goddess’s eyes were closed as her hair floated around her head, framing her face beautiful, she was terrifying calm,

“What the fuck. Who the fuck?” His voice cracked watching the being open her sharp eyes, a bloodthirsty grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Technoblade. Kill the idiot man, who dared to try and kill you. That is my command. Give Blood to your Blood God.”

Technoblade’s lips curled over his tusks, he was salivating, the voices were roaring. “Blood for the Blood God,”

He spoke and the last thing Sapnap saw was the shine off Technoblade’s blade, and the glowing eyes of the Goddess herself before the world around him went dark.

Technoblade was breathing heavily, the voices wanted more blood, he felt the pull from you as well, you wanted more blood spilled. Steam curled around his nose and he shook his head, ‘no. no more. Thank you.’ He licked the blood off his sword and the voices quieted, satisfied with the taste on his tongue.

“Stay safe,” Your voice echoed around the battlefield, some chose to ignore the booming voice of the female but others turned to look. Staring in awe at the sight of the goddess, many not knowing her origin or what she was but felt her power over the battlefield. “Don’t disappoint me,”

“You know I won’t.” He grinned blood staining his teeth, behind him an explosion rang out, Dream was ready with the TNT cannons. He heard a familiar cry from who he assumed Tommy and when he turned back to face you, you were gone.

They will forever know that Technoblade serves and is dating the Blood God.

~~~

Tag list: @iamsuchasimp, @victory-is-here, @pastelmoonwitche, @ignat1usaquar1us, @boiled-onionrings, @alovestruck-fool, @mack4676

[zodiakuroo]

Cupid’s Bullet

Dabi comes home with a very special Valentine’s Day surprise for you.

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Contains: dubcon/noncon, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship, gun play, fear play, forced orgasms, squirting, mindbreak, angst (if you squint?), quirk usage, one slap but it’s a hard one :3, overstimulation, creampie

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: pls this title is so cringe but it's like bullet instead of arrow cause... ya know but anyways happy valentine’s day from scumbag boyfie!dabi

Dating a villain meant that your relationship was unconventional to say the least. For one, public dates were out of the question, unless you wanted it to end in destruction of public property and some scorched heroes. You also always had to have some kind of flimsy excuse for your family and friends when they asked to meet your elusive boyfriend. In addition, you had to accept the fact that he would have to disappear sometimes for weeks on end to do his boss’ bidding.

There was also the small matter of arson, murder and theft and a multitude of other crimes that you’d prefer not to know about. And while you weren’t necessarily okay with a lot of what Dabi did, you loved him. You loved him so much that turning a blind eye was so easy it made you question your own morality. He didn’t scare you either. Not in the slightest, because you knew in his own special way, he loved you too.

In fact it ran much deeper than that. On his worst days, Dabi could set the world ablaze until nothing was left because in the end he didn’t care about anyone or anything, not even himself. Until he met you, he says. He tells you that in you, he’s found something to tether him to this existence.

Ok so maybe he didn’t use those words exactly, but he doesn’t have to. You know that’s what he means when he spoils you with expensive, stolen clothes and jewellery, when he offers to burn alive any person who makes you even the tiniest bit upset and when he comes home to you bloodied and beaten, trusting you to take care of him.

In summary, your relationship forced you to give up on having any “normal couple” experiences.  That included, celebrating anniversaries and silly holidays like Valentine’s Day so you never bothered to keep track of them. It could hardly be considered a sacrifice when you compared those things to what you actually got from your relationship.

Dabi had been gone for close to a month now and you didn’t expect him back anytime soon, not knowing where he was or what he was doing. In fact the very last thing you expected was for him to creep into your bedroom in the middle of night and rouse you from your peaceful sleep with a soft kiss on your temple.

You don’t jump out of bed in a panic, like any sane person would. Instead you let out a satisfied hum, surrounded by the scent of burnt flesh, ash and menthol, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. It should be unpleasant but its Dabi’s scent and you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. You pick your phone up from your night stand, squinting your eyes at the bright light that makes them sting.

Sunday 14 February, 2:43am

“Welcome home.” You mumble groggily, trying your best to fight off your tired body urging you to go back to sleep.

Instead of replying, he greets you by pressing his mouth to yours. You let out a quiet gasp, startled by the sudden display of affection. His lips are chapped but that doesn’t matter, your tongue darts out to moisten them before your lips lock into a gentle kiss.

You reach up, weaving your hands through his dark hair in an attempt to draw him closer but he retreats, opting instead to turn on the bedside lamp but keeping his other hand behind his back. “Sit up doll. Got a surprise for ya.”

Any thoughts of sleep were long forgotten as soon as his lips met yours but now he’s really piqued your interest. You push yourself up against the headboard and sit cross-legged. You look up at Dabi expectantly. Your boyfriend is smiling wide, skin pulled so taut you think one of his staples might give out. He reveals to you what he has hidden behind his back. A square black box, wrapped in a cobalt satin ribbon.

It’s so cliché you can’t help but let out a small snort. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You know… for Valentine’s Day?” He says as though it should be obvious to you.

Your heart swells at the gesture. It really was a surprise. Not in a bad way, you just knew he wasn’t your average boyfriend and that was okay. You didn’t want him to be.

“Well now I feel awful. I didn’t get you anything.” You pout as he props the box onto your lap.

“’S like a toy… so it’s technically for you but kinda for both of us.” It’s unusual to see Dabi this excited. The way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes filled with mirth makes you all the more curious.

“Like a sex toy?” A giggle escapes you as you undo the bow.

“Are we playing fuckin’ 20 questions? Just open it.” He presses you.

You huff at his impatience but you don’t comment, not wanting to wait any longer either. You remove the lid of the box only to find something wildly unexpected.

A revolver?

You look up at your boyfriend with confusion etched on your face but his gleeful grin doesn’t falter. You’ve never seen a sex toy like this so you pick up the article to test its weight. It’s definitely the real deal.

“Dabi, this isn’t a toy.” You state matter-of-factly.

He merely rolls his eyes and says “Doll, when you can incinerate someone with a flick of your wrist, that little thing is definitely considered a toy?”

“O-okay? What do you want to do with it?” You ask, placing offending object onto your nightstand, not really wanting to hold on to it anymore, the metallic smell making you feel queasy.

“Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” Dabi, picks up the abandoned item, looking down at it with pride.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows as nervousness starts to creep into your system and you instinctively move to back away from him but Dabi is quick to pull you back.

“It’s real easy doll. No need to look so scared.” He crawls on top of you, caging you in with his limbs. “6 chambers. 1 bullet. All you have to do is be a good girl for me. If not, I pull the trigger and we see what happens.”

The look on his face is positively demented. Azure eyes wide and bright, patchwork face contorted into a a sinister smile, white teeth and silver staples gleaming in the dim light.

“Baby,” you hope the pet name will placate him. It usually does. “I don’t know about thi-“

CLICK

You let out a shriek as your body jolts in fear but you’re unable to move with his weight pressing on top of you.

“You see now doll?” He clicks his tongue behind his teeth. “You’ve gone and wasted a shot.”

Dabi climbs off of you and you’re left lying there with your heart hammering violently in your chest, body trembling, still reeling from the shock of what just happened. Reeling from the shock of what is happening

“You gonna listen now? Gonna be good?” Dabi prompts, rolling the gun around in his hand.

All you can do is nod as your eyes being to water. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse as your mind races with the possible things Dabi has in store for you.

“Good. Now strip.” He command and like a good girl, you obey.

Your arms feel like they’re made of lead, moving rigidly to take off your shirt (one of Dabi’s old ones). You can’t stop the tears from falling as you pull down your panties, fat droplets roll down your cheeks, desperately trying to swallow the sounds of your sobbing.

This can’t be happening. It’s Dabi. He wouldn’t hurt you. He promised you that.

“Oh cut the fuckin’ waterworks.” He snaps. “As long as you listen, you’ll be fine.”

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths, not wanting to irritate him any further.

When you turn to face him, he’s leaning back on his haunches, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily gripping the revolver. “Fair warning, I’m more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. But you know that already.” He thumbs the cylinder, making it spin. “Now, touch yourself for me.”

Breathing is difficult. No matter how much you try, it’s like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Thinking only of gun in your boyfriend’s hand, you still you bring your own hand between your legs, but you can’t concentrate, what with the dread taking over your body making it tough to have any control of your body. Your movements are stiff and apparently not up to Dabi’s standards.

He only scoffs before-

CLICK

You scream again, body nearly flying off the bed before you curl yourself up into a ball. The fright is enough to stop your heart. For a second you believe it has.

“Doll,” Dabi’s gruff voice brings you back to earth, reminding you that you’re very much alive and whether or not you stay that way is entirely up to him. “You’re ruining my surprise. Got it ‘specially for you and now you’re being a brat.” He quirks an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.

“So-sorry.-“ your voice breaks. “I’ll be good.”

You’re still struggling to comprehend how any of this is real. You thought you knew him. You thought he loved you. And here he is, treating your life like it’s a game. You can’t help but think that this is your own fault. You thought you were above everyone else, the exception to your boyfriend’s villain behaviour.

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then show me.” He challenges you. Dabi slips off his t-shirt and moves between your legs to get a better view, pressing on your knees to split them apart.

Self-preservation kicks in. There is one way out of this alive and that’s doing what he says. You spread yourself even wider, showing him all of you. Your hands, glide over your smooth thighs, kneading the pudgy flesh as you get closer and closer your sex, teasing yourself the way he would.  Your fingers find your clit and just a little pressure makes your eyes melt shut. Probably for best anyway. It makes it easier to imagine anything but this. You drag those fingers through your delicate folds, letting out breathy sighs as heat begins to bloom between your thighs.

You pretend, its Dabi’s touch. In your mind’s eye you see the two of you, limbs tangled with Dabi on top, resting his forehead against yours. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go slow. So slow that the sensation of his cock dragging in and out of is you bordering on torturous. It’s one of those nights where he wants to lay his head on your chest, mouthing at your breasts, laving your nipples with his wet tongue while you tell him, in that sensual voice  that you love him, that he’s perfect, that he’s yours.  Because it’s one of those nights, where everything feels like too much for him and the only person that he really has on his side is you.

It’s not long before you’re leaking. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice chastising you for being so easy for him… even now. There’s almost no resistance as two of your fingers, press into your entrance. Your fingers are no match for Dabi’s, they never hit all those deep, hidden spots  that make you see stars but still, you start to move them slowly, brushing your thumb over your clit every so often.

“Look at me.” You feel his breath waft over your pussy.

Eyelids fluttering open and you meet his gaze. It stuns you a little and your hands come to a standstill. He is handsome, breathtakingly so, even though he thinks you’re lying whenever you when you tell him that. The way he stares at you, with love and adoration in his eyes, it’s almost like the fantasy you were just imagining. Almost like the fantasy you’ve been living in this whole time. It’s enough to make you forget the situation you’re in. Then the muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, snapping you back to reality fast enough to give you whiplash.

“Fucking slut.” He growls and smacks your hand away from your pussy.

You jerk as he starts to move it the gun circles over your sensitive nub and then dipping down to your tight slit to gather up your juices.

“All those fuckin’ tears but look how wet you are.” He says more to himself than you as he admires the way your slick leaves a sheen on the barrel. With his eyes trained directly on yours, his perfectly pink tongue pokes out to lick it clean, groaning at the taste.

The next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your legs, guiding them over his broad shoulders. He kisses you on your mons before his tongue begins greedily lapping at your hole. “Tastes so good doll.” He mutters with his nose pressed against your clit. He slips the wet muscle inside of you making you whine.  You reflexively grab onto his black hair, tugging on the stands and he lets out a groan of approval. He moves up to your clit, circling it with his tongue before suckling on it. While he brushes just the tip of a finger over your cunt, making it clench around nothing while you desperately buck your hips, in an attempt to have it inside you.

The way he’s eating you out is almost romantic?

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the metal digging into your flesh.

“Doll,” He places a sloppy kiss on your clit, lighting dragging his teeth over the hood. “Want you to squirt for me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened. You’re not sure of the odds that you’d be able to right now and it’s not a gamble you’re willing to take. “Dabi, I don’t think I can….”

CLICK

You thrash, screaming so loud it makes your throat burn.

Dabi still holds you open, keeping you in place. “I wasn’t asking.” He makes sure to maintain eye contact as he drops a fat glob of spit right on to your clit before diving face first into your cunt once again.

He pushes 2 of his long, lithe fingers into your tight entrance. It’s unexpected and you wince. He drags his right hand (the one holding the gun) up your torso, resting the muzzle underneath your breast, right over your racing heart. A reminder of what’s at stake. He envelopes your sensitive clit with his lips, moving his fingers in tandem with the suction. You’re consumed by desire as Dabi brings you so close to the edge.

“Dee-Deeper please.” Your pant out.

He smiles against your mound before complying with your request. “Right here?” His fingers press against that squishy patch deep inside you and your eyes roll back.

“Nnnggg yeah.” You’re barely able to mewl out. You dig your heels into his back and grind against his face, chasing your high. Dabi keeps hitting that spot with astonishing precision but you hold off for as long as you can, letting the pleasurable sensation build until the pressure in your core becomes unbearable. When it finally snaps because you can’t hold it anymore, your eyes squeeze shut, hands flying to his biceps and you dig your nails into the sinewy muscle. You gush around his fingers and all over his face. Dabi doesn’t move though, flicking your clit with his tongue repeatedly until you’re trembling and whimpering, pushing him away from your pussy. He finally relents, a pop echoing around the room as he lets go of you.

He gives you a predatory look, scared face and chest wet with the remnants of your orgasm. “You made such a mess baby but I’m glad you’re finally having fun.” He’s just as out of breath as you are but far more composed.

Your head is still fuzzy and limbs are still twitching but your boyfriend doesn’t let you recover. “C’mon, doll. My turn.” He begins to undo his belt, silver buckle clinking as he rushes to drag it through the loops of his jeans

You pull yourself on to all fours, now eye level with his crotch. He pulls down his pants and boxers in one go, his erection almost hitting you in the face.

“You’ve been lucky so far.” He taps the bulbous head of his cock on your lips, smearing your lips with the pre that dribbles out of it. “But I wouldn’t test it if I were you. Open.”

Your mouth is already watering at the sight of him. So long, thick and veiny. It’s disgusting actually, this Pavlovian response. He fucks you deeper, stretches you wider and makes you feel better than anyone ever had. You wonder briefly, if anyone ever could fuck you as good as Dabi.

You stick out your tongue and he slides himself between your lips, groaning as he pushes into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch. He fills your mouth completely and you shut your eyes, savouring the salty taste of him but you feel the muzzle press against your temple and making them shoot open. “Atta girl. Lemme see those pretty eyes.” He grunts as he plunges into your throat. You bob your head up and down his shaft, the hand at the back of your head setting a brutal pace. The room is filled with the sounds of you gagging and his hefty sac smacking against your chin.

“So good to me baby.” He tilts his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him while your saliva leaks out, dripping down his balls. Dabi is big and heavy, stretching you so wide and making you jaw ache from the weight of him. You’re already lightheaded from the lack of air, no matter how much you try breathing through your nose. You don’t dare to complain though.

He pulls out of your mouth slowly, stretching a string of saliva from the head of his dick to your tongue that’s hanging out of your mouth. You pant like a bitch attempting to catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time before he’s in your throat again, back to fucking your face.

“I love you so much. You love me?” He sounds so sweet, totally blissed out.

He stops thrusting and tilts your head up to look at him, blinking tear-clumped lashes. You try utter a ‘Yes, I love you.’ but with his shaft gagging you, it comes out all garbled. The muscles in your throat convulse around the deep intrusion. “You’d do anything for me right?” He asks, jabbing the muzzle even harder into your temple, finger resting lightly on the trigger. You nod, watching Dabi lose his composure bit by bit. “Yeah. That’s why you’re my girl.” He pushes himself even deeper inside you, making you finally take all of him, until your nose meets his pubic hair and holding you there. “Fuck.”

CLICK

“Hmmhhhhngggh” You squeal around him but you can’t pull off because of the grip he has on your scalp. When he lets you go you’re choking and coughing up a lewd mixture of spit and pre-cum.

“Wh- Why” You blubber, voice hoarse. You don’t understand. You were doing exactly what he asked. You were being good.

“Sorry baby. Felt so good, my finger slipped.” He doesn’t even try to hide his mischievous smirk. The fucker is definitely not sorry.

You want to beg him to stop this ridiculous game because you see now there’s no way you can win because Dabi doesn’t play fair.

He doesn’t give you the chance though, already shuffling off his bottoms all the way and propping himself up against the headboard. “C’mon pretty baby.” He tugs on your ankle.  Wanna see you bounce on my dick.”

You clumsily position yourself atop his lap quickly, before you can even think about it. You know he doesn’t need a reason to pull that trigger but still, you don’t want to give him one.

He grinds his tip along your heat, piercings dragging across your clit over and over again. It’s something he does whenever you have sex, to rile you up. And just like all those other times, it’s working. Circumstances be damned. “Needa feel this hot little pussy. Give it to me doll.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You nod as you lift yourself off of him to hover your dripping wet hole over his hard dick. You slowly squat down on onto him, the fat head stretching you out, burning with every inch you take. You mewl, making futile attempts to blink away tears. You get halfway before you have to stop, resting your hands on his shoulders trying to gain leverage. You’re outright crying now, wet droplets landing on Dabi’s chest.

“’S matter doll.”

I’m terrified. You yell in your head but stay silent, choosing to focus on relaxing your ever-tightening hole in order to take more of him.

“Oh, I know.” He coos, voice dripping with condescension. “’S too big for your tiny cunny.” He leans forward to kiss away the salty tears. “But you can take it. I know you can.” He cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with a calloused thumb. “You can do it for me”

You start to move slowly up and down, using gravity to force more of his monstrous cock inside you with shallow movements. You really are trying your best but that’s apparently not good enough for Dabi and he lets you know that by pressing the barrel of the gun into your stomach. You freeze, horrified, more tears start falling from your eyes. You open your mouth to beg him to just give you a little time. You’re trying.

“Quit being a baby and just take it.” He says before you even get the chance.

“I’m trying Dabi, please just-“

CLICK

He cuts off your plea.  He’s not interested in your excuses.

The rotation of the cylinder sends vibrations through your abdomen. Amidst the shock, you release your grip on his shoulders and impale yourself on his shaft by mistake. The combination of the searing stretch and the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix is so overwhelming that you collapse forward, head falling on to your boyfriend’s chest. You feel the rumbles of his chuckles while he’s quite literally splitting you open.

“See? Knew you could. Just needed a little scare. Isn’t that right.” He rubs your back as if to comfort you. He lets out a low whistle. “But looks like you’re all out of chances doll. Now bounce.” He gives you a spank with an inhumanly warm hand, making you squeal and leaving your cheek tender.  

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders again. Dabi’s sapphire eyes are practically glowing, daring you to be stupid enough to defy him one more time.

You pull off almost entirely, keeping just his tip inside of you, before spearing his shaft into you again.

“Good girl.” When he praises you with that raspy voice makes you keen and desperate for more of it.

His hand snakes its way up your torso to cup one of your breasts. Your back arches, pushing into his scorching hot touch, forgetting momentarily about his other hand and what he’s holding in it.  He gropes your chest, tweaks and twists at your nipples, leaving red, inflamed hand prints in his wake. You’re practically delirious with pleasure, babbling out incoherent streams of his name along with “yes” and “more”.  All the while, he murmurs praises about how good you are and how much he loves you. It’s confusing and you can’t process any of it.

“Who owns this perfect pussy?”

“Dabi. Fuck. Dabi.” Your tongue lolls out of your mouth in the most obscene way, drooling down your chin. Your plush walls pulse around him as he hits that sensitive spot every time you sink down on him.

“That’s right it’s all fuckin mine. My pretty baby.” Dabi’s eyes are focus on where your two bodies are connected watching the translucent ring of your cream appear and disappear as you ride him.

“Preeeettyyy.” You slur and he laughs at how fucked out you are, brain completely jumbled between the fear, the pain and the bliss all combined into ecstasy.

“Doll.” He groans. “I feel ya squeezin’ me. You gonna cum?”

He’s right. You nod as you feel that coil tightening again, threatening to snap at any second. The man finally starts putting in work, pounding into you every time you pull off of him. Dabi abandons the gun in favour of playing with your clit, rubbing quick sloppy circles. “Yeah? Gonna cream and gush around me? Want you to baby.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking, biting and licking while he assaults your sopping wet pussy. “C’mon doll, please.”

With that you orgasm. He grabs your hips pulling you flush against his thighs, fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips up into you until your high finally subsides.

He doesn’t let you catch your breath before he’s got the revolver pressed hard underneath your chin. “Now make me cum.” You almost collapse but the harsh grip he has on your hair suspends you upright.

Your mind is so foggy and Dabi gives you a small smile, appreciating the perplexed look in your droopy eyes. But he’s not done with you yet.

“Hey.” You’re ripped from your daze, when he slaps you across the face, sending your head swinging to the side. “Don’t pass out on me now.”  

“So-sorry! ‘M sorry!” You grovel as you slam your tired body down on his dick once again, trying to ignore the throbbing on your cheek, the ringing in your ears, and the ache in your battered cunt.  You’re so sensitive from your last orgasm but you don’t have a choice and you don’t dare deny him anything. Your thighs are quaking and burning with every movement but your boyfriend is unimpressed.

“You can do better than that doll.” He lets out a bitter laugh, enjoying every second of tormenting you. “It’s like you want your brains splattered on the ceiling.”

You start crying again, shaking your head frantically. In the time that you’ve been with Dabi, you’ve learned certain tricks, you know he likes it, but in this panic/lust induced frenzy, you can’t remember any of them. Instead, you bounce, mindlessly on him while your gummy walls clench tighter around him every time he nudges at your a-spot. Your legs are going numb from all the effort and you plop down, limp onto his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Dabi tsks at you, reminding you that you can’t rest just yet. You swivel your hips, grinding your pelvis against his while he’s buried deep in your wet heat. You pray to whatever deity is listening that he’s getting close, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“If I don’t bust in the next 5 seconds.” His hand finds your clit again, you grind across his fingers has you rock against him. “Bang!” He emphasises the word by bringing a heated palm down on your ass.

A choked sob bubbles at the back of your throat, making him snicker

Hands pressed to his chest, you ride him like a woman possessed, the last bits of adrenaline kicking in. Your sloppy cunt squelches every time you drive yourself down on his cock just motivating you to fuck him harder.

“Five.” He grits out.

“Dabi, please!” But you’re met with icy, apathetic eyes staring back at you, feeling the terror that the rest of the city does when they so much as hear his name.

“Four.” He rubs your already raw clit, faster and you can feel another orgasm building, much quicker than your last two.

Your body feels so heavy but you can’t stop moving, not unless you want him to- “Please cum!” You beg. “Need your cum.”

“Three.”

He starts to fuck up into you again with unforgiving force.

“Wh-Why?!” is all you can manage as your mind starts to fog up again, the need to come becoming all the more urgent.

“Two.” He ignores your question, transfixed on your tits bounce in his face. You’re getting close to your third orgasm of the night and it seems Dabi is determined to get you there.

You still can’t believe this is real. You never thought that Dabi would treat you like this. You were supposed to be special.

Or at least that’s what he told you.

Moreover, you can’t believe how your own body is betraying you. You can’t believe you’re actually going to cum. Again.

“One.”

You cry out his name one last time, unsure if it’s out of fear or pleasure. You dig your nails into his arms again, in a feeble attempt to ground yourself as you cum around him. The orgasm that rips through you makes it difficult for you to be sure of anything.

What you are sure of is the fact that there was no bang or bullet.

Just one last CLICK (practically drowned out by your screaming) and the sensation of Dabi’s hot cum flooding your womb. He has a bruising grip on your hips, gun now discarded, and he ruts up into to making sure to stuff your cunt absolutely full of him. He begins to laugh as he softens inside you.

Your head is still spinning but once you’re able to push yourself off of him, you can finally make sense of what just happened.

He was fucking with you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yell, using weak and quivering arms to throw pillows at him while you cry so hard it makes you dry heave.

Your asshole of a boyfriend starts cackling, clutching his abdomen as if he just pulled the world’s funniest prank while your heart is beating so hard and fast you think it might break through your ribcage.

“You should have seen your face. You were so fuckin’ scared.”

You become nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat as you come to a sickening realisation.

This is not your Dabi. This is the Dabi that the rest of the world gets to see.

Evil, sadistic, merciless. This is the real Dabi.

You attempt to scramble off of the bed to get away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the humiliation. But Dabi grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. A gesture you used to treasure but now it just made your skin crawl. “C’mon Doll you didn’t think I was being serious did you?”

You writhe in his hold, hitting against his hard, toned chest with pathetic fists. “Don’t be such a crybaby. It was just a joke.” He strokes your hair oh so tenderly. But you won’t fall for that again. Dabi is a villain through and through. You know that now.  

It’s no use fighting him off though, all the fight in you is used up. You don’t know what else to do. So you do the easy thing: nuzzle your head into his chest, tremors rocking your body as you hiccup, while he holds you. That way you can pretend that you feel safe with him, just like you used to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll. I love you.”

[doctorofmagic]

So, in fairness to this ask, I haven't read strange #1 BUT I'm losing it at the idea that Clea just hurt Victor's feelings so badly he lost his motivation to fight her 🥺. And like, ok 2 things because I'm losing it but:

1. Victor losing any motivation to fight Clea after she basically said that Stephen doesn't trust or even like him (VICTOR!! Victor who is in that weird space where he is better friends with Stephen than most other heroes are. Their connection is truly bizarre but hey, that's magic, also you force a guy to sleep over at your house for a month and you think he understands the way you work, and then his wife shows up and tells you "nah fam he's always thought you were way too sketchy and specifically did something to stop you because he doesn't trust or like you" and apparently it makes you so smad you storm out without accomplishing anything you were gonna do lmao.)

2. I'm LOSING it Victor's doing it again HE'S DOING IT AGAIN!! Victor is going through the exact same process of grieving he did with Tony in Infamous Iron Man!! He is here to steal their signature things and take on the mantle to HONOR THEM HE'S DOING IT AGAIN YOUR HONOR (I know there's a LOT more perks to being SS (including the title) and Victor definitely wants those things but JUST. From a meta standpoint!! This is the second time Victor has lost a superhero friend he considers CLOSE TO HIM and the first thing, the FIRST THING HE DOES IS TRY TO FIND WAYS TO HONOR THEM I'M FUCKING CRYING YOUR HONOR) listen just. It's just me reading into it like crazy but the idea that Victor could've shown up in SOME REGARD, SOME PERCENTILE OUT OF GRIEF (not SHEER grief, I'm sure) IS MAKING ME LOSE MY SHIT.

Just. Victor is definitely a man of action and most often those actions have double meanings to them!! Yes usually it's played where something that seems good may actually be bad but THE REVERSE CAN ALSO BE TRUE FOR HIM. He wants to grieve and the only way he knows HOW is to honor the fallen and it could be that ACTUALLY (he'd snap my neck instantly for saying it and of course he's hiding it all behind pomp and anger and apathy but) HE'S DEVASTATED ABOUT STEPHENS DEATH that made him leave when Clea started saying, well, mean shit Victor ABSOLUTELY has a thick skin for after years of being belittled by superheroes!! And it's not like he genuinely takes authority above him seriously!! He like, NEVER has cared for someone being "above" him before!! the only example that comes to mind of Victor respecting someone higher up on a totem pole than him was FOR STEPHEN AS SORCERER SUPREME!!! so, SO! SO!!!

(this is such a long incomprehensible ask and I'm so sorry I'm just a poor little Victor Stan screaming about the idea of him being more hurt than he appears to be about Stephens death)

Anoooooon 😭😭😭

Okay so I have a huuuuge queue of asks but listen, when people talk about my faves in such an emotional and beautiful way, they have priority, this is my blog and I make the rules /j

Apologies in advance, my reply will be a mess as well.

I didn't really know how to feel at first, truth be told. The chapter really left me in a shocked mood about pretty much everything, especially when it comes to Victor and Clea. She was really mean to him and I wonder how she knew exactly where to go with words in order to hurt his feelings. I mean, it is canon that Stephen didn't want Victor to become Sorcerer Supreme back in New Avengers v2, but that was before Secret Wars. That was before Savage Avengers and Hellfire Gala. And Clea wasn't there in any of these occasions except for Infinity War (which also means that she's aware that Doom almost died to Thanos because of his desire for power).

At this point, I have the feeling that Clea is also aware of Stephen and Victor's relationship because, well, they are married and also connected to the magic community on Earth. She kinda knows that Stephen assisted Victor plenty of times.

I'm not so sure about Jed's portrayal of Doom, if there are actually hidden feelings or just pride (because, well, as Doom stans, we know that not all writers go that deep for him). But if we analyze his reaction when Jericho became SS compared to Clea, Victor couldn't care less about Jericho's feelings because they didn't talk about personal matters. Victor only stepped back when the light of the Eye was too much for him to bear. On the other hand... Clea said it to his face that Stephen's last desire was to make sure Victor wouldn't become the SS, which is not true. And instead of retaliating, Victor just... flinched.

Also "where were you when Stephen died?" I also have my doubts here if he's sorry for not being there or he was just not interested. There's also the possibility that he was busy with the Guardians of the Galaxy, and he now possesses Dormammu's power, which could lead them to another argument. But it's true. He didn't show up when the Mothers and the Peregrine Child arrived. Victor saved Stephen's life in Savage Avengers but he was not around when he died for real.

So we have the "old" (and I use this word carefully because I do believe Victor has plenty of character development) Doom, the cold king who doesn't show emotions. And yet, I like to think that, even though he still hides his heart beneath a literal armor, Stephen is one of the few people who are able to see through his façade. Or else, how can one explain this???

This is indulgence at its finest.

What I mean is, I deeply want to believe that Victor is here not because of power but because he wants to honor the mantle and Stephen's memories. If you think about it, Victor would have to make the Sanctum partially his home since it's a place of power and artifacts. And he knoooows the heroes would retaliate to see him as the SS. It's IIM all over again deep down.

It's tricky, ngl. I need more to be sure because I don't want to have my hopes up only to read more of one-dimensional Victor, but of course my heart CRAVES it, LONGS FOR IT. I have no idea if Victor and Clea will clash again, and the whole Dormammu's power will be brought into light. But if I could choose the plot, boi, we'd be reading T&T 2.0 with both of them teaming up to save Stephen. I'm manifesting it every single day of my life lmao. Although, since it's Clea's book, it's hard to believe she will have assistance. Unless there's character development to show that it's not good to be alone when you're the SS. Stephen more than anyone else knows that.

hhhhh and I couldn't agree more! Victor never tried to steal the mantle from Stephen because the man respects him so so so much. Also, have you ever seen Doom saying these words to ANYONE ELSE????????

I'm losing my mind too sos.

Ugh, I feel so frustrated for loving a character like Victor because while we have excellent and deep perception of his character (Hickman, Duggan, Al Ewing, Stern), we also have to deal with writers like, ew, Waid (yes, people, Waid is bad both to Stephen and Victor haha) or whoever wrote that atrocity called Fantastic Four Life Story. So it's always a surprise if Victor will be an emotional mess or just a shallow villain. I'm always here for emotional mess, obviously. And I pray that Jed is also aiming for that. I want him to break. I want him to be in shambles for failing Stephen. Because I love him and this is my love language. In the end, I think Clea made him swallow his pride and showed him that he does not deserve to claim something that was Stephen's when he was not there for him. And that really hurt him, whether it was his pride or guilt. I suppose it was a bit too much but she had a point there. And I adore this kind of angst. Also... I'm not saying it's canon or anything, but what if she resents him for not being there when Stephen died? And now he has the audacity of claiming his legacy? NOT ON HER WATCH! (ah, yes, more angst, delicious food) Anyway, I didn't make any sense, did I? I just cried over them like I always do hhh I'm sorry. But I wanted to thank you deeply for this ask, it was really so so so beautiful and I'm with you till the very end. And please feel free to interact whenever you feel like it, I'm always down for it n.n

Have a wonderful day/night 🥰

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I really wanna know what happened during the painful bath that Nanda promised Jameson a while back. Baths in whump have the potential to be so soothing and excruciating at the same time, which kinda fits Jameson’s whole character don’t you think?

CW: Pet whump, dehumanizing language, intimate whumper, dubcon touch NSFW (not explicit), implied dubcon (fade to black), referenced blood and whipping, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, creepy comfort, drowning, talk of sui (to escape torture), implied death by drowning (unnamed oc)

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

NEW VIDEOS of the Box Boy Killer! Never Before Seen!

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee 14h ago

So I got a really good response to my short series on the mysterious Box Boy Serial Killer (you can find my previous write-ups here, here, and here).

Well, recently I discovered something entirely new that I think you'd enjoy getting a look at! Found among personal items belonging to Nathaniel "Nanda" Matthew Benson: a medium-sized external hard drive containing nearly 750GB of photo and video content.

The hard drive was labeled 'Personal'. Police stated there was a second hard drive labeled 'Professional', but what content was on there, if anything, has never been released.

Technically, neither has this. Someone from within the police department leaked a bunch of videos and photos at some point, and I was able to get ahold of them thanks to a friend of a friend (who shall go unnamed, don't want to tip off whatever FBI agent is watching his internet activity, haha... or is it her or their internet activity... FBI Agent will never know.)

In my writeup on Nanda Benson's life with his Boxie, I didn't have a ton of details on how they interacted with each other. Finding this trove of info definitely changed a few things on how I view their relationship.

Take a look and let me know if it makes you maybe reconsider a few details, too. FYI: This does have nudity and some spicy times! Nothing worse than you've seen on HBO or whatever, but like, fair warning.

[Embedded Video Player With Title: Bathtime With Boxie: NSFW and Yet Somehow Still Oddly Wholesome Kind Of]

The video begins with the tub already filled with water, hot enough to gently steam. It's a gigantic soaker tub, large enough for four people to easily sit without crowding, nestled alongside a window in a truly enormous, incredibly well-lit bathroom. Everything is in shades of white, which makes the person in the frame even more immediately the enter of attention.

A young man with short, shaggy brown hair and dark eyes sits in the tub. He looks up, wrinkling his nose and glancing away. Only then does a bright red mark, darkening already to a bruise become obvious on one side of his neck.

"Don't fucking tape this," He says. His voice is slightly rough-edged, as if he's been screaming, and he sounds exhausted. "That's weird. Not taping the fucking but taping the after bit."

Red welts are visible above the line of water, marking his shoulders and arms. The welts are a deep red that is nearly purple - they are surrounded by bright red irritated flesh.

"Oh, but I like you like this." The voice holding the camera is deep and amused. The camera wobbles slightly and then settles, and soon enough a second man enters the screen. It's clearly Nanda Benson himself, stark naked.

Where the Boxie is heavily bruised and beaten, Nanda himself would be spotless if he weren’t flecked with drying red spots that are clearly the pet's blood.

"Yeah, well." The pet shifts to the side as Nanda steps in, hissing softly in contentment at the sudden burst of heat when he enters the water. He settles down against a bench set in to the side of the tub, and opens his arms.

The pet moves immediately into them, without hesitating. His eyes flicker nervously back to the camera and then away again.

"Yeah, well-... yeah well what, pet?" Nanda laughs as he pulls the Boxie into his lap, toying one hand already damp from the tub over the ring at the front of his collar. "Cat got your tongue after that fun we had together?"

"Tongue's the only thing you didn't take," The pet responds, almost playfully flirtatious. "I guess you'd miss it too fucking much."

"If I took your voice, who would call me a fucking idiot before I fuck him into the ground, hm?"

The pet flushes, looking down at the water, at the slightest pink of his blood still running into it. "Sir-"

"Ssssshhhh. I like you insulting me. I like punishing you for it more." Nanda mouths at the unmarked side of the pet's neck, pulling him back-to-chest where he sits, so he's facing the camera directly again. The pet's back arches when Nanda's teeth dig in, making a soft, high-pitched whine as his head drops back onto the man's shoulder.

The camera picks up the quiet splash of water as the pet tries to move away and is pulled roughly right back, catches the refracted sight of Nanda's hands on the pet's thighs forcing them apart, each of his calves on the outside of Nanda's thighs.

"Please-... H-hurts-"

"You love it," Nanda whispers, and bites down again, right into the crook of the pet's neck where it meets his shoulder. The cry this time is wild with a mix of pain and something darker, the pet's hands moving helplessly up and back to clasp just behind Nanda's head. His back is nearly a bow, every muscle trembling with a need to escape and to hold perfectly still, both at once.

When Nanda pulls back this time, the camera picks up the blood smeared on his teeth before he runs his tongue over them. It finds the light glinting off the fresh blood welling from the new bite along the pet's shoulder.

"It's too much," The pet says, struggling to sit back up straight, turning to look at Nanda. For a moment, his shaggy damp hair and angle hides his expression from the camera's gaze.

The twist of his spine, though, shows the bloodied whiplashes making their way up his back nearly to the nape of his neck.

"It's too much," The pet repeats, in a whisper. "Please. Please, it's too fucking much, if you fuck me again I'll fucking die. Please."

"Now, pet," Nanda teases, flirts shamelessly, running his wet hands through the pet's hair. He grips on tight and forces his head back again. The profile of the pet's face shows the slight bump of a broken nose healed almost perfectly, but not quite. The gasp he makes when Nanda's free hand presses over the welts on his chest is loud enough for the camera to catch. "You know you don't get to say when it's too much."

"You'll f-fucking kill me," The pet protests, voice tight from the angle forcing his collar to dig painfully into his throat. "Please, I... everything hurts so much..."

"You love the pain." Nanda's eyes look up to meet the camera before a more sinister smile finds its way across his face. "I know what you can take better than you do, pet, and I think you can handle one more. Sssshhh, here we go. There..." Nanda exhales softly as the two of them shift in the tub, the pet making a soft pained sound, his hips rolling as he is worked slowly down into position.

Then Nanda chuckles and slides his entire arm over the welts marking the pet's torso, holding him tightly in place. "Now take a deep breath."

"Wh-what?" The pet's eyes widen, comprehension coming a half-second too late. "Wait, don't-"

Nanda's hand gripped into the pet's hair plunges him forwards, bent at the waist, forcing the Box Boy's head suddenly under the water. The pet struggles desperate trying to get his head back up to breathe. Nanda grunts in a rhythm as his hips snap up and down again. He groans, "So fucking tight, goddamn I love you, you fucking slut for me-"

[/END VIDEO]

The video cuts off there, but my friend tells me the rest of it is basically the kind of stuff you have to pay a monthly fee for everywhere else on the internet.

But there's another video, from way later, that I find a really interesting contrast and comparison. Same friend got me this one. It involves Robert, whose write-up you can see right here.

[EMBEDDED VIDEO: Titled Holy Shit, No Wonder He Killed Him]

The screen is black for a few seconds, with the sound of someone taking the cap off a camera before things come into blurry view and then slowly into focus.

The bathroom in this video is tiny. It's barely large enough for everything in it, and a person sitting on the toilet will damn near bash their knees into the side of the bathtub. The grout in the tile floor is dark with old stains, and the tile itself needs either serious scrubbing or an exorcism.

Sitting naked in the bathtub is a young man with long blond hair that hangs in filthy, dirty clumps down to his shoulders. His face is streaked with mud and worse, and he has a black eye that has nearly swelled his left eye shut entirely. His hands are bound with rope stained brown with dried blood, held up in front of him.

His one good eye, maybe blue, follows with a kind of resigned terror the person behind the camera.

He sits in water up to his waist, but by the way he is shivering, it's clear that the water is not even warm, let alone hot. Further bruises mark his ribcage and his legs. One leg juts out in front, and something about it seems like it might be broken.

The camera is handheld, panning slowly from the young man's torn and lacerated heels and feet through his bruised leg - one swollen - and then back up to his face.

"Tell me your name." The voice is Robert Weber's.

The young man's mouth twists in a snarl that fades as quickly as it came and he looks away, to the side of the tub marked with deep soap scum. When Robert's house is searched, there are scratches in the tub as though someone had clawed that deeply into the sides in an attempt to escape. "It's..." The young man inhales, winces at the pain. "It's twe-... Twenty-One. M-My name is... Twenty-One."

"Good. And-... what did we practice saying next?"

The man's jaw trembles visibly onscreen. Then he says, flat and numb, "My name is Twenty-One and I have... two weeks to l-live."

"Perfect. Now I promised you a good scrubbing if you played along downstairs-" The young man flinches, closing his good eye and curling up in the tub as best he can. "-and I will keep that promise." There's a pause, jostling as the camera is slotted into a tripod to continue filming. Then, Robert's voice is suddenly deafening. "Dog! Get the fuck in here!"

The door opens with the creak of hinges deeply in need of oiling, and then the Boxie moves into view. He's skinny, malnourished and underfed, and his hair is roughly cut short in uneven hunks. He has bald spots worn in by the muzzle that is buckled over his mouth, making his breathing an audible rasp. He glares with unhidden hatred.

"Give Twenty-One a bath," Robert says, and his hand moves into view as he pats the Boxie on the head. The Boxie flinches but then forces himself to hold still, closing his eyes as the pat turns into prolonged petting. His muzzle is unbuckled and then removed. Robert's fingers drift over his bald spots, play along the red marks pressed into his skin by the muzzle, move over a scar cut into one side of his mouth that wasn't there in the video with Nanda.

The Boxie is naked but for an old dog collar around his neck.

Robert hums, disappears entirely from view. The door opens and closes again. The sound of a lock clicks.

The Boxie looks at the young man in the bathtub, who doesn't look up. "Fuck this shit," The Boxie mumbles, but he moves - dragging one of his legs a little, and there are ropes tied around his ankles that ensure he can do little more than shuffle - and finally kneels next to the tub. "Are you going to be a shit?"

The young man looks at him with surprise. "You... I've never heard you talk before," He whispers, looking fearfully to the side towards the door.

"You've never seen me without the fucking muzzle before, either," The pet replies. His voice is far rougher than the first video, suggesting long-term damage to his vocal chords. "I asked you something. Are you going to fight me and be a shit about this or no?"

The young man hesitates, then shakes his head. "I couldn't fight if I wanted to anymore," He says, like a man confessing a sin. "It all hurts too much. You know? I had a girlfriend-"

"Stop it." The pet cuts him off and leans over, picking up a stiff washcloth and soaking it in the water until it's soft enough to use again, running it over the young man's shoulders. For all the edge of meanness in his voice, the pet's touch is clearly gentle. "You're going to fucking die here, better if you don't talk about stuff that gets you fucked up first. Forget her."

The young man leans over to give easier access to his back. The soft whimpers he makes show that there must be some grievous injuries back there that the camera can't see. "I-I know I will. Die, I mean. Do I really have-... is it really two weeks?"

"Yeah." The pet takes a bar of soap and runs it over his own hands, rubbing them together to work up a lather. The soap found in Robert Weber's house after his death is Irish Spring and Dove - it is believed he used different soap for different captives according to his own odd whims. "He's put little heart shapes on a calendar he marks off. He'll hurt you a little worse every fucking day and then make you beg for him to end it."

The young man slowly nods, looking at his bound wrists. There's a soft sniff, but he seems too tired for tears. "There's no chance of getting away, is there."

It's not really a question.

The pet answers anyway.

"You're the twenty-first, and none of the others have. What do you think?"

"I-I can't do this."

"You have to." The pet gets a red Solo cup sitting on the side of the tub, fills it with water, and pours it down the young man's back. He hisses and cries out softly in pain. "He doesn't exactly ask your goddamn preferences."

"Help me escape," The young man pleads. "Help me get out of here."

"I'm fucking hobbled," the pet snaps. "He'll be on us both before we even made it out of the hallway. You think I'm fucking stupid? I'm the only one who might not die if I stay good. Come on, lean forward so I can wash your hair."

The young man moves to obey, hands disappearing beneath the filthy bathwater, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. He and the pet share a long, silent moment. Then he leans over far enough to put his mouth nearly to the pet's ear and whispers something so low that the camera doesn't pick up the words.

The pet inhales sharply.

He looks at the door, and then back to the young man.

"Are you sure?" He asks, and the edge is totally gone from his voice, now.

The young man nods, slowly. "Please," he says, a little louder. "If I have to-... please. Not him. I-I know you'll get punished, but... please. God, please, just this one thing." His hands come back up to grip onto the pet's hand where it lays along the side of the tub.

The young man leans forwards, and his forehead gently rests against the pet's. They are silent for a long moment.

"Please, don't let him be the one to kill me," The young man says. "I know I'm g-going to die, but... let me take that a-... away from him. Please. God, I don't even know your name, but-... please."

The pet swallows, then nods, tipping his head back to press a kiss to the young man's forehead. "I don't have a name. What's your name? I'll remember it. Your real name."

The young man's throat bobs and he whispers into the pet's ear again.

He sits back up, leaning over until some of his long hair falls into the water. "I'm-... I'm ready."

The pet takes a deep, deep breath, moves up to kneeling with his thighs vertical, lays both hands on the back of the young man's head, and says, "I hope it's better, wherever you go."

Then he pushes the young man's head underneath the water.

[/END VIDEO]

According to my friend, there's more to that video as well, but obviously it's been cut to take out the end of the poor guy. Now, my friend swears up and down the pet is crying at the end of the video, that he can see tears, but I'm not sure.

That doesn't really line up with the pet killing people before this, you know?

But one thing it does prove is that the Boxie knows the name of one of the unidentified victims. If he could be found, we could give that man back his name and get his family the closure they deserve.

I know some of you argued with me last time that the Boxie is clearly a VICTIM and not a PERPETRATOR, and I definitely admit this second video maybe suggests you're on to something there.

But I still think we have a Boxie killer on our hands here - I just think maybe I was wrong about why he's killing them at all.

I guess we'll find out if he kills again.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

​

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!

Ooohoho! This has been chilling as a draft for ages, now I have completed it. *mildly evil laughter*

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The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear...”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is...sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my...character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he...” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and...maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So...drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect...well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but...more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape...him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt...it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m...I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is... The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so...so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.

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

It’s done, this one’s quite long and I loved writing it. Geralt is useless at playing pretend, but very good at loving Jaskier in his own way. I imagine his emotion lessons with Yennefer must have been rather intense. 

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Learned Helplessness.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very patient @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Hawks/Reader (BNHA).

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Mindbreak, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Themes of Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Gaslighting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and Implied Kidnapping.

Sometimes, Keigo had to wonder if there was ever a point where you hadn’t been afraid of him.

It’d always been there, even if Keigo liked to remember your anxious smiles and stuttered greetings in a kinder light. It made sense, in the moment, the way you kept your eyes on the floor when you first approached him, struggling to introduce yourself as you fumbled with the disposable cup in your hands, caught between the urge to leave an off-shift hero alone and the temptation get your favorite idol’s autograph before he could slip out of the small, back-alley bar you found him in. You’d been nervous, obviously, hesitant to admit you were just as eager as he was when he asked for your number, when he called you for the first time – hell, it took him months just to get you to spend the night in his apartment. You were shy. He liked that about you. You’d always been so timid.

The fear, the genuine fear, started later on. He remembered it, the weeks you spent holing yourself up in the smallest corner you could find, how many times he tried to lure you out and how many times he was met screaming and thrashing and struggling, but you’d always been scared, slow to adjust, reluctant to sit still and listen when he asked you so nicely to try. You wanted to be loved, but you didn’t know how to let your guard down. You wanted him, but…

But, he was making excuses. You were never shy. You’d never really been scared. Even when things went bad, he doubted you were ever really afraid of him.

You were afraid now, though, and if he’d been a better man, he might’ve been able to admit he was the reason why.

Your hands were shaking. Violently, visibly, despite your attempts to keep them folded behind your back, to keep the evidence of your paranoia out of sight and out of mind. It was enough to give you away, though, and if it hadn’t been, your posture would’ve done it, too stiff and too rigid to be comfortable, or your bowed head, or the smile you couldn’t seem to force onto your grim expression as he let himself into the kitchen, stopping to lean in the doorway. Already, it felt like an invasion, despite the fact that he’d taken you to his villa, on his property, far away from anyone or anything you’d interact with willingly. He was home too soon, and this wasn’t his territory, anymore. He wasn’t your caretaker, anymore. He’d lost the right to think of himself as such a benevolent figure.

But, he tried. You had to give him that. Out of the two of you, he was the only one trying to make this work. “No need to be shy,” He started, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. You didn’t react well when he raised his voice, and when he tried to be more gentle, to soften himself into something delicate and unimposing, you never bought the act. He couldn’t blame you. If he didn’t know how sweet you could be, how playful and how loving, he wouldn’t know to be dissatisfied with the frightened thing you currently were. “I don’t bite, (Y/n), you know that. You can calm down.”

He wanted you to correct him. He wanted you to grit your teeth, to cross your arms, to get angry. You only nodded, narrowing your eyes at the tiling. “You… you’re early.” Your voice was quiet, barely above a mumble, but it was still an improvement. Not long ago, you’d refused to talk to him at all, and when he could choke a few words out of you, he’d have to deal with the breakdown that came afterward, the pleads for mercy forced out between hitched sobs. This was better. He could tell himself that this was better, even if it was less, too. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been there to greet you. I would’ve, if I thought you were going to—”

You were rambling, again. Keigo didn’t have a problem with that, not by itself, not when so many memories he had of your absent-minded tangents were still tinted with that sparkling, rose-colored haze, but he didn’t care for this, panicked muttering only made more painful by the way you shifted your weight, managing to hold your tense smile, this time. Did he ask you to do that? Smile when he was around? Play house and pretend you were happy when your captor chose to pay attention to you? It seemed like something he would do, back when he still thought that wearing you down was the solution. Fuck, it seemed like something he would do now, if he didn’t already know how painful it was to watch you try.

“It’s alright,” He cut you off, taking half a step forward. Instantly, reflexively, you flinched back, that slight shudder suddenly more pronounced. It wasn’t just your hands, now, your shoulders were shaking too, your jaw locking into place as you leaned into the sharp edge of the countertop. “Sweetheart,” He tried, moving forward before realizing his mistake and freezing, cursing under his breath. Predictably, none of it did anything to soothe you. “Baby, I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I got off early, and I figured we could—”

A stifled gasp interrupted him, just the hint of a sob. A month ago, he would’ve taken it as a sign of disobedience, another bad habit you had to be trained out of. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself from wishing you would cry, kick and bite and scratch at him until you’re too exhausted to care that he'd be the one comforting you. At least that way, he’d get to touch you. At least that way, you’d be something, other than afraid.

“Please, I just—I haven’t done anything!” Because you’ve been good. Because so much as being near him was a punishment. Because he wanted you to love him and now, he was paying the price for hoping he could ever do something so shamelessly heroic. “I can’t— please, don’t come any closer, I don’t know if I can—”

He wanted to hold you. That was all he could think about. He just wanted to hold you, the actual you. Not whatever shell he’d gotten used to living with. “Stop talking.”

You clenched your eyes shut, then you opened them again. Like a child, trying to blink away the remnants of a nightmare after just waking up. “I’m so—”

“Stop talking.” In his defense, he didn’t yell, he knew how much you hated it. He did yell, he didn’t throw a tantrum, not like you would’ve, not like you were about to by the time he stepped forward, crossing whatever ridiculous boundary you were so convinced he had to respect. You moved to shrink into yourself, but he grabbed you before you could collapse, catching you by the bicep and latching onto your hip, refusing to let you fall and make him seem like the bad guy. You already had your fun. You’d already gotten away with enough. You had to know he would put his foot down eventually, and you didn’t have the right to seem so shocked, when he finally did. “Just stop talking. Shut up. Don’t say a goddamn word until I tell you to, fucking brat.”

Now, now, you were crying, tears welling in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks, your entire body trembling like he’d ever given you a reason not to trust him, like he’d ever hurt you a reason to think he had anything but your happiness in-mind. He couldn’t bring himself to care, not about the tears, not about the excuses you were stumbling through, and not about the way you were holding yourself, your arms crossed over your stomach and your nails embedded in your sides, a moment away from drawing blood. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

You didn’t say anything, but he still shook his head, sighed, made a show of cupping your cheek and idly brushing away your tears. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, letting the disappointment seep into his voice, allowing his tone to dip into something superior. Compared to your whimpering, at least. “I trusted you to get better on your own, and I shouldn’t have. I thought you could pull yourself together, but clearly, I was wrong. You just can’t do anything on your own, can you?”

You looked like you wanted to say something, to argue. You didn’t, but you looked like you wanted to, and that was enough to make his heart skip a beat on its own.

“I’m tired of this.” Just as quickly as he took you up, he let you go, watching in silence as you struggled to stay on your feet. “Go to your room. Yours, not mine. I don’t want to look at you if you’re going to act like I’ve done anything but help you.”

You looked at him, at that, met his gaze for the first time since you decide doing so was a death-wish. It was only for a breath, a fraction of a second, but he still saw it – that spark, that light, that hint of something other than thoughtless, blank fear. It wasn’t positive, the adoration he would’ve liked or the resigned neutrality he would’ve tolerated, but it was something. It was something, and it had been so, so long since you’d given Keigo anything.

He couldn’t make you love him. He’d tried, he failed, and he’d tried again and made thing worse. It was over. He just couldn’t do it.

But, he was beginning to think you didn’t need to love him. Not as much as he loved you. Not at all, really.

Not if he could get you to hate him enough to make up the difference.

[promptsfromthecrypt]

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌   𝐵𝑌  𝐼𝐶𝐸  𝑁𝐼𝑁𝐸  𝐾𝐼𝐿𝐿𝑆      ( 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟾 )      ♡      𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜.

       ╰   *  𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧  𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘  𝗢𝗙  𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘.

the  following  starters  are  from  the  above  titled  album  by  the  band  𝗜𝗖𝗘  𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗘  𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗦.  some  grammar  has  been  changed  to  fit  a  roleplay  setting.  further  changes  may  be  made  as  necessary.

𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦  𝑎𝑥𝑒 – 𝑚𝑎𝑠.

silent  night ,  deadly  night  ( 1984 )

“ you  better  run  for  your  life. ”

“  at  just  ( number )  years–old ,  my  parents  were  butchered. ”

“ he  seemed  jolly  at  first. ”

“ he  let  out  a  laugh  but  then  left  us  for  dead. ”

“ that  scene ,  so  vicious. ”

“ punish  the  wicked. ”

“ don’t  ask  ( name )’s  forgiveness. ”

“ you  will  believe  in  me. ”

“ so  much  for  a  merry  christmas. ”

“ the  sinners  scream  and  shout. ”

“ i  made  sure  the  noose  was  yuletide  tight. ”

“ so  much  for  a  silent  night. ”

“ took  my  season’s  beatings  and  now  it’s  time  to  give  back. ”

“ the  hearse  is  on  it’s  way. ”

“ you’re  a  slave  to  your  vice. ”

“ it’s  fucking  garbage  day! ”

“ fa–la–la–la–la ,  feliz  navi–dead ! ”

𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒  𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

an  american  werewolf  in  london  ( 1981 )

“ it’s  tearing  me  apart  but  it’s  us  or  them. ”

“ how  can  it  be?  the  softer  the  skin ,  the  sharper  the  teeth. ”

“ call  the  nurse. ”

“ it’s  worse  when  i’m  alone. ”

“ is  it  all  in  my  head? ”

“ i’ve  fallen  prey  to  a  curse  i  can’t  disown. ”

“ is  it  all  in  my  head? ”

“ this  is  love  i  just  can’t  live  without. ”

“ i’m  counting  on  beauty  to  kill  off  the  beast. ”

“ you  bit  off  more  than  you  could  chew. ”

“ you  taste  too  good  to  be  true. ”

“ safe  in  my  arms  you  will  lay ,  ‘cause  every  dog  has  its  day. ”

𝑖𝑡  𝑖𝑠  𝑡𝘩𝑒  𝑒𝑛𝑑.

it  ( 1990  /  2017  /  2019 )

“ allow  me  to  introduce  myself.  they  call  me  the  dancing  clown. ”

“  and  you  must  be  ( name ). ”

“ did  you  hear  my  circus  was  in  town? ”

“ it  seems  i  have  your  boat  here. ”

“ step  right  this  way ,  i’m  at  your  service  with  a  smile. ”

“ believe  me ,  it’s  nothing  to  fear. ”

“ you’ll  see  that  we  all  float  down  here. ”

“ prey  on  the  pure  at  heart ,  feed  on  their  body  parts.  ”

“ i’ve  got  some  big  fucking  shoes  to  fill. ”

“  follow  me  and  i’ll  show  you  the  truth. ”

“ catch  me  at  the  big  top. ”

“ you  know  i’m  not  clowning  around. ”

“ even  with  a  smile  ear  to  fuckin’  ear.  ”

“ it’s  everything  you  know ,  it’s  everything  you  fear. ”

“ it’s  more  than  just  a  costume  and  red  balloons. ”

“ it’s  coming  back  around  every  twenty–seven  years. ”

“ you  know  what  makes  me  smile?  devoured  juveniles. ”

“ chuckled  so  hard  i  choked. ”

“ they  say  that  laughter  is  the  best  medicine. ”

“ it  is  the  end ,  it’s  come  again. ”

“ believe  it  or  not ,  you’ll  all  disappear.  ”

“ it  cannot  be  fought ,  we  all  float  down  here. ”

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟  𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟'𝑠  𝑢𝑝

scream  ( 1996 )

“ hello  there. ”

“ soon  you’ll  discover.  ”

“ i’m  sorry  sir ,  but  i  think  you  have  the  wrong  number. ”

“ tell  me  your  name  and  i’ll  tell  you  mine. ”

“ my  name?  but  why? ”

“ you  picked  up  the  phone  when  mom  and  dad  left  you  alone. ”

“ i  wanna  know  who  i’m  looking  at. ”

“ when  your  number’s  up ,  it’s  time  to  scream. ”

“ don’t  you  know  not  to  ask  those  questions? ”

“ what  will  become  of  me? ”

“ you  ought  to  know  it’s  a  sure  death  sentence. ”

“ have  you  not  seen  this  movie? ”

“  freddy ,  michael ,  jason  voorhees–––  learn  from  those  who  came  before  me. ”

“ i’m  hangin’  up  the  phone. ”

“ my  mom  and  dad  will  soon  be  home. ”

“ i  won’t  fall  victim  to  the  blade. ”

“ i  wanna  see  what  your  insides  look  like. ”

“ how  could  you  be  so  evil? ”

“ our  film  is  nearly  finished  and  for  you ,  there  is  no  sequel. ”

“ guess  i’ll  leave  your  body  on  the  cutting  room  floor. ”

“ all  bets  are  off–––  i  just  buried  drew  barrymore. ”

“ when  the  cops  find  the  phone ,  the  call’s  still  listed  as  unknown. ”

“ it’s  the  end  of  the  line  and  all  that’s  left  is  a  dial  tone. ”

“ the  knife  in  you  brings  out  the  life  in  me. ”

𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

cover  of  “ thriller ”  by  michael  jackson

“ it’s  close  to  midnight  and  somethin’  evil’s  lurkin’  in  the  dark. ”

“ under  the  moonlight ,  you  see  a  sight  that  almost  stops  your  heart. ”

“ you  try  to  scream ,  but  terror  takes  the  sound  before  you  make  it. ”

“ as  horror  looks  you  right  between  the  eyes  you’re  paralyzed. ”

“ this  is  thriller  night. ”

“ no  one’s  gonna  save  you  from  the  beast  about  to  strike. ”

“ you  hear  the  door  slam  and  realize  that  there’s  nowhere  left  to  run. ”

“ you  feel  the  cold  hand  and  wonder  if  you’ll  ever  see  the  sun. ”

“ you  close  your  eyes  and  hope  that  this  is  just  imagination. ”

“ you  hear  a  creature  creepin’  up  behind–––  you’re  out  fo  time. ”

“ darkness  falls  across  the  land ,  the  midnight  hour’s  close  at  hand. ”

“ creatures  crawl  in  search  of  blood  to  terrorize  your  neighborhood. ”

“ whosoever  shall  be  found  without  the  soul  for  gettin’  down  must  stand  and  face  the  hounds  of  hell  and  rot  inside  a  corpse’s  shell. ”

“ i  can  thrill  you  more  than  any  ghoul  could  ever  dare  try. ”

“ so  let  me  hold  you  tight  and  share  killer  thriller  tonight. ”

“ the  foulest  stench  is  in  the  air. ”

“ grisly  ghouls  from  every  tomb  are  closin’  in  to  seal  your  doom. ”

“ though  you  fight  to  stay  alive ,  your  body  starts  to  shiver. ”

“ no  mere  mortal  can  resist  the  evil  of  the  thriller. ”

[imthatchishiyasimp]

I fucked my way into this mess, and I’ll fuck my way out.

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

“Oh shit” was all I could say, looking at the now crimson red-hoodie.

“You better fix that”.

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

Hi!!! Had this idea and couldn't resist writing about it, also the title helped to develop it hahahaha.

it's not NSFW, but it hints a bit about it at the end, so be careful. Also, TW: death and blood are both mentioned and described.

The previous game night I got my sweatshirt broken, and since then I had been borrowing people’s clothes. I wasn’t able to search for a new decent one and I was planning on scabaging a few stores on my way back to the Beach after this game.

I had managed to steal a few clothes from Kunai and some other people, and they didn’t mind. No one minded but Chishiya, that bastard. His hoodies were so clean and soft, wonders where he took them. So, given that he didn’t want to lend them over, I broke into his room and stole the best one. It was pure white, big and comfy with a front pocket and a hood.

He wasn’t supposed to go out and play tonight, so it would have been fine. He wasn’t even in the car when I got there. But, out of nowhere, he was at the lobby of the game arena I was supposed to clear.

I mean, the mad look he gave me? Dude, I was scared.

We were playing a spades game, an easy one. In total there were eight participants, two of them were new to the games and scared to the bone.

“REGISTRATION HAS CLOSED. THERE ARE A TOTAL OF 8 PARTICIPANTS. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.”

I looked around and saw a path going up the stairs and into a wide corridor. Two small tables were placed at the bottom of them, one holding the phones left after we all took our own, and the other one with several collars. I had heard of them in other games, but I didn’t have the pleasure of trying them on.

While the phones were informing us of the difficulty of the game, I got closer to Chishiya, step by step, judging if he was mad enough to give me the silent treatment. Apparently not, because he didn’t push me away nor did he go to the other corner of the mini crowd we formed. I tucked my hand into the pocket and balanced on my toes, listening to the rules of the game.

“GAME: TARGET SHOOTING.”

“PLEASE, PUT ON THE COLLARS PLACED ON THE TABLE”.

Reluctantly, we all clasped the collar around our necks. It felt wrong and cold, like the hand of a murderer patiently waiting to squeeze harder and harder until you died. I swallowed hard, rolling my head and trying to get used to the feeling. My eyes drifted to Chishiya’s form and I wasn’t surprised to find him unaltered. His hands were hidden in his pockets, his face covered by the hood, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes.

He looked at me, from head to toes. Would he forgive me because I looked good in his clothes? Probably not, but I could wish.

“RULE: MANAGE TO SHOOT ACCURATELY TO THE TARGET WITH THE CROSSBOWS LEFT IN EACH ROOM”.

“CLEAR CONDITION: PASS THE 10 ROOMS WITH PERFECT AIM. IF YOU FAIL, YOU WILL BE ELIMINATED. IF YOU MAKE ANOTHER PLAYER SHOOT IN YOUR TURN, YOU WILL BE ELIMINATED”.

“TIME LIMIT: 30 MINUTES, EACH ROOM HAS A MAXIMUM OF 3 MINUTES. IF YOU DON’T CLEAR THE ROOM IN THAT TIME, YOU WILL BE ELIMINATED”.

“THE GAME WILL START ONCE YOU OPEN THE DOORS”.

Without a word, we all took the stairs up to the first mark pointing to door number 1. Some guy opened it and we walked inside. It was almost empty, leaving one table with a crossbow and a handful of arrows. At the end of the room there was a kind of dart-board, but the red center was way bigger than usual. Just a few steps from the door there was a mark with two feet, signaling the shooting position.

Our phones chimed with the time starting the countdown. Below the time apparead the face of one of the players, giving him the first turn. A black haired boy took the crossbow with confidence, getting the arrow ready and shooting with efficiency.

“Are you mad at me?” I whispered to Chishiya.

He gave me the eye and grunted. “I clearly remember telling you not to steal my clothes. Are you going deaf?”

I giggled and hid my nose in the hoodie. It smelled like him, one of the very first reasons why I stole it. I love the way he smells of new things, undiscovered fragrances and fresh days. It brought me peace and calm; I felt safe.

“I was cold and couldn’t find anything else. You weren’t supposed to see, I thought you weren’t due yet”.

The first three participants did well, the last one getting too close to the limit but managing anyway. I was next.

Taking an arrow and getting ready for the shooting, I placed myself on the mark and breathed deeply. I didn’t like guns, but I had a good aim when needed. With a clear shot, I gave the crossbow to the next player.

We all passed the room within the time limit and left for the next one. Given the easiness of the first room, a bust of confidence started to grow in each player, so when the target became a pain to shoot, panic bursted in the room.

It was room 4 where the first player died. An old woman that was trembling with fear and exhaustion missed the red circle. She dropped the crossbow and looked at us in fear, grabbing the collar and pulling with force. I walked backwards until I met the opposite wall. Chishiya was next to me, with his eyes locked in the body of the lady going down after the bomb exploded. I couldn’t look at it.

The next player had to move her body to be able to step on the mark, and that was when all of us were aware of the situation. While I knew what the collar meant, some of the participants didn’t.

“I will return it after the game, I promise. Just wait until we finish and I’m able to take something from some mall” I told him walking towards room number 6. No one was talking, so my voice was easy to pick up above the steps of the players. They looked at me from the corner of their eyes, wondering how I was so calm, how I was able to think of something else apart from the game.

Chishiya brought my hood up and placed it on my head, covering my hair with it. “If you don’t bring it back, you will face consequences” And then he walked faster to the next room. I gulped, not wanting to know what would await me if I didn’t. The feeling of his fingers through the strands of my hair still alive on my mind.

Room 8 only held four players. Chishiya and I were with the boy with shooting experience and a girl with short hair. Both of them were young and composed, getting through the game without a word from their lips.

It was getting noticeably difficult. The target was in higher places and getting smaller by the point. A headache was starting to grow and it made me clench my fingers more often, almost making me shoot a moment before I was ready. The pressure of the time was smaller since we were less people, but it meant we took more time to get ready and I was getting nervous.

The four of us made it to room 10. It looked like the last one, extremely difficult with a very small target and too high to comfortably shoot. The boy was called first and he got ready to shoot. His confidence had wavered in the last rooms, same as the rest, but he still made an effort on showing a calm facade.

I was sure he was gonna clear the game. I think all of the players in the room thought so. And I was behind him, waiting for my turn, looking anxiously at the time getting close to the end. But also, we all thought there wasn’t going to happen anything else. No one saw the vents opening and giving a rush of air, making the arrow go a bit to the left and missing the target. It was a soft breeze, but enough to change the course of the arrow.

“No. No, no, no. No! This wasn’t supposed to happen! They didn’t tell! It’s not fair! I was the first one to shoot!” He shouted. He started screaming at us because now we knew about it. He died in the middle of a cry, shaking me from the shoulders. And I just stood there, listening to his cries and too shocked to fight him.

I got all his blood spattered on myself, his dead eyes printed on my mind.

I don’t recall what happened after. I just remember throwing the body of the dead player to one side, taking the crossbow and shooting to the target. I almost missed, having miscalculated the force of the air released by the vents. I think the girl went after me and cleared the game too. We waited until Chishiya shot and stood there, listening to the beeping sound of the phones.

“GAME CLEAR”.

“CONGRATULATIONS”.

Leaving the hotel next to Chishiya was a bit awkward. He was playing with the card in his hands, looking at it with an interesting face. And he wasn’t talking, not even humming. He liked to point out things about the game after he cleared them, about the rules, the players or the place we played in. But he didn’t. We arrived at the nearest car that was going to the Beach and I made a move to get in. I wasn’t in the mood of walking all the way back, but Chishiya stopped me before I could open the door.

“Nope, you are not coming” He told me, pushing me away from the car.

“What? Why?” I asked, frowning my eyebrows. He pointed to my chest and I looked down. “Oh shit” It was so far gone. There was not a single white spot in the hoodie. It was absolutely red. “Oh fuck, oh no, I’m so sorry”. I looked at him, my face showing full remorse, big eyes asking for forgiveness. I tried to reach him, failing when he moved out of my reach.

He just smirked and shook his head. “I will wait until tomorrow night. You better fix that before then”. And he got in the car, leaving me alone in the street, hands still in the air.

“Chishiya you bastard! I didn’t do it on purpose!”

So there I was, going into every shop I could find, searching for an identical hoodie and taking advantage of the trip to pick a few things for myself. It wasn’t a special hoodie or something, but most of them were either the wrong size or too dirty. I took my precious time looking for a perfect one, also taking some more to give as an apology and for me to match. We would see who would try to steal then.

I had miscalculated the time it would take me to walk back to the Beach. The ride to the game arena was a bit longer than usual, but I didn’t think walking would take me that much.

The sun was going down when I reached the Beach. I was famished and thirsty as hell. I was only able to take a fast lunch and I walked a too long distance. I went straight to the kitchens and I gulped down a full bottle of water with some snacks.

After I was satisfied, I stood and took my bags to my room, putting away the clothes I picked and changing into something clean. Taking the ones I chose for Chishiya, I left my room and went to his.

I knocked and waited until I heard footsteps coming to open the door. I fought a smile miting my lip and tried to remain calm. He opened the door just a bit to see who was knocking, opening fully seeing me there.

“Do you like this one?” I said while turning around and opening my arms. “It’s exactly the same one, size and all, and don’t forget the hood and the pocket!” I watched him lean into the door frame and smirk behind his hair. He gave me a look crossing his arms and letting out a breathy laugh.

I remained serious and gave a sorry look. “I mean, if you don’t like it, I have a few more for you to choose. Here, let me try them on so you can see how they look” Taking the sleeves, I pulled my arms out and started to take the hoodie off in the middle of the corridor.

I heard him moving just when I was about to take it off. Suddenly I was being dragged by the arm and thrown into Chishiya’s room.

I laughed out loud, almost tripping because of the strength and the lack of vision due to the hoodie being over my head. His room smelled like he did and I was high on it.

“Do you need to be such a pain for me to do something?” He said with a smug voice, taking the hoodie completely off me. His dark eyes checked me out and I felt so vulnerable under his gaze that I felt chills running through my body.

Could he be any more handsome? The way this eyes held the whole world’s knowledge made me shiver in both fear and awe. The white strands of hair dancing around his face, making him shine even more. His smile, a rare but precious sight.

His touch was warm and delicate. His fingers went through my hair, to my cheekbones and to my neck, going slowly and leaving me breathless.

I took a step forward and grabbed at his clothes, feeling brave for a moment, getting close to his ear to whisper with a soft and heavy voice: “It worked, didn’t it?” Besides, now I know what it takes to bring you down”.

“You’re on”.

[howlingday]

the girls of rwby (along with nora and pyrrha) are all goddesses who have come to judge humanity... it's not going well and should it continue humanity will be destroyed

only one man can save us, JAUNE ARC! he will have to seduce and romance every one of them to save us all!

.... so how screwed is humanity?

Vice and Virtue

Long ago, far longer than you may remember, there was a time when humanity was truly in it's darkest hour. Horrible, black beasts known as Grimm rampaged across the land, destroying everything man had made. It seemed destiny deemed us unworthy of living, and we were condemned to perish like smoke in the wind.

But then they arrived. Seven, beautiful goddesses fell from the heavens and slew the beasts. Humanity was saved, but the goddesses' work was not yet done, for each bestowed a gift upon us.

From Ruby, the youngest of the Seven, came steel. She taught us to forge tools and weapons to defend ourselves from the Grimm, should we be beyond their grace. Thus, she was declared The Daughter of the Forge.

From Weiss, the stern lieutenant of the Seven, came Dust, a magical element designed to imbue our weapons and tools with properties of the elements themselves! Thus, she was known as the The Heiress of the Elements.

From Blake, the most recluse of the Seven, came knowledge. She taught us to read and write, as well as gifted us with a broader perspective of the world at large. Thus, she was awarded the title of The Mistress of Tomes.

From Yang, the most aggressive of the Seven, came strength. She taught us to no longer fear the beasts, but to grow angry and strike back tenfold of what we lost! Thus, she was acknowledged as The Mother of the Heart.

From Nora, the kindest of the Seven, came joy. She bestowed upon us the gift of laughter, the ability to think positively, to shirk away the horrors of the dark and to accept the light. Thus, she was accepted as the Queen of Laughter.

Yes, yes, children. I am about to tell you of our final goddess; the one who leads both the Seven as well as ourselves. However, you must know that she was the only one of the Seven to not gift humanity with a blessing, for she foresaw a great darkness within humanity; a terrible, evil thing that corrupts us, and forces our will to sin. So, instead, she ordered us to obey the Doctrine of Destiny.

Yes, my children; the very same Doctrine your parents order you to obey every day, from the Sun's Dawn to the Moon's Dusk. Thus, for this order, she was Pyrrha, Champion of Destiny!

Now, how do the Seven rule over us? Well, it all began long ago...

"Aaaaaaugh!" Nora screamed. "This is so boring! Can we please watch a different mortal?!"

"Not yet!" Ruby shouted back. "I need to see if he wins her!"

"You can look back at the dumb sword later!"

"I'll show you a dumb sword!" Ruby leaped over the table, tackling Nora. "It's called my fist!"

"Nora toss!" Ruby flew through the air, landing into Yang and Blake as the two were passing by.

Blake groaned as she sat up from her fall. She looked down at the dazed, smaller goddess, whose head was in her lap. Once Ruby came to, she immediately fell asleep. Blake grumbled and pinched Ruby's cheeks to wake her.

Yang, however, leapt from her fall and charged around the table, chasing the fleeing Nora. The shorter girl wailed and cried as she was pursued, but this did not slow the golden goddess. If anything, it spurred her to pick up her pace.

Weiss, sat down and watched as the mortal failed his test, the sword carried away by an older man, presumably his father. She swiped to a different mortal, who was cowering as another portal pushed him towards the water. Bored with him, she swiped again.

Pyrrha stepped down from her alcove to investigate the chaos. She watched as Yang chased Nora, Ruby sleep on top of Blake, and Weiss swipe across mortals on the viewing port. She sighed as she walked down the steps to the port. Extending a hand, she caught Yang, letting Nora continue to run. As Yang swung at Pyrrha, she caught her fist.

"Stop." Yang lowered her fist, and head, and sat down next to Weiss.

Pyrrha then made her way to Blake, trapped by the sleeping goddess in her lap. She knelt down and tapped her face. The goddess stirred, but did not wake.

"He failed." Ruby immediately awoken and rushed to the port. There she argued with Weiss to use it. Pyrrha helped Blake up and led her to the table, where she sat next to Yang. "Nora." The girl stopped, looking to Pyrrha. "Sit." She did as she was told.

Weiss returned the port to the downtrodden young man in the port. He was sitting on a stump, head down as he sighed.

"Oh no!" Ruby cried. "He did fail!"

"So what? It was just a sword." Nora commented.

"You're just a sword!" Ruby stood to restart her assault, but Yang shot her a glare, and she sat down.

"I'm sure it was a really good sword, but it's not worth fighting over." Yang said, trying to calm Ruby. She watched as the boy sat and moped, head in his hands. She twisted her face in discomfort as she thought. 'Could do without his moping, though.'

"Agh!" Pyrrha gripped her head as her emerald eyes shined with a beautiful, green light. As beautiful as it was, however, it could not compare to the agonizing burning sensation she felt in her head. The others watched, for they knew what this was. It was the reason she was the head of the goddesses, their leader blessed with a powerful gift. Pyrrha was recieving a prophecy, a vision of a destiny to be realized.

And from the pain she was in, it was a prophecy to come soon. A fate that often ended in a death.

The young man stood before Pyrrha, sword in hand. He raised his blade high above him, both hands gripping the hilt, and brought it low. The next image was of the young man weeping over the fallen form of the goddess. She lay still at his feet, his blade soaked in blood.

When Pyrrha came to from her vision, the others surrounded her.

"Step away," Weiss called out, "let her breathe!"

"What happened?" Nora kneeled next to Pyrrha, refusing to back away as the others had. "Did you have a vision?"

"Yes." Pyrrha stood on shaky legs as Nora guided her to her feet. "I foresaw that man, and he will be my death."

The others stood in silence, each slowly turning their heads to the morose lad on his seat. Nora and Ruby shared a look of concern, while Yang and Weiss grit their teeth in anger. Blake, however, approached the port. She studied the mortal as though he were a puzzle to be solved.

After a few moments, she sighed, looking back to Pyrrha. "What do you suggest?"

"I say we kill him!" Yang barked with rage. "A mortal who threatens the goddesses must be dealt with severely!"

"Must you be so barbaric?" Weiss rolled her eyes. "I suggest we place him in the Dust mines. Some hard labor will deter any attack."

"We could just, you know, ignore him?" Nora offered. "He doesn't have a sword, so I don't see why we should even bother worrying about him."

"I say we steal his sword!" Ruby leapt onto the table around the porthole. "He can't hurt us if he doesn't have it!"

Blake sighed, and walked to Pyrrha. Guiding her to her seat, she knelt next to her and massaged her hand. As Pyrrha regained her bearings, Blake asked again.

"What do you suggest?"

Jaune Arc carried hay from the storage unit to the stable. As he tossed it over the fence, two horses approached him, a stallion and a mare. The stallion was black with a fiery-orange mane, and a temper to match. The mare was white with a mane of gold, and spirit as gentle as a morning breeze.

The two shared this stable since they were purchased by his family years ago, since Jaune was only a lad. He had always dreamed of being a warrior, fit for his family name, but it seems he was only fit for tending to these two. But he didn't mind. These two were his responsibility, after all, so it wouldn't be fair to leave them alone for him to play hero.

Still, though, the thoughts never left his mind. He imagined battling ferocious monsters. He dreamed rescuing damsels and the innocent from the wicked. He fantasized traveling outside these lands atop his horse.

But which one? The stallion was certainly brave, if his temper was any way of telling. But his temper was mostly directed towards Jaune. If the boy traveled too close to the stable, the stallion would rear back and charge towards him, before tearing back again and stomping his hooves around him.

Perhaps the mare then? Ah, but where the stallion was bold, she was as shy. She would often hide away into the shade of the stable, leaving it's safety only for meals or when no one else was nearby. She wasn't a mare for heroics. To say she was a mare for anything besides shying away would be completely untrue.

As the two ate from their pile, Jaune leaned in and pet their heads. The stallion grunted while the mare's ears flicked. He smiled and leaned against the fence, sighing with satisfaction.

"Such beautiful creatures, no?"

Jaune looked to his right and saw a robed figure standing next him. They were tall, with a deep crimson robe with golden trimmings. The voice sounded feminine, leading Jaune to think the figure was a woman. She turned and smiled at him, the robe covering the rest of her face. "What are their names?"

"Names?" Jaune looked to the horses, holding his chin with his fingers. "I... don't know. We never named them."

"No? Beautiful creatures deserve beautiful names, no?" She extended her pale, delicate hand towards him. "Like yourself. I'm sure you have a beautiful name."

Jaune blushed a bit at that. "Uh, Jaune. My name is Jaune."

"Jaune." She said his name with a sigh, like it was a pleasant breeze on a clear, summer day. "Why haven't you named these horses, Jaune?"

"I... I don't know." He turned around and leaned back against the fence. "I never thought about naming them."

"Never?" Jaune shook his head. The woman pointed her finger at the stallion, who snorted and flared his nostrils at her. "You have a fiery soul; a temper like a volcano, and twice as dangerous. Henceforth, you will be Vulcan."

The stallion stomped his hooves at his naming, like a child throwing a tantrum. The woman giggled at this and reached into the stable.

"Wait! Don't-!" Jaune reached to woman, but as he grabbed her, he slipped and fell onto his face. He wiped to mud from his face and witnessed something unbelievable.

Vulcan, the stallion who never let anyone near his stable without an offering, placed his head against the woman's palm. He breathed calmly as she stroked her thumb along his hair. She removed her hand and kneeled to lift Jaune to his feet.

"What about her?" She asked, gesturing to the mare. "What would her name be?"

Jaune looked at the mare. She looked back at him, almost expectantly, as she shook her head. She was beautiful; a horse many would fight for just to have and gloat about it. If Jaune were a warrior, he would be proud to be held aloft by such a magnificent creature.

"Gloria." He said. "Her name is Gloria." She trotted by to her shade, but he noticed that she had livelier steps in her canter. He chuckled.

"But what about you?" Jaune looked to the woman. "Does this beautiful creature have a name?"

The woman chuckled. "Indeed." She removed her hood with a smile, and down her head flowed a beautiful river of hair that reminded him of a fire-pit, with piercing eyes like those of gemstone. "I am the disciple of my goddess, the Lady of Black, and my name is Cinder Fall."