#with a straight face and looks me dead kn the eyes

[arcwrath]

Not my boss bringing up what she said to me yesterday after seeing a pic of me in a wig☠️ she got me rolling AGAIN

[willowser]

How much do I have to pay for more nerd Kiri?? CUZ I WILL

you see him again in the break room — which is odd, considering he's got his own on the other end of the building.

in the middle of reheating your lunch, staring dead-eyed into microwave as the seconds tick by, and then a little red blip is gracing the edges of your vision. when you look up from the 100-year-old creaking contraption, kirishima's back is turned — undoubtedly his back, considering the width — and his hands are fists at his sides and he's awkwardly shuffling back down the hall.

you pout a little, because you haven't been getting very far with him; all your attempts at flirting — both in person and over instant messenger — have gone either completely ignored or completely over his head, and you're starting to wonder if sero was just gassing you up as a prank. you wouldn't put it past him.

— but then he's back, facing you this time as he reenters the break room. the little wave he gives you is timid, as shy as the small up-turn of his lips.

"hey," you say conversationally, watching on as he nods and walks up to the cabinet above the microwave. kirishima peers inside for a long moment, like he can't find what he's looking for, though you have no idea what that could be. "forget something?"

"huh?" his eyes snap to you instantly, eyebrows raised. "no, no! i was just, uh, checking for, uh—" he shrugs then, taking a deep breath before offering you another smile. "how's the rubberband war going with hanta?"

"ugh, don't remind me," you roll your eyes as he laughs, quiet and cute. "it's 17 to 8 right now, and i'm surprised he hasn't taken out my eye yet."

"man," kirishima takes another long look into the cabinet before abandoning it to spin around and lean back against the counter. when he crosses his arms, you watch the material of his shirt strain over his biceps, the plush of his chest as he presses into his pecs. "you might wanna work on your aim."

"so i've been told," you stick your tongue out at him, lips curling when he has to look away in favor of scratching at the side of his thick neck, smiling at the floor. "you should help me, since you know how much of a menace he is."

"uh, yeah, i mean," he shrugs and pushing his glasses up his nose, having to blink when the lenses get too close to his long, dark eyelashes. "maybe i could make like, i don't know, a target or something on some sticky notes or—"

"no, lemme get some real practice in, by firing right at your cute little glasses here." when you gently tap the arm of them, his eyes shoot up to the ceiling, cheeks pink. all you get is a quiet uh. "c'mon, i'll make it worth your while. buy you a beer or something after work."

"nah, i can't—i can't let you do that."

you frown, feeling deflated once again. "why not?"

"because," the top button of his light blue shirt is undone and he fiddles with it for a moment, as he chews on his lip. "because i should be buying you the beer."

"okay," you grin and his eyes dart up, taking in the curve of your cheeks. "buy me one then."

"okay," the little laugh he lets out is full of nerves, but the smile on his face is charming, triumphant. "i've, uh, got dnd—or this, uh, game—sort of thing i play, or do, with my friends, but i can cancel!"

"oh, well, you have this 'game sort of thing that you do' at your house?" you grin again when he nods, cheeks red, and resist the urge to throttle him for being so fucking cute. "then why don't i have the beer at your place, so you don't have to cancel?"

"uh, no, no," kirishima's demeanor changes immediately as he stands straight, shaking his head as he stares down at his shoes. "no, it's, uh, kinda like—i don't know—weird, and i don't want you to have to sit through my nerd stuff."

"maybe i like nerd stuff," you bite your lip when he looks at you again, smothering another sultry little smile as his eyes zero in in your mouth. "dragons and elves and shit like that. after everybody leaves, we can play princess in a castle and you can be my knight in shining armor."

"uh," he laughs again, jittery, and takes a small step back when you try to lean into him. "i thought we were doing it—uh, doing the rubberband thing."

you can't help it; a small groan leaves your throat as you deflate. again. "kirishima, you're killing me here."

he exhales heavily, unable to even look at you as he speaks breathlessly. "sorry! uh, yeah, no, it starts at, um, 7 if you really wanna come."

"okay," you lightly tap your foot against his twice before turning back to the microwave, jabbing the numbers again because your food has surely gone cold at this point. "save me a seat, then."

"yeah, okay, i definitely will."

you can feel his eyes tracing over your profile, but if you have to look at his big, crimson eyes or pink cheeks any longer, you'll lose your mind, and so you direct your smile at the microwave. unceremoniously, he awkwardly shuffles around you, shoulders tense as he makes an abrupt exit.

— but he turns, suddenly, and when you look up, he's got one hand in his hair, gripping it lightly.

"did you really wanna do the princess thing or—i could, i don't know—" he turns away one last time when you can't help but to giggle, barely suppressing his own smile as you call out to him that, yes, you would love to do the princess thing, with him.

[amesvertes]

hi yami !! i hope you’re having a wonderful day my love! i wanted to request a ronal x black!human! fem!reader fic where reader awakens something in ronal and she’s like “i must’ve been cursed by eywa” and tonowari is like “babe, you think she’s hot 😭”

sjsjsjsjsj i hope this made sense. i’m clearly so down bad for her that i’m being incoherent. thank you for even reading this !! you’re so sweet!

BROWN SKIN GIRL. ronal & tonowari

warnings: minors dni!/swearing/black fem!reader/ronalxreaderxtonowari/allusions to smut in the end. summary: in which you, the pilot who flew norm and max to tend to kiri, end up catching the attention of both the tsahik & olo'eyktan, a/n: allllyyyyy!!!! i love you so much for this request!!! got me writing a part two as we speak.

ronal stepped back as soon as kiri woke up, allowing neytiri to rush to her daughter's side. the sully children gave thanks to her before following their mother's actions, making the tsahik's gaze soften, even if it was for a second.

she soon snapped out of her trance with the sound of tonowari clearing his throat in the entrance of the marui. the tsahik sighed, walking towards her mate with a tired expression. the couple then made their way out, walking side by side towards the beach.

"this family will be the death of me." she grumbled, carrying her basket of tools in one hand while the other held her mate's hand. tonowari chuckled at her words, shaking his head. "they are growing on you, i can tell." he replied, humming softly when ronal nudged him playfully. "they had already grown on you from the start." she teased with the hint of a smile.

"they have strong hearts, and they have learnt our ways quick, haven't they?" tonowari responded, looking down at his mate. ronal sighed, "fine, i'll give them that." her smile finally broke through, making a goofy grin form on tonowari's face, "there's my favourite smile…"

the tall na'vi's voice trailed off as he stopped dead in his tracks, staring straight ahead. ronal's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "what is it? what are you looking at…" the tsahik followed his train of sight.

and there you were, standing next to norm, deep in conversation. your hair was braided back in a similar hairstyle to neytiri's, your skin was a deep brown that glowed in the sun, your lips were glossy and brown before they turned into a shade of pink, your figure was lean and tall, well taller than the other human that had accompanied norm, and, mother of eywa, when you turned to the side the mated couple's eyes widened.

ronal's thoughts were interrupted by tonowari's tail hitting the back of her legs. she nudged him, "why is your tail wagging?" she questioned, accusingly. tonowari's eyes narrowed, "why is your tail wagging?" he countered, making the tsahik look back. and clear as day, her tail was swishing.

"eywa have mercy." she muttered, running a hand over her face. tonowari looked back at her, "you… you don't find her attractive? do you?" he questioned with a pointed expression. "do you find her attractive?" ronal questioned back. tonowari shrugged, "i mean, i don't kn- hey, i asked first." he frowned.

"so what if i do?" she answered quietly making tonowari's eyes widen. "but you do too," ronal added quickly, attempting to brush it off.

they stood in silence for a few seconds, "let's go talk to her."

meanwhile, you stood there, oblivious to the gawking taking place a few metres away from you.

you snickered, "well maybe, just maybe, eywa is real." you spoke, preparing yourself for the argument norm was about to present. "but-" you shushed him, "don't get your panties in a twist, we'll probably never know the answer. but if what that lady was doing worked, without medicine, there could be a possibility. but hey, what do i know? i'm just a pilot." you shrugged as norm shook his head.

"first of all, that lady was the tsahik. secondly, she's staring at us right now so if we're in trouble it's your fault." you turned at his words, confusion etched into your face.

and surely enough there were two na'vis, burning holes into the back of your head. you turned back to norm quickly, "oh no, you don't think she heard me, do you?" you questioned, shuddering. norm shrugged, "why don't you ask her?"

you turned once again, only to see them walking towards you. "shit." you cursed under your breath turning back immediately to norm.

"you," a deep voice spoke from behind you, making you jump in surprise before you turned around.

you looked up at the source of the voice, a tall, handsome na'vi with tied back curly hair. his eyes were an electric blue, staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

"what are you called?" the tsahik asked next, looking down at you with the same strange expression.

you were quiet for a few seconds, shocked to your core, but norm quickly kicked you in the shin. "i- er- y/n, y/n l/n." you coughed out, clearing your throat awkwardly afterwards.

"well, y/nl/n, you cannot leave." the male spoke once again. you choked on your saliva, "excuse me?" you rose one of your eyebrows and placed your hands on your hips.

"my mate means you cannot leave, tonight. there is a storm brewing in the direction you came that will last for a few days. it will be dangerous for flying in your- sky people contraption. we advise you to stay if you wish to live." the tsahik spoke, her voice was rich and melodic, very much like her husband's.

you gnawed on your lip before sighing in defeat, "is there any place for us to stay? and any change of clothes?" you asked.

ronal almost got light headed with the thought of you in metkayina clothing, skin exposed.

"there is an empty marui near jakesully's, and i'm sure my wife can heir a seamstress to make you something." the olo'eyktan smiled, a smile that sent goose bumps all over your skin. ronal nodded in agreement, shooting you the same chilling smile. you sighed, "okay."

now it was night time and you stood in front of a mirror, staring at yourself while the hired seamstress pulled at your new and improved clothing.

the loincloth made for you was, skimpy to say the least. it consisted of a thong a makeshift mini skirt made out of small shell chains that hardly hid the flesh of your ass. your top wasn't at all modest either, made out of shells once again, but it thankfully hid your now perky nipples.

the seamstress hummed in what sounded like approval, "nice body, but short." she poked at your ass making you yelp. you huffed, staring at yourself in the mirror once again. "no time for admiration, food is finishing." she reminded you, making sure you left her marui and walked towards the bonfire.

"here goes nothing…"

you walked into the clearing, trying to ignore the stares being given your way as you squeezed pass groups of metkayina people, careful not to step on anyone's tail.

the fish you were given was smaller compared to everyone else's, but you didn't mind, you wouldn't be able to finish anything of that amount. you sighed as you looked around the sea of people, wishing the sully's hadn't stayed in to tend to kiri.

so you decided to head down to the beach, sitting on a rock near your helicopter and eating with the eclipse being your only form of entertainment.

you had also been given a wine red drink that smelled like it would taste like grape fruits. you took a sip, humming softly at the taste, it did taste like grapefruits, but sweeter.

ronal watched you from a distance, sitting next from tonowari as they ate in silence. "wari?" she nudged him, "hmm?"

"did you see what she was wearing?" she asked, taking small sips from her drink. tonowari's ears perked up at the topic of you, "no, unfortunately. did you?" he replied. ronal shook her head, still looking at you.

"she's alone." she stood up, drowning her drink. tonowari looked up at here with a confused look, "so?" he asked. ronal rolled her eyes, "let's go talk to her." she didn't wait for a response as she made her way to you.

your plate was empty now as you sat, legs apart, drinking the remains of your beverage. from the warm fuzzy feeling you felt it was probably the na'vi version of alcohol, not that you were complaining though.

you were about to get when two people joined you, those people being tonowari and ronal, of course.

it took a while for your eyes to adjust in the faint light, but as soon as you made out their faces the feeling of sudden self awareness took over you. "oel ngati kameie, tsahik, olo'eyktan." you spoke, sliding off the rock and gathering your things.

"not so fast, little one. we came to see your clothes…" tonowari trailed off as he took your appearance in. ronal did the same, visibly tensing up.

you subconsciously crossed your arms over your chest, "yeah, um, thank you for getting them made, and for the accomo-" you were cut off by a pair of lips smashing onto yours and a pair of hands pulling you back onto the rock.

you pulled away, heart racing as you were met with ronal's face. and hey, maybe it was the alcohol but as soon as you caught your breath you pulled her in for another kiss, moaning into her mouth as she pushed you against the surface of the rock.

you had almost forgotten about tonowari until you felt a hand start to tug your loincloth down your face, exposing your heat to the cool breeze.

ronal pulled away, slightly panting as she looked down at you. "let's welcome you to metkayina, properly."

© amesvertes 2023

[lonelychicago]

fuck it friday (except that it's thursday, but y'know, fuck it)

i've been rereading this scene i wrote for tsunami fic and i'm so excited, i just wanted to share it <33

"I'm here. I'm here." He says, kneeling beside the bed and resting a hand on Chris' shoulder, trying to comfort him. "It's okay, bud. I'm here." 

"Where's Buck?" Christopher asks and the vines and thorns inside Eddie's ribs seem to grow larger and bigger upon hearing the words, until they're twisting and turning and wrapping themselves around his heart, in a vicious grip. 

"I don't know, buddy." Eddie blinks, willing the tears away and clears his throat. He looks up at Chris and runs his fingers through his son's hair, gentle and tender. "We don't have news of him yet." 

It's not fair, Eddie thinks bitterly and angry. Furious at the universe, at the world and its stupid natural disasters. At Shannon for having died and Buck for not being there and at himself for being angry at them for something they can't control. 

Grief is funny and wicked like that. 

"Dad, I'm scared." Chris whispers in a small voice and Eddie makes a hurt noise in his throat, coming to lay with him and wrapping him in a tight hug. 

"I'm scared too," he admits. 

"Buck saved me." 

"I know, mijo. I know he did." 

"What if he's dead?" This time Chris' voice is so low that Eddie barely hears it. "Like mom." 

"We can't think like that yet, Superman." Eddie sighs, feeling like he's way out of his depth here. "Buck might just be lost right now, waiting for us to find him." 

"What if he's not?" 

There's a few beats of thick, syrupy silence streatching kn between them and then Eddie thinks—

"Hey, you know what makes me feel better?" 

"What?"

"I've been calling Buck— It goes straight to voicemail, because his phone is probably dead at this point." Eddie says, wondering if this might fuck up Chris even more or actually help. "But it makes me feel like I'm talking to him, like I'm doing something instead of just waiting for bad news, you know?" 

Chris moves and pulls away just enough so he's looking him in the eye and nods, a sad frown on his face. 

"You wanna give it a try?" 

"Yeah…" Chris hesitates but then says louder and firmer— "Yeah, I wanna do that." 

Eddie nods and pulls out his phone again, dialing Buck. Of course, it goes straight to voicemail again. 

"Hey! It's Back here! I'll get back to you as soon as I can but in the meantime leave your— Hey Chim, stop it! That's my food! Hands off, man!" 

"Hey, Buck." Eddie says softly. 

"Hi, Buck." Chris follows, his lower lip trembling. "Thanks for saving me today." 

tagging (no pressure): @monsterrae1 @buddierights @prince-buck-diaz @alyxmastershipper @spaceprincessem @bigfootsmom @the-likesofus @spotsandsocks @dijkstraspath @starlingbite @messyhairdiaz @transbuck @honestlydarkprincess @transboybuckley @ebdaydreamer @bekkachaos @hippolotamus @shortsighted-owl @prettyboybuckley @cowboy-buddie @cowboy-buck @911onabc @panbuckley and anyone else who wants to do it <33

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

For your glimpses of the past game, VICIOUS, if you would be so kind.

Melissa stood, shocked, staring at the flatvid screen in the Argo's mess hall.

"INVASION!!!" screamed the chyron, overlaid over footage of green and gold 'Mechs - my own Clan, Melissa thought. The video showing a Jade Falcon Summoner in combat against Spheroid troops of the Lyran Commonwealth. The newscaster, a beautiful Canopian female in typically-scanty Canopian fashion. All of that was invisible to Melissa.

Only the words. The words of the newscaster: "- unknown where these military forces originate, but they are attacking with staggering speed-"

The words of her fellow Fusiliers, most in shock or incredulity, some gasping, some crying - Heinrich. Heinrich was from that planet...

And the words of Boxer, as the image froze, showing the Jade Falcon insignia on the Summoner. The unpleasant, oafish, arrogant, and language-murdering Lyran mercenary had been with the Fusiliers only a short few months. He'd made an impression. But right now, Melissa only heard his words. Words that cut deep, into her soul. Two little words that ripped her apart.

"You knew."

That was what he said. Part of Melissa's mind was somewhat shocked - she had not figured Boxer for one capable of attempted deduction of any sort.

"I did not..." she responded, her voice soft, trembling somewhat in shock. She knew of the Hidden Hope Doctrine, of course, all Clan warriors did. It was their driving philosophy.

But this? An invasion? Killing the people they were supposed to return and protect? This was not the Great Father's dream!

"How long did you know?" Boxer said, his German accent coming out more, as did in times of stress.

Melissa did not respond, so Boxer continued. "Do you hear me, you birdbrained genetic freak?! Belter bullshit you sold us was a lie! How long did you-"

"I did not kn-" Melissa began, but Boxer's fist finished the sentence for her. It slammed into her face, hard. Melissa, unprepared as she was, immediately fell with a cry of pain. Tears were rolling from her eyes, from the pain. The pain of Boxer's fist, certainly, but also of the punch delivered to her very core by the image on the screen.

Everyone in the mess hall had gone quiet. Boxer was shouting, saying that Melissa had known, she must have always known. A few others shouted. She recognized the voice of Remus Kerensky, burly red-furred MechWarrior and her trothkin, a fellow Totem Warrior, shouting that she couldn't have known - and shouts at him over how he could know that she didn't know.

The shouts from Glitch and Dekker, her lancemates in the Fusiliers' command lance. Melissa wondered why no one had rushed Boxer - and then she saw the gun. He must have pulled it after he punched me. Shouts rang out of "put the gun down!" and "Boxer, Christ's sake, stop!"

Dekker, ever the foolhardy 'Mech jock, rushed at Boxer when he looked away.

The gun went off. Dekker spilled to the floor, a gunshot wound to his left shoulder. Glitch, his favorite coupling partner, instantly down in front of him to protect him, having drawn her own weapon.

"SHE KNEW!!!" Boxer screamed, more animal in appearance down than the fifteen Totem Warriors, the handful of genemodded Belter mercenaries, and the occasional cyborg catgirls that stared at the gun. Boxer swung it around, pointing it straight at Melissa's head.

A dishonorable death for the scion of a Clan that has abandoned itself, she thought. How fitting. She closed her eyes. Great Father, I am sorry. We have failed you.

BANG

Melissa's eyes flew open. Boxer was on the floor. Boxer was on the table. Bits of Boxer were on Remus, and Glitch, and Dekker too. It was dead silent once more.

The clicking of heels sounded on the metal deck. A voice, husky and contralto, one that all in the Fusiliers' knew. It spoke from the form of a 1.95 meter tall, white and black furred, tall-eared and green eyed wolf-woman. Buxom and muscular, clad in her shining silver single-piece bodysuit, the logo of a silver wolf's head over an orange and purple disc on left arm. One of her twin magnum autopistol's barrels smoked from the single shot.

"That's just about enough of that," spoke Savannah Caruso, not smiling as she surveyed her pilots. "Someone gonna help me clean up?"

Several Fusiliers, hearing the order in the question, broke into a job to retrieve cleaning equipment from the galley. Savannah holstered her gun in the leather shoulder shoulder as she walked over to the still prone Melissa. She knelt by Melissa, reaching out her hand, to caress the jade feathers on the fallen warriors cheek, taking both blood and tears with it.

"I didn't know..." Melissa said shakily.

"I know you didn't," said Savannah. "Come on," she said, helping Melissa up.

"I know you didn't," she said again, and hugged her second-in-command tightly.

The tears began rolling again, down Jade feathered cheeks.

[fanartlover1234]

LITTLE GAMES

Y/n enjoys games but this one gets her in trouble with her boss ( takes place before thomas)

A runner.

You were a runner, you were good at your job but sometimes you prefered doing little games on a run to make it les tiring and boring.

You were also a fan of games outside the maze, during bonfires like beer pong, cause "gallys specal very suspicus moonshine drink pong" is a mouthful or truth or dare, sometimes even a little bet with few gladers from time to time.

Like today, you were at the bonfire, you best friend Newt laughing as you told him the bet you had made with Minho after an accident in the maze when luckly a griever didnt see you but kicked you with his metal leg sending you flying and slashing your arm on a rock and grew uncouncious due to the blow on the back knocking the air out of you.

"So let me see if i understand you, you and Minho made a bet that if he can catch you tomorrow after the sun goes beyond the wall you dont go into the maze untill you heal but if he doesnt"

"I get to go in the next day already"

You had been begging Minho to let you run as you have been dying of doing nothing since the accident so when you proposed the bet to him he wasnf sure knowing you are a good runner but after some convincing he caved in.

Newt was sceptical about the situation, he believed you ofcourse but he also knew that Minho had been in the glade for longer time then you.

"Y'know he is fasted than you right"

"I have a hiding chance"

"Hiding is your only chance"

So here you were a day later hiding behind a hut when you heard a snap behind you turing around you saw ben and the other, leaving only one way for you to run, they didnt chase you, Minho had asked him to help him, he couldnt have the girl he is head over heals for die in the maze.

Y/n knew there was only two hours left, she could do it, she stoped for a moment looking at camp seeinb all the runner except for Minho head to bed before she continued running.

She soon reached the corner of the wall and hit it, she was dead, she knew that much, her only hope was stay low and hope Minho was far away but that hope was crushed when she turned and saw minho blocking the only fully free path for her and they were now surrounded by too many trees for her to properly run from him.

"Looks like you lost"

"Not yet, i can still fight"

Minho pushed off the wall signinb as he looked at her.

"You just dont give up do you" he said as he walked closer to her.

"Never" she said trowing a punch at him but he blocked it he didnt plan to fight her nor did she, she doesnt want to fight him, she grown yo have a crush on him but she couldnt stay another day doing nothing so she trew another punch steping back as Minho still moved towards her but this time catching her wrist while his other hand found her other hand placing tjem together and pinning them above her head oncs the reached the wall.

Making sure she didnt hit her head he bent lowered his hand that held both her wrists behind her head making her arms bend.

He leansd down so he could face her.

"I wo-oww"he yelled out as she bent her wrist so her elbow would hit the side of his head.

He looked at her as she smirked.

He pulled the hand from behind her head and up making her arms straight up, free hamd going on her hip pushing her more into the wall.

Y/n tried kicking him but placed one of his legs between her making sure his upper thigh was not touching her in her private parts but them both knew if she moved she would rub against his leg.

She looked up at him, hus face looking at her his eyes trailing her, she felt her cheeks flush as she suddenly didnt feel so confident anymore, she felt small under his gaze as she looked away from him.

Minho examened her her eyes quickly running over his face her lips parted before the pink shade on her cheeks grew as she averted her gaze, he loved the girl, perhaps too much but seeing her like this so weak and traoed by him shying away from his gaze.

Minho knew her well enough to know that she was most likely the only person who could match his confidence and flirty nature so her shying from him was and unneeded ego boost.

"You lost"

He whispered he could see her rollinb her eyes even if she avoided his.

His hand moved from her hip to her facr gently moving her to look at him her y/e/c eyes looking at him before she moved her face their lips touching just barely but enough for Minho to step back a little.

"I like you" Y/n blurted out.

"Y/n, i like you as well but we cant"

"Why not" even she was suprised by her sudden urge to quit hiding " life moves fast, even here, and if you dont stop for a while you will miss it" Minho looked at the girl " look i have been here for over three years and life was rushing in the same circle over and over but then you came its was like life just stoped for a while okey"

"Y/n"

"I like you Minho, i should of said it faster but i kept disracting myself from it with these stupis games okey, i love you dude"

Minho moved to her again grabing behind her head pulling her in kiss for a few secondd before pulling back "playing too many little games, might get you in trouble, princess"

[redqueenphoenix]

State Championship (TWD Fan Fic Part 5)

State Championship Part 5

(A TWD Fan Fiction)

I do not own any of the rights to The Walking Dead, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned from here on in, other than Victoria Hawkins. Some situations have been changed and some people may have been switched in this alternate universe. 

All characters in this fan fiction are over the age of 21 years old.

Coach Negan Smith X Female OC

Word Count:1337

~*~

Part 5

Victoria’s eyes went wide as she recognized the voice in her ear. Her heart fluttered as she continued to dance. Looking down at his hand she realized quickly that he wasn’t in the clothes she's used to seeing him in.

“Whooooaaaa!” Samantha called out from the raised stage as she saw who was dancing with Victoria. Nudging the other girls. 

“You go girl!” Barbie hollered as she leaned off the rail to the stage.

Victoria bit her lip as she mustered up the courage to turn around while still dancing. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in Negan. He was in a business casual two piece black suit with a white button up. Her eyes lingered on the collar, counting the buttons he left unbuttoned. Three, the most deadly number to her now due to the amount of his chest it showed her. She attempted to focus on her dancing as she watched him, perfect timing in his steps.

The music began to shift again into a much slower, more intimate song. Negan smirked as his hand that was around her hip snaked around her back and pulled her into him.

This forced Victoria to have to change her stance allowing his foot to step between hers. She brought her arm to rest on his shoulder as they began to dance. Blush creeped to her cheeks as they began to do a slow grind to the song. 

Negan’s eyes locked on hers as he smirked knowing exactly what he was doing to her. Enjoying the blush that colored her cheeks and the way her breathing changed when he started this dance with her. 

Victoria felt like the world was spinning as she danced closely with him. This was almost unreal to her as she kept up with him. She dared to look down for a brief moment as her mind wandered, watching hips brush into hers. If he was this good at dancing then… 

“What’s on that pretty mind?” He chuckled as his free hand came up to her chin tilting her face back up to his. “I bet I know what it is.” He moved his hip into her a bit harder as the song began to shift.

A small gasp left her lips as his thigh brushed the apex of her legs. 

“Exactly what I thought was on your mind.” A devil’s smirk on his lips as the song picked up to a faster beat. 

The DJ began to call out as the song picked up, “I want everybody to stop what they doing. Now if you know you're with somebody you're gonna take the hotel room tonight. Make some noise!” 

Victoria’s jaw dropped as Negan called out with the rest of the guys as they cheered at the comment while ‘Hotel Room Service’ by Pitbull blared over the speakers. 

Negan smirked as he turned to her, “What? We’re in the same hotel.” He turned to leave the dance floor leaving Victoria stunned.

The fluttering in her chest quickly faded as he walked away from her. Her left eye twitched at the comment. Taking a deep breath she stormed after him, slipping past and headed straight for the bar. She leaned over the bar seductively and waved down the bartender. “Excuse me, sir. Jack and coke please.” Her voice sultry as she ordered knowing that he was within hearing distance.

Negan’s jaw tightened as she leaned over the bar flirting with the bartender. Leaning against the bar next to her. “That bratty shit doesn't work with me.” He sneered as he looked over at her. 

Taking her drink from the bartender she turned to him with a flustered expression. Opening her mouth to say something then snapping it shut.

“Look doll, I like you too, but there are complications to it all. Harmless flirting is great, this cat and mouse game is exciting…” He laughed as he placed his elbow on the bar looking at her, “but we both know that it won’t work out the way you want it to.”

The comment cut into Victoria like a hot knife through butter. Her mind reeled as she brought the glass to her lips, downing it as fast as she could. Slamming the glass down she turned from the bar and headed for the entrance. 

Negan let out an exasperated breath as he rolled his eyes. Waving off the bartender he followed Victoria out of the nightclub. The cool evening air hit him as he saw her heading down the street. “Vicky, wait.” He called out after her. 

Victoria looked over her shoulder as she stopped to wait to cross the street. Trying to ignore Negan.

“God damn it, Victoria!” He finally caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

“What?” She yanked her arm from him. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He watched as she scurried across the street with him behind her.

“You have.” She snapped, waving her hand as she turned to face him once they crossed the street. “I like you and you make my heart flutter. I’m just some stupid girl that was in your college sports class to you.”

He grabbed her arm again and brought her into his chest, holding her arms. “Is that what you think?” His face contorted into one of bewilderment. “That you’re just some random girl in my class.”

She nodded as she looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Then what the hell was the bus? Why the hell do you fluster me so damn much?” He intensely stared down at her. “And why do I think about everything that you could lose over this?” 

Victoria looked up at him in shock hearing that he was stopping himself from giving in completely because of what could happen to her. She suddenly felt so stupid and selfish over it all. “I…” She couldn’t even find the words to respond.

“You, what? You wanna do this? Then fine.” He brought his hand up to the back of her neck, his lips crashing into hers. 

Victoria’s eyes went wide as he kissed her. 

Negan pulled back with a frustrated growl, “kiss me back.” He brought his lips back down to hers inwardly chuckling at her shock. 

Closing her eyes she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into his kiss. The sensation that came over her as his arms wrapped around her waist dizzied her.

Pulling back he looked down at her with a smile, “Now let’s finish this in my room.” His hand came down to hers as they entered the hotel.

She felt butterflies in her stomach as they made their way through the lobby towards the elevator. Stepping onto the glass elevator, Victoria closed her eyes as the glass cylinder moved. 

Negan’s eyes went to her, clearly she was not alright with the elevator. He moved, wrapping his arm around her and pressing her against the glass, bringing his lips to hers to numb her mind to the elevator.

The doors opened behind them as he stepped out motioning towards their rooms. Victoria stepped out and began down the hallway, excitement building with each step. 

He stopped in front of the room she shared with the girls, “last chance to change your mind.”

She shook her head and kept walking, smiling at him as she passed him. Shaking his head with a smile, he fell into step with her and pulled his key from his blazer. This is going to prove to be an interesting night, he thought as he opened his door letting her into his room.

~*~

Part 6 (NSFW, +18)

[nicklesbam]

Lost memories

this is a short story of Kuina x female reader

SPOILERS if you haven't watched all of it

fluff, angst

As I lie here on the floor, all I'm thinking is 'please, please be ok'. The king of spades shot me down after Arisu and Aguni blew the store to pieces but somehow the only thing I'm worried about is if kuina is ok

Kuina was the first person I felt like I could trust full heartedly with my life. We met during my third game after she saved me, we haven't been apart after that

One day at the beach a realization struck me, I have feelings for her. We were sitting by the pool as usual and i just couldnt look away from her. Her eyes, her smile, the way her voice sounds so soothing or the way ahe voices her opinion no matter what. I couldn't handle the fear. Fear that she wouldn't feel the same, fear that she would end up hurt or even worse, dead

I couldn't keep my head on straight with her around so one night I packed my things and decided to leave. Before I made it out the door Chishiya stopped me

"Going out a little late are we?" He moved from the shadows making me jolt in panic

"Jesus Chishiya, I told you not to do that again" I put my hand over my heart. His face remained serious

"Are you going to explain?" He raised on of his brows. I stayed silent for a moment before finding the right words

"I can't garuntee my survival with her around" I spoke quietly. He hummed

"Kuina" he confirmed out loud. I sighed and hung my head low

"I... I have feelings for her and whenever she's around I just can't think straight. All I think about is making sure she's ok" Chishiya nodded putting his hands in his jacket pockets

"You aren't going to say goodbye?" He asked walling closer

"I can't, if I do I would change my mind." I grabbed my bag and turned to walk out but stopped one last time

"Just... please tell her I'll be ok" I didn't have to turn to know Chishiya had nodded. After that I went off on my way

In the end it was fates twisted joke that brought us together again. Almost everyone was brought together to take down the king of spades. As we both lay here kn the ground, one with stab wounds and one with bullet holes

I started to chuckle causing me to choke on my own blood. Kuina turned to me with hard breaths

"What's... so funny" she managed to get out. She started to cough up blood

"I left so this wouldn't happen. It happened anyways... funny right?" My breaths were labored. Kuina had a slight laugh

"I didn't want to see you like this, I love you too much" I stared at the sky while kuina's eyes were trained on me

"You... love me?" Kuina asked, I could hear her voice get more hoarse. I looked into her eyes

"Obviously" I smiled, blood now slipping past my mouth. I looked at her like I did the first.time I laid eyes on her

"I... love you.. too idiot" she smiled and reached out grabbing my hand

"Where do you think we'll go after this?" I questioned. She looked to the sky with a tear falling down

"Maybe home.. maybe heaven? Who knows" as she spoke I could feel myself slipping away. I tried to stay just for her but all of a sudden I stopped breathing and my face went stoic

I groaned waking up. I tried to sit up but there were multiple bandages on my abdomen

"What the fuck?" I looked at my surroundings and found I was in a hospital. I looked to my left and there was an empty bed. I decided to grab a wheel chair and find out what happened

It took a while to get into the wheel chair but I just used sheer stupidity and willpower. I wheeled around the hospital until I saw a TV in the lobby, on the news they were saying there was an explosion and I was caught in it. I sighed and rested for a minute

"Miss? You shouldn't be out of bed! You should be resting!" A nurse shouted worriedly

"I just wanted to see what happened, I'll be back there in a minute" I reassured her

"Why don't I help you?" She was about to wheel me back to the room but another emergency came in and she was needed. She told me she'd be back as soon as she can. I leaned back into my chair until I heard a familiar name

"Hikari" I turned and it was a girl with her two parents, looks like she was caught in the explosion too. I couldn't put my finger on it but I swear I know her from somewhere

I waited for the girl to have her time with her parents. I was about to wheel over when the nurse came back

"Alright miss y/n, time to go back to your bed" I didn't bother protesting, she's the nurse not me. Once we got to my room she helped me get into bed, it was a struggle but we got it done soon enough

"I'll be back to check up on you soon, rest now" I nodded. I had this feeling that I forgot something but I just can't remember. I was so stuck on this feeling that I didn't notice when someone came walking in

"Do i... know you?" It was the girl from the lobby, Hikari I think it was

"I don't think we met but.. I feel like I know you from somewhere" we both sat there for a minute, staring. It didn't feel weird for some reason

"I know this sounds weird and you can totally say no but do you want to hang out sometime?" I asked her. She smiled and her face had heated a bit

"Yeah that would be cool"

[justimagineitblog]

KEEPER OF MY HEART - THOMAS SHELBY

CHAPTER 3

Here’s what I’ve learned in the 3 weeks that I’ve been working for the Shelby Family.

John is my closest friend in Small Heath. He warmed up to me the fastest, and I swear sometimes I have to remind myself that he’s not my actual brother. He laughs with me and tries his best to not make me feel like a complete outsider in Shelby Limited.

Arthur is a massive softie. He is by far the roughest looking of the Shelby boys, but he has the softest heart. He drinks a lot, sometimes too much, and I always know to look for the signs that its time to start watering down his Vodka’s with water. He’s usually too drunk to notice. Sometimes he stays so late that I walk him most of the way home just to be sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble. 

Polly, the most fierce and strong woman I have ever met, took a little longer to warm up to me. But one day when she caught me making sure Arthur got home safely, and invited me in fora cup of tea. Since then, she has been insisting that I start joining them occasionally for dinner. I’ve been declining because of one person.

That is Thomas Shelby.

Where do I start. If Thomas Shelby wants something, everyone around him will jump to make it happen. He instills fear wherever he goes. I’ve never known him to smile or laugh like the others do. He drinks a lot, I’m always bringing him a fresh glass to their private room in the Garrison, but he doesn’t lose his head like Arthur does. Tommy has a tight grip on everyone and everything, including himself. 

On my rounds, making sure that everyone has been taken care of during their family meetings, he refuses to join in on any jokes and playful moments that I have with the others. In fact, when he sees me getting closer with the Shelby’s, his face grows even more sour. If that’s even possible. 

And those eyes. He stares. A lot. Not longingly. Not anything. Just a thousand mile stare, straight through to my core. As much as I try to ignore that he’s there, I can always feel his eyes on me. Like I’m being watched. My every move being picked apart and analysed in his mind. 

Today was different. Initially it was the same old. Bring them drinks, laugh with the boys, try to help them pick which horses are going to win in their races. And pretend that Tommy doesn’t despise every second of it. 

After rushing around for an hour tending to the lunch time rush, I realise their drinks must be getting low. 

“Alright boys, this rounds on the house” I joke as I walk into their private room. For the Shelby’s everything is on the house. Suits. Guns. Drugs. Drinks. Women. 

“These drinks will be on you if I lose this bet Z” John teases back, listening to the radio intently to find out whether the Horse I told him to bet on has one its races. 

“And I’ve never lost one yet have I!” I retort, topping up his Whisky and setting down a plate of bread and butter for them to snack on. Something to soak up all the alcohol. 

I dare to glance over at Tommy, who unsurprisingly is already watching me with an extra disapproving look. 

“Can I get you another drink Tommy?” I ask, pretending to not notice the daggers he’s shooting my way.

He nods in response, and I pour him a whiskey “I could make you that drink from a few weeks back…” I offer, trying my luck. Maybe today he will entertain me. 

“Can I see you outside?” He snaps suddenly, and I swallow hard.

Fuck. 

The last few weeks have felt like I was walking on a fine line with Tommy. I have proved myself time and time again. But he still despises the air that I breathe. Maybe I was getting too comfortable with the boys. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to manipulate and trick them all. God knows what he thinks I’m doing. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. 

I follow him out of the room and into a quiet area of the Pub. 

Without any warning, or lead up, he turns to me and looks me dead in the eye. “I know the boys like you. Trust you even. But I do not” 

The words hit me like a freight train. 

I knew he seemed different today. Like he was extra disgusted with everyone and everything. These words, he had been sitting on for a while. Keeping them inside as he watched me and scrutinised my every move for weeks. I could tell by the venom that he said them with. 

I want to fight back.

I want to remind him of everything I’ve been doing for this place. The business I’ve been bringing in. The countless times I’ve looked out for Arthur and his alcoholic tendencies. Making sure he got home safe. And that no one took advantage of a drunken Shelby brother. The business I’ve heard them discussing that I’ve turned a blind eye to. That I’ve never uttered a word of to anyone. The things I’ve heard and seen, that have slowly been revealed to me about Shelby Limited that I’ve never questioned. 

But instead I draw in a deep breath.

“Okay Tommy” I sigh. My brain goes back and forth frantically as I decide to let go of what I’ve been holding onto for weeks. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Or what I have to do. And to be honest I don’t care anymore. If you never trust me, then so be it. But you don’t have to be so cruel. I’m just here to pour the beer, remember?”

“Then how about you just stick to doing that, hey?” He spits back.

“I feel for you Tommy” I narrow my eyes, staring him down the same way he has been doing to me for weeks. 

“You don’t know me” 

“I’ve tried. But you won’t let me. And I’m starting to think I don’t want to anymore” I shake my head “But I see you. I’ve been watching you too, Tommy. You want to know what I see? I see a man who has everything, and a man who has nothing. You have everything and nothing”

He freezes. And there it is. The first time I’ve seen something in his eyes besides hatred. It’s still shrouded. Still unclear. But it’s something. Like he’s been exposed. Cut open. Like someone just dared to say the first real thing he has heard in a very long time. Someone made him feel. 

“But hey, I’ll get back to pouring the beer, shall I?” I finish, brushing past him to continue serving customers. 

I start taking orders and pouring drinks with a racing heart and trembling hands. I couldn’t believe what had just come out of my mouth. I don’t know everything about the Shelby’s, but I’ve seen and heard enough to know that people who speak to them like that do not last very long in Small Heath. 

I dare to take a quick glance at him, to find him still frozen in place. Staring at the spot I had just been standing. As if he’s still reliving the moment. Reliving what I had said. 

Fuck. 

I expect him to turn around and fire me on the spot. Maybe even part of me hoped he would, so I wouldn’t have to face the wrath that I know is coming after I dared to peak back to Thomas Shelby. If I thought he hated me already, I could only imagine the hell he would rain down on me after that. I was prepared for him to make my life a living hell. 

But instead, he adjusts the hat on his head, straightens his shoulders, and leaves the Garrison. 

[mania-sama]

rule #7 - angel tango

Rule #7 - Angel Tango - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairings: Aether/Xiao, Xiao & Xiao's Previous Master ❧ Additional Characters: Qiqi, Zhongli ❧ Tags: mind control, protective! aether, hurt/comfort, angst, blood and gore, canon-typical violence, psychological torture, whump ❧ Summary: Gods can never truly die. They can be sealed and buried, but they will eventually lick their wounds and dig their way out of their graves. Xiao’s previous master is one such god, and she does not forget easily. ❧ Word Count: 3,667 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 6 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 6: Forced to Hurt Someone Else ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

It happens when he’s fighting a band of miasmic monsters all doused in a wine-colored glow that only Xiao can see. They give off the scent of rotting flesh and vulture vomit, and their bodies writhe in unnatural power. The gods of old are dead, but they are not gone. Their karma stains the cursed and damned.

“Alatus,” a disembodied voice whispers. Xiao freezes for long enough to nearly get scraped by the axe of an aggressive mitachurl. His spear strikes true in the monster’s heart, and he watches as its cursed body falls limply to the ground.

“Alatus.” This time, Xiao feels it as claws scratching his brain, stretching and scarring the organ like its putty. He plants his spear into the ground in an attempt to keep himself standing. “Alatus.” It punctures his lungs and he forgets how to breathe. He watches the lone hilichurl still remaining. The creature stands still, almost regarding him like it still has a complex consciousness, not the primitive ones they are left with.

On the fourth call of his true name, her voice takes hold. He crumbles to the ground, clutching and ripping his hair if only to get to the organ that hides inside. If he has to, he’ll manually force her out. He’ll rip her sickening words straight from his brain. He’ll—

“Stop, Alatus. You know better.”

His arms drop limply to his side. Against his will. He stares at the ground, hunched over as though ready to vomit. The hilichurl stands entirely still.

It waits for orders, just as Xiao does. His master gives him one. “Get rid of it. It’s done its duty, and now it is worthless.”

The Primordial Jade Winged-Spear has never felt this unbalanced in his hands. He cuts off the hilichurl’s head in one hard swing and watches it fall uselessly to the ground. The decapitated body collapses into the pile of gore waiting on the ground, landing on the other end of where its head rolls. Any expression it was making when it realized its face was hidden by its painted mask.

Xiao doesn’t know what he looks like under his master’s control. He’d never seen his face before he met Rex Lapis. “You never will again, Alatus.”

Even his thoughts no longer belong to him. Without thinking , he spins the spear towards his own chest. He poises it, and he spares only a moment to thank Rex Lapis for the life of freedom he was given. His contract ended a year ago; he has no reservations about ending what is already dead. Quick as lightning, he plunges the spear into his heart.

The tip only manages to pierce his thin layer of clothing before his arms lock into his place. He tries to shake her free, tries to get his arms to drive it in, or move at all according to his own will. They don’t. They quiver and hold fast to the force controlling them. Fire burns through his veins as he fights her for dominance, and it ends with a piercing wail of a thousand monsters’ screams that shatters his eardrums.

“That makes me very angry,” she drawls. Her voice is spiders crawling up his spine and into his eye sockets, ears, and mouth. It invades his senses, and all he can smell is the sickly pungent odor of her karma. “You have forgotten yourself. That god has stepped down from his pedestal… there is no one left to save you this time."

Xiao knows someone, but he schools his thoughts and emotions so he does not reveal their identity. She laughs in his mind; it’s a cruel, grating sound. “Oh, you think I don’t know about him? That will be the first person’s dreams you will devour. I promise it will taste just as sweet as it always has.”

—

Xiao doesn’t want to do this.

He waits on a grassy plateau that overlooks the glittering night lights of Liyue Harbor. One arm rests on his pulled-up knee, and the other supports the leaning weight of his upper body. He’s never been one to admire the dwellings of the average human; the only one that’s ever served any purpose to him is the Wangshu Inn. He takes residence there these days. More often than not, he finds himself resting on the rooftop, tracing the constellations of the stars and letting his breathing even out.

Xiao wants to say that he regrets that leisure time, but he doesn’t. He’s come to enjoy the moments in between the fights, the days where he does nothing but relax. The hour he spends talking with Aether about his day and conversations that are supposed to mean nothing yet are worth a thousand suns to Xiao.

Happiness doesn’t belong to a yaksha. He supposes that this is why his master has chosen now to release her karma unto him and take away the first human that changed Xiao’s life to revolve around more than just Rex Lapis and Liyue. It’s the fate that is bound to befall a yaksha. Xiao had nearly forgotten his own destiny.

So he sits and he waits as the city flickers and lives through the dead of night. Aether said that Liyue was always alive, and now Xiao can see why he phrased it like that. The yaksha likes seeing the world through Aether’s eyes. It seems much brighter that way. No matter what he does, though, he can’t put a positive spin on this situation.

He feels Aether’s presence before he hears him. The Traveler emanates an aura that can’t be replicated. He smells of flowers that bloom even in the harshest of winters. His hair and eyes glow just as bright in the sun as they do under the stars. It's as though he’s a star himself— a guiding light that brings even the worst of the damns to an eternal oasis.

“Xiao?” Aether calls when he makes it to the top of the plateau, light as the wind yet tinged with an edge of anxiety. “I left Paimon behind. I figured you would want to talk alone.”

Under his master’s orders, Xiao painstakingly wrote and sent a letter asking Aether to meet him when the moon reached the height of its ascent. It rests there now, and Xiao can’t help but feel it's mocking him in some way. Perhaps it's the permanent glow it emits, making it only a cheap ripoff of the embodiment of shine standing behind him.

Xiao won’t be able to look at the moon again when all of this is over. If he does, he may just be tempted to rip it straight from the night sky and crush it beneath his spear.

He pushes himself off the ground before his master forces him. He wants to savor these last remaining moments of his own free will. Turning around, he faces his sun, moon, and stars. The edges of Aether’s lips point down as he frowns back at him.

“You don’t look so good. How about we go back to Wangshu Inn?” Aether says gently, walking towards him with his arms down by his side. Unguarded and unreserved. Xiao nearly flitches with the intensity of the Traveler’s trust. “What’s happened?”

He’s close to Xiao, now. So close that the yaksha can hear Aether’s heartbeat if he strains. The organ beats to a unique tempo, rising and falling with the Traveler’s breaths. It reminds Xiao that not even his own heart belongs to him. If she so wished, his heart would stop with a single unspoken command.

When Aether touches Xiao’s face with a calloused and gentle hand, Xiao grasps his forearm and plants his thumb directly over the pulse point. He feels the thump of life that echoes through Aether and tries to convey the message that he cannot say out loud. He presses down hard enough for Aether’s wrist to flex involuntarily.

Run.

Aether gets the message. Xiao knows this because his amber eyes blow wide and his pulse nearly doubles in intensity. His hair blows in the night wind, and he looks just as he had the day they met. But like he had all those years ago, Aether does not flee. His feet shift, knees bend, and his free hand flexes to grip the hilt of his blade.

Sparks of gold light up the night as their weapons meet. They scrape in an awful screech, refined metal on refined metal. The parry is enough to send Xiao stumbling, but not enough to stop his attack. His body wastes no time in lunging for the next blow, and a volcano erupts under his skin from his fight to regain control. She says nothing directly to him; now that she wields his name, her unspoken influence is enough to redirect the blood flowing in his veins.

Aether blocks each blow with practiced precision. His face is not one of surprise or betrayal but of anger. His nose scrunches and eyebrows pull, and his eyes gleam with unrestrained ire. It makes Xiao mentally rear back, and the fire in his veins eases a little as she moves his body without backlash. He wonders if Aether has been waiting for this, waiting for the day he can his blade through the neck of a yaksha.

Is their relationship so brittle? Was it ashes to begin with?

For some reason, his master doesn’t answer. Not to goad him in his misplaced trust, nor to convince him that he’s still murdering his closest companion. She’s quiet and unnerving in his mind.

On the fifth parry, one that doesn’t even look like Aether is trying , Xiao feels his body burst with a pain he hasn’t felt in hundreds of years. He hasn’t needed to — he promised himself the day Rex Lapis saved him that he would never change forms again. He sealed away the illuminated beast and it sat preserved and stagnant on his arm for two thousand years. His back rips , and he lets out a scream as the skin parts and makes way for golden wings. Nails grow and sharpen, and trailing feathers drift behind him in the wind.

Aether pauses to marvel at his mixed form, a bastardized version of both his beast and yaksha form. His wings are as unnatural to him as they must look to Aether, yet his master controls them with a precision that indicates she never forgot. The hesitation from the Traveler is enough for Xiao to get his spear to cut deep into Aether’s left side. Before his sword can feasibly do any damage to Xiao, his wings drag him high in the air for a plunge attack.

It is an unfair fight.

The Anemo powers he’s been granted mix with his illuminated beast and Adeptus strength and create a beast far more powerful than the animal his master had once controlled thousands of years ago. Aether is a more than capable elemental wielder; Xiao thinks that Aether has a fair chance of besting him in a normal fight. But this is nothing close to normal. Xiao is fighting at his best, more than maximum strength and power, and Aether…

Aether isn’t fighting back.

He only defends the oncoming blows and attacks to keep himself on the plateau. While anger seeps out of his body in red waves and plunges the air in the heavy smell of tar and burning charcoal, he does not direct the anger into hurting Xiao. His energy is kept solely on keeping himself alive and protecting Xiao. Xiao doesn’t need protection. He needs his master to be sealed back to the grave she dug herself up from, and Aether can’t do that here. Aether needs to stick his blade through Xiao’s temple.

But he won’t, and even the smallest child knows that the best defense is a good offense. He has no offense. His defense can and will fail.

It does.

It starts with smaller knicks and scratches from the tip and edges of his spear and claws. The wound in his side bleeds ferociously, but it doesn’t seem to slow Aether down. But as time wore on and Xiao’s body could not feel tired, — the artificial adrenaline from his beating heart keeps him going and going and going — Aether begins to fade. His emerald-green spear gets deep jabs at his calf, his chest, and his arms. With each new wound, Aether stumbles and leaves himself open for another one.

Xiao tries to pull away. He fights with every bit of strength he has and sets his blood ablaze in the process. Sweat and blood drip from his face in a putrid mixture to join the crimson-stained grass on the plateau. All of the structures Aether made using the power he fused with, Geo, crumble suddenly. Aether hunches over, one arm protecting a gushing wound on his weapon arm. He can’t raise it, Xiao realizes with abject horror. I cut a tendon.

Just as Xiao’s wings fold in to prepare for the killing strike, a shriek pierces through his eardrums like the claws of an eagle. He stumbles and his arms curl into his head to stop the agonizing noise. Aether looks at him with worry, and Xiao wants nothing more than to shake him and ask why. Why do you look at me like I’ve never hurt you? I will kill you. Don’t spare me any of your concern! I don’t deserve it!

The blade Aether wields disappears in a flash of gold. He collapses onto his back with a thud, and the air knocks out of his already heaving chest. His hand still tries to staunch his torn tendon. With a wound like that, Aether won’t survive for much longer regardless if Xiao continues the fight or not.

She speaks to him in a shrill and panicked tone, yet with the same force and control as ever. “Kill him, Alatus!”

Xiao straightens and moves to stand over Aether. His amber eyes gleam and reflect the stars of the night sky. The moon is the teeth of his exposing smile. It looks painful, the way the skin pulls and stretches over his facial wounds. Aether is the blazing sun — he gazes upon Xiao as though he is someone worth dying for. Xiao hesitates.

In the dead of night, when the only sound that can still be heard is the panting of a dying man, a flute begins to play. Aether’s voice is strained and softer than the heart beating slowly in his chest. “How does it feel to be a dead god?”

His master’s rooted claws vanish from Xiao’s body the moment his spear pierces Aether’s stomach. He cannot stop its descent, and he hears a squelch when the metal cuts through flesh and organs.

It was meant for the heart that faintly beats every five seconds, the organ that signifies the life that remains.

Xiao doesn’t let the spear dissipate. It keeps more blood from leaving Aether’s body, but the sheer amount that is outside rather than in out indicates that it doesn’t really matter. On every inch of exposed skin, strings of blood mar the once-smooth surface. His face would be unrecognizable — blood has already clotted and set deep into the pale color of his skin, and the thick liquid spills from his mouth in heaps that should be circulating inside his body, keeping his heart and his limps functioning — if he were anyone else.

But he is Aether. He is the sun, moon, and stars, and even in death, he glows with untainted purity. Xiao could recognize him a thousand years in the future, and he could pick out his bones in a sea of decayed skeletons. He could find him in the dark with nothing but his ears to hear the tempo of his heart. Deaf and blind, he could follow the scent of flowers blooming in a frost-bitten wasteland and feel Aether underneath his calloused fingers.

Xiao falls to his knees and presses his forehead to Aether’s. Yakshas cannot heal. All they do is murder and build up karmic debt that is enough to bring illness to the average human. Aether has never been affected by Xiao’s karma, and foolishly, he thinks that somehow it may heal him.

The flute’s melody floats through the wind as tangible notes, and it smells of windwheel asters and cider. It pours over Xiao, allowing him to seal the illuminated beast into a teal mark on his arm. His back lightens with the release of his wings, and he no longer has to worry about his nails digging into Aether’s tender neck and cheeks.

Aether’s breathing is mere gasps of air, a desperate and vain attempt to hang on to life leaving him with every exhale. The song rises in pitch, and Xiao can see faint blue notes settle on Aether’s lips and skin. He faintly recognizes the song that is playing.

The Anemo Archon can reach his people in any corner of Teyvat if only the wind brushes through their hair.

Amber eyes settle onto Xiao’s. He had been staring into a far away distance, no longer comprehending the pain of his wounds, the flesh and tendon hanging in pale strips outside of his body rather than in. His smile is pathetic and weak, a mere imitation of what it once was before Xiao plunged a spear through his stomach. His mouth moves to say something, but all that comes out is a cough spewing blood down his chin.

“Save your energy,” Xiao manages in a raspy voice. The tune in which the flute plays is different than the one from all those years. It has a healing property to it, but only one that can prolong the inevitable. Perhaps it is buying time for Xiao to find a proper healer, but he can’t imagine there is any Vision-wielder who can heal the severity of these wounds. “Stay alive,” he prays more than he says. It’s a futile wish.

That is until he feels a tug on the fabric hanging from his arm, and he turns to see a little girl no older than the age of seven as the culprit.

“Excuse me, sir,” she says monotonously with a finger pointing at the body on the ground. “I need to heal him.”

Xiao tilts his gaze up and finds the Geo Archon holding Qiqi’s other hand. Rex Lapis smiles and says: “I would not let him die. It would be the equivalent of killing your light.”

As Xiao stares at his Archon, he feels overwhelmed by the pouring of foreign emotions into his chest. It constricts his lungs, and he chokes. He pries himself off Aether reluctantly, letting the small zombie begin her work, and faces Morax. “You knew?”

“Her presence has been growing for a long time, but I could not conceal her before she let herself be known,” he explains, resting a hand on the side of Xiao’s hide like he did two thousand years ago. “I apologize that it could not be resolved sooner. She is not an easy god to kill twice. As for the Anemo Archon,” Rex Lapis continues, predicting the question on the yaksha’s tongue, “I informed both him and Aether of the course of action she would take to exact her revenge. It should not come as a surprise to you that they are loathe to see you in pain.”

Rex Lapis says it with such certainty that it rocks Xiao’s world to the side. He does not find affection from him strange, but to know that so many people care deeply about his well-being — three, at least — is too much for him to bear. He doesn’t know what to do with the insect crawling in his stomach and pinching his heart.

Then, fabric rustles and Rex Lapis pulls Xiao into a delicate hug. It’s a gentle thing; something rare, few and far between. Xiao does not usually like the close contact. He buries his head in his Archon’s chest and grips his coat with his bloodied hands. His appreciation is not said out loud; there are no words in any scripture to properly convey how he feels. He knows Rex Lapis does not discount his gratitude any less.

“It will be a few days before he wakes up,” Qiqi declares. Xiao lets go of his god to face the little healer. “I had to revive him. Please… exercise care in his… transportation.”

Xiao nods and makes his way back over to Aether. The ground is churned to mud underneath his feet from blood and sweat, and Aether is covered in the same grime he was before. The only difference is that now he sleeps soundly, his chest emitting an awful rattling sound with a healing talisman displayed on top of it. It’s cold to the touch and radiates the powerful scent of herbs and ice.

Aether is alive.

As asked, Xiao carefully picks Aether up. He’s heavy, but he shall weigh nothing in Xiao's arms if it means he will stay alive. He dissipates them both in the wind and materializes them inside Bubu Pharmacy. Baizhu is waiting for them in a clean, empty bed prepared for a critical patient.

They do not say anything to each other, and Xiao is grateful for it. He will not entertain a conversation. The yaksha sets the Traveler down on the bed. He doesn’t like the Bubu Pharmacy – it’s the opposite of everything he is used to. It repels his karmic debt and settles the writhing souls in an unnatural way. He stays for just long enough to press his lips to Aether’s temple, then rides the wind to keep vigilance on the rooftop of the Northland Bank. He will not stray far from Aether until he has woken up and can fend for himself.

Until then, he waits and watches the moon clamber down the sky, and the stars slowly fade to make way for the rising sun over Liyue Harbor.

[lailyn]

All The Plans We Didn't Make (Chapter 1/?)

@marveltrumpshate auction fill for @mischievousdope

Pairing: James Bucky Barnes/Loki

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Angst, Drama, Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Genderfluid Loki

Characters: Loki, James Bucky Barnes, Thor, Sam Wilson

Summary: It's the anniversary of King T'challa's death and Loki comforts a grieving Bucky, but his good intentions come with unforeseen consequences.

The remaining light of day was a ripple of red across the horizon. A figure appeared at the connecting balcony, casting a large shadow that swallowed the sun and half of Loki’s face in the mirror.

"Going somewhere, brother?" 

"Ask me again, why don't you," Loki said with a sniff. "I love being asked questions you very well know the answers to."

Unflustered, Thor decided tonight was as good a time as any to feed his long-contained curiosity. "So it is serious, then? You and the Winter Soldier?"

"Don't call him that," Loki rebuked his brother sharply. "He has not been that for a long time."

"Sorry." 

"People forget." Loki softened his weighted statement with a pensive, "He mourns."

The mood in the room turned sombre. 

"As do we all," Thor said quietly. "At this time of year."

"I would have liked to have known the man," Loki said. "What I know of him I learned from others."

"He was a great man," Thor said gravely. "A great king."

Mismatched eyes met green ones in the mirror, both pairs steeped in varying degrees of sorrow. 

Thor had come to his brother's chamber looking for gossip, but now he found himself disheartened by the sudden turn in conversation.

"High praise, brother," Loki murmured. "Coming from you."

"There was no one more deserving of it than T'challa. He was the best of us."

Loki exhaled slowly. "Of course he was."

He had heard it all, of the late king's limitless kindness…not from Bucky, but from people around him. Bucky was no more forthcoming with his past than Loki himself.

"What are you planning to do?" Thor queried.

Loki turned his head, allowing Thor a glimpse of the half-smirk the mirror did not catch. "Get absolutely plastered. I am Asgardian, after all."

Thor clapped his brother on the back a few times and quietly closed the door behind him. 

Loki had found someone. A complicated man with a complicated past but who remained a good man, as claimed by Thor's own friends. 

As far as Thor was concerned, that was all that mattered. 

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

"Tell me about him."

"You've seen him," Bucky said. "When he was alive."

Loki was nothing if not persistent. "Tell me what I didn't see."

Bucky tried to think of the right words to say, but the strongest memory was of his first tussle with the Black Panther all those years ago in Bucharest. "He wanted me dead the first time we met."

Loki bumped their shoulders together. "Hey. Don't feel bad. I too have that effect on people."

Bucky sighed. His gaze fell on the empty bottles and cans lying in disarray on the coffee table.

"He blamed me for his father's death."

"Oh." 

When Loki stayed quiet, Bucky felt his anxiety stir to life. "I didn't do it."

“I know.” A brush of Loki’s lips against his temple quietened his nerves. “Wilson told me.” 

“He did, huh?”

Loki’s fingers were gentle as they sifted through his hair. “You need not fear judgement from me, Bucky.”

Inexplicably, Bucky's eyes watered. He blinked furiously, but tears still clung to his lashes.

"Wolf."

"Sorry." Bucky pressed the heel of his hands into his eye sockets, so hard it made his head throb. "I'm not really good company today, I guess."

"You're perfectly acceptable company, no matter the day," Loki said with an unwavering conviction that rendered Bucky momentarily speechless.

“How did I deserve you?” Bucky wondered aloud when he could finally put into words his awe. 

“Hmm. Perhaps you’re kind to animals?” Loki ventured a cheeky guess. “I personally think it's your overwhelming sense of guilt. The universe has had enough of it and sent you me to set you straight."

"Wow. You're brutally honest."

"I am known throughout the cosmos for my radical candour," Loki said modestly. "It's one thing your scholars got right about me in the books."

"Nah. I'm not much of a reader." Bucky stretched his legs and leaned back on jos hands. "And I don't think I'm…straight? At least I don't think I am. Not anymore. I'm not sure. It's all very confusing.

"Allow me to unconfuse you." Loki pushed Bucky onto the floor, pinning him down by the shoulders. "Close your eyes."

Bucky did as he was told, and was soon rewarded with a series of kisses. He was not a romantic, but if he could describe Loki's kisses tonight, they were tender yet careful, yearning yet patient.

Something tickled Bucky's cheeks. It was soft, the caress of breath against skin, but proved to be too much of a distraction.

He opened his eyes a fraction.

"Loki?"

"Hi," the vision before him said shyly. 

Bucky prised the long lock of hair off the side of his face and fingered its unearthly silkiness.

He gazed up at the Goddess of Mischief, eyes unreadable. "This is you?” 

“Part of me. The real me. All of me.” 

The vision then made an outrageous offer, an offer no man could refuse. "All yours."

“Loki…” he moaned. Yes.

In this form Loki felt delicate, as opposed to the usual solid mass of muscle Bucky was used to, but Bucky knew better; the fragility was an illusion.

The next thing he knew, Loki had transported them both onto the bed, and was now straddling his thighs; as she rode him faster and faster, her glossy dark hair tumbled past delectable collarbones and tickled Bucky's chest.

Bucky made love to her deep into the night, his grief a distant memory. He explored every inch of Loki’s body, spending many minutes kissing all the curves and edges, old and new, vaguely familiar yet different. All Loki.

All mine.

"I love you," he blurted out at one point.

"Say it again when you're sober," was all Loki answered, not unkindly. 

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

"I am cursed. I am cursed. I am cursed."

It had been more than five minutes since Bucky had awakened to Loki's frantic mutterings, and he was starting to get really worried now. 

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" Bucky implored as Loki, now back in his male form, paced up and down the room like a caged tiger.

Loki whirled around, eyes wild and crazed. "I can't find it."

Bucky was not sure what he could do to help, but knew he would accomplish nothing by sitting around while Loki scampered around like a headless chicken. "If you could just tell me what exactly you're looking for, I can help you look for it."

"That thing!"

"What thing?" Bucky asked in growing exasperation.

"I don't know what it's called in your language," Loki muttered.

"Okay…" Bucky scratched the back of his head, and looked around the bed, gloriously rumpled from the frolics of the night before. 

He had absolutely no clue what he was looking for, but he had to be seen doing something. "When, uh, when did you last see it?"

Loki's panicky expression turned sheepish as he ran his hands down his naked torso. "Two hundred years ago, give or take a few decades?"

A soft gasp. "Do you think when I died and then came back that it didn't come back with me?"

Bucky's heart skipped a beat, before it began to pound like a sledgehammer. "Loki, you are not making any sense. What is 'it'?"

"Something invisible. Something potent." Loki's throat bobbed up and down in fear. "Something important."

Bucky was wiser than many people gave him credit for, on account of all the things he had seen and done. Loki was the same, so whatever he had lost, it must be damn big for Loki to react this way. 

"Calm down," Bucky said in his most soothing voice. "This thing. Is it going to kill you if you don't have it?"

"Yes!" Then Loki caught himself. "No. Maybe." He winced. "I'm not sure. I can't tell yet."

"Good. Okay. I can deal with maybe," Bucky said. "When can we know for sure?"

Loki did not answer, so Bucky lunged and caught a wrist the next time the frantic demigod walked past the bed. "Hey. Sit down. Talk to me."

Loki plopped heavily onto the bed.

"In a few months," he huffed. "We'll find out in a few months."

"About what?"

Loki did not answer. He cupped the side of Bucky's face. "Are you sober?"

"Yes." Bad hangover aside, Bucky was stone cold sober now. 

"I love you," Loki confessed. 

"You cheat. I said it first," Bucky said.

"You're going to change your mind." 

It was too early for one of Loki's riddles, but for some reason, Loki sounded close to tears, and that scared Bucky more than anything. 

"Nothing's going to make me change my mind," Bucky stressed, making his voice hard on purpose, but instead of convinced, Loki only looked more stricken.

"I have to go," Loki said abruptly.

"Loki, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Loki gently extricated himself out of Bucky's embrace. "Simply…an inconvenience."

"Will I see you later at Sam's?" Bucky asked.

Loki gave him a pasty smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Wait," Bucky exclaimed, desperate for Loki not to go, but his lover could not stay for a moment longer.

In a blink, Loki disappeared in a whirlwind of green magic, leaving Bucky alone to his racing thoughts.

What the hell just happened?

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

Only the day before, Loki had stood in front of the mirror, in anticipation of the night ahead.

Today, stripped of every piece of clothing, Loki stood before it again, this time scrutinising his reflection for the smallest, most minute change. 

It was too soon to see any, of course.

Impossible.

Loki had realised it this morning when he awakened with a sinking feeling in his gut. 

If he had not been so inebriated, he would have sensed it…sensed its absence, before he took the risky move to shift his form into one that he had not taken in a long, long time. 

And for good reason too.

Not impossible.

The protective spell that his late Mother had weaved for him centuries ago had unravelled, God knew when, and he did not even realise it.

Loki laid a hand on his belly. 

All it takes is a bit of magic, he cajoled himself. Take a look.

"No, I won't," he said aloud. "I can't."

Take a look. This time, he heard it in Bucky's voice, loud and clear.

Here goes nothing.

Loki surrendered himself to the call of the trance and reached out with his seidr, seeking for any sign of life deep inside him.

And there it was. A flutter. A caress of breath on skin, from within. 

Loki sank to the floor, his knees slapping the hard, cold tiles, but he hardly felt the it.

Norns, have mercy.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Whumper 4, caretaker 5 caretaker (doesn't know it's blood)

Is that ok?

Whumper 4: “Let's see what's more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?” / Caretaker 5: “Let me help you.”

Yeah, of course that's ok :) I'm guessing that the parenthesis was supposed to go before the 'caretaker' and they don't know about the blood? well, I hope that's it because that's what I wrote haha, but if it wasn't, please feel free to send me another ask <3

Also, some content warnings because this one ended up a little intense: implied noncon (didn't mean to write it like that but the vibes are there so), noncon drugging, a very creepy and intimate whumper... there's comfort at the end though!

-

Whumpee should’ve known there was something weird about Whumper. No one could smile that big and talk that kindly without wanting something in return. They just never thought it’d be this.

“Come on, now. I don’t have the whole night. What’s your choice?”

All Whumpee does is close their eyes and shake their head, too overwhelmed to force any words out of their quivering lips.

“Whumpee, it’s not a hard one,” Whumper huffs, and they can hear the annoyance in their voice but they can’t convince themself to say the words. “Do you need me to repeat it to you?”

They don’t, the sound of Whumper’s offer still echoes inside their head, loud and clear.

But Whumper takes their silence as agreement.

“Here’s your choice: you can take these pills and be the entertainment of my party tonight, or I can go snatch someone else to do it. You’ll only stay if you agree, and if you don’t, I’ll let you walk away and never see me again. It’d be a shame though, because everything is ready for you. I’ve been watching you, and oh Whumpee, you are just so… perfect. But, in case you say no, I can always go after someone else. Say… Caretaker? I’m told they are a friend of yours.”

Their heart pounds in their ears, so loud Whumpee is almost surprised Whumper can’t hear it too.

“I can go get them if you want me to. Can’t promise they’ll come out in one piece after my guests finish playing, though. Not like I can promise you. You are far too precious to be permanently damaged, you I can promise to keep somewhat safe. Caretaker on the other hand, not so much. Who knows what those troglodytes could do to them if I give them a free pass?”

Whumper’s laugh fills the basement Whumpee woke up in only minutes ago, bouncing off the walls and making Whumpee’s skin crawl. How could they trust the mysterious stranger who offered them a ride? Why hadn’t they been more careful? Now here they are, locked in a basement with someone twice their size and no hope of escape. If only they’d been more careful–

“Well?” Whumper says, drawing Whumpee’s attention back to those narrowed eyes, glinting with cruelty.

“W-what will you do to me?” Whumpee whispers through the thick layer of fear enveloping their world. “If, if I say yes… what then?”

Their smile is almost as horrid as their laughter. Whumpee shrinks against the wall, pulling their knees closer to their chest. “If you say yes my love, the pills will start working in a few minutes. I will give you a nice new outfit while the drugs do their job and then when you are barely able to walk, I’ll help you up the stairs. Everyone will be so happy to see you, Whumpee.” Their eyes burn, but no tears fall when Whumper scoots closer and touches their hair, gentle fingers brushing back sweaty locks. “And then we will have fun. You’ll barely remember it afterward, but I will remember it forever. You might be left with some sore spots but all temporary. Well, almost all temporary, won’t promise one or two marks for you to remember me later. Maybe a few scratches, some of my friends are remarkably fond of knives. But the point here is that you’ll make anything we want you to, and that’s the real fun.”

“And if I say no?”

“If you say no, I’ll go after your friend. Kidnap them, just like I did you. And when they awake, they won’t be given the choice I’m giving you since it wasn’t them I really wanted. I’ll take them upstairs, and we’ll make them hurt. Scream. Cry. Maybe I’ll record it and send it all to you so you know what fate you chose for them. Now, what's your choice, Whumpee? Tell me.”

As they speak terrible word after terrible word, Whumper’s fingers continue to play with Whumpee’s hair. Twisting and brushing and caressing. Always so soft, so awfully soft in comparison to the nightmares they spit into Whumpee’s brain.

“Let's see what's more important to you. Your dignity, or their safety?”

A tear finally escapes, only to be brushed away by Whumper’s touch.

“But don’t worry. If you make the right choice, It won’t be all pain, baby. It’ll be about those big scared eyes and that delightful little quiver on your lip. About how gorgeous you will look when you’re barely able to walk, and how you will cling when you can’t think straight. And I’ll be there the whole time. I’ll take care of you.”

Whumper is right.

In the end, it isn’t a hard choice.

Whumpee closes their eyes and nods at the same time a soft, broken “okay,” slips out of their lips. It doesn’t feel like the lock of a door they were expecting. It feels like taking a step into the void, and knowing there’ll be thorns waiting for them when they fall.

Still, it’s with Caretaker’s smile in their head that they force themself to swallow when two round pills touch their lips. They don’t open their eyes until a bottle of water is held for them to drink from. It is only when there is no more chance for them to break and plead to be let go, even if they want to, desperately, that they let their eyes flutter open.

Whumper is waiting for them with a wide smile when they do.

“Let us begin then.”

And so they do.

Whumper brushes Whumpee’s hair and gently applies makeup to their face. When they ask Whumpee to undress and give them new clothes, they don’t hesitate to obey, and only when Whumper is closing their zipper for them do they realize how faint they feel.

When they are placed in front of a mirror, Whumpee looks at the shiny clothes but forgets what they looked like as soon as they are led away. By the time the door is opened and music first hits their ears, they are leaning against Whumper to keep standing.

They try to climb the stairs. Narrowing their eyes to concentrate, they raise their foot, but the world is filled with blurred colors and too-quick movement, and the only reason they don’t fall is Whumper’s fast hands holding them up.

Whumpee is almost grateful when Whumper chuckles and whispers against their hair. “Easy there, baby. Let me help you.”

They rest their head against Whumper’s heart when they are picked up bridal style, and stay that way until the lighting changes and voices fill the air.

They are placed on the floor, and with Whumper’s help, manage to keep standing, even though the floor refuses to stand still under their feet.

And then there are hands on their hands, squeezing and hurting, and Whumpee tries, they try so hard, but instead of the firm no they want to say, only a moaned “n-hng, I, I, d-don, wha-what’s hap-happe–,” comes out.

And then the world slips away, and though their body still moves, they are barely there anymore to see it.

-

When Caretaker’s doorbell rings, they don’t hesitate to jump out of bed and run to the door. They’ve been sending Whumpee messages all night without response, and concern rings louder than sleep. Only when they open the door and see the sunrise do they realize how early it already is.

And then their gaze slides to the figure leaning against their doorframe, head bowed and shoulders slumped, and their heart misses a beat.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker calls, reaching out their hand.

But before they can touch sparkly clothes they’ve never seen their friend wearing before, Whumpee cowers away. Caretaker retreats, but their heart races even faster.

“Whumpee, what’s wrong? Where were you, did something happen?”

Whumpee looks up, and Caretaker doesn’t need an answer to know what happened. Wide pupils, half-lidded eyes, smudged makeup and parted lips tell them all they need to know.

“Oh, Whumpee.”

There are stains all over their clothes, too. Is it spilled alcohol? Is it vomit?

“Oh, Whumpee,” Caretaker sighs again, taking a slow step in their direction, feeling a sad, involuntary frown settling on their forehead. “What did you do?”

Whumpee follows their steps with their eyes but keeps still. It is only when Caretaker comes close enough for touch and extends their hand that they wince and shrink into themself again.

“Honey, I can see you’re not okay,” Caretaker says as calmly as they can. “Let me help you.”

Another step, and this time all Whumpee does is close their eyes and let out a low whimper. Caretaker sighs again as they help Whumpee wrap their arm around their shoulders and lead them inside.

Whumpee is almost a dead weight in Caretaker’s arms as they help them get into the bathroom, to seat on the toilet and lean back against the wall.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Caretaker asks, crouched down in front of Whumpee.

“I, I, I don– don’t, W-Whum-per. They, they, they did... something.”

“Who’s Whumper, love?”

But all Whumpee does is shake their head no as tears stream down their cheeks.

“Okay, you can tell me later. Can you at least tell me what did you use?”

The look Whumpee gives Caretaker is so utterly lost, that they nearly start crying as well.

“Don’t… kn-know. Pills?”

“How about a shower, and then we talk more, huh?” Caretaker tries, nodding encouragingly. Whumpee swallows, but doesn’t nod along with them. Instead, their eyes dart around the bathroom, searching for nothing.

With a reassuring squeeze on their knee, Caretaker gets into the shower and turns on the faucet. As the water warms up, they take one look at Whumpee’s slumped form and walk over to the mirror.

Clutching the cold porcelain of the sink, Caretaker looks up at their own image in the mirror – tired and disappointed, but also patient. Worried.

“You can do this,” they mouth to themself, “Whumpee needs your help.”

With one last sigh, they turn their head to Whumpee and take a step in their direction. And then a step back, when something grabs their attention at their peripheral vision.

Caretaker stares at their image in the mirror again and feels their heart stop when they see their sleeve stained red. The sleeve where their friend’s arm had just touched.

It isn't alcohol or puke on Whumpee’s clothes.

It is blood.

“Whumpee,” they call, dropping to their knees in front of them. Whumpee jumps and meets Caretaker’s stare with wide, scared eyes. “You are bleeding. Are you hurt? I need you to tell me where you are hurt, Whumpee.”

But all they do is breathe faster and faster, pure helplessness on their face.

“If you can’t tell me, I need to find the source of blood on my own. I’m taking your shirt off, okay?”

Caretaker doesn’t wait for an answer, and Whumpee doesn’t give them one.

They don’t fight Caretaker’s hands when they pull the shirt over their head, even when a pained hiss leaves their lips.

Caretaker holds their breath when they see Whumpee’s bared skin.

Bruises color their entire torso, as well as long crisscrossing welts. Their arms are covered in small, rounded marks that look dreadfully like cigarette burns. Cuts, deep and superficial litter everything, some already closed, some still weeping blood. There’s barely any smooth skin left.

“What happened to you?” Caretaker breathes, searching for answers in Whumpee’s terrified eyes. “Who did this?”

All the answer they get is a soft sob and a cold forehead hitting their shoulder as Whumpee falls forward and nuzzles into their neck.

Caretaker hugs them back, careful not to touch or press on sore skin, feeling their stomach churn when their fingers bump into more cuts along their back.

“I’m here now,” Caretaker whispers against their hair, tears of their own rolling down their cheeks, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again, Whumpee. You are safe. You are safe.”

They stay like that until the bathroom is foggy from the warm water falling from the shower and Whumpee’s shoulders stop shaking, but when Caretaker helps them undress and oh-so-carefully cleans the wounds, there’s only drowsiness and chemicals behind the fear in their eyes.

They have no idea what they'll do once Whumpee comes to. Or what they'll do to whoever Whumper is if they get the chance.

-

Prompts from this list. Still taking them but I can't promise how fast I'll write it haha

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Hrygð (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Hrygð: affliction, grief, sorrow (Old Norse)  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: A night post Chapter 45. I told ya Ivar was under a lot of pressure from the Greeks being around, and he does stupid shit under pressure.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: The usual for the story, plus mentions/descriptions of dead bodies, allusions to murder, hallucinations. My best attempt at writing a downward spiral. And oh, THE ANGST. Yes, bold, italic, capital letters angst. It warrants it, believe me.

A/N: So, I promise this makes sense when you get to the end. Trust me.

You wait for him in your bedroom, he knows you do.

He wishes he could walk inside and tell you he regrets it, he wishes the Greek blood staining his hands were something he wanted to wash off.

But he doesn’t.

They didn’t leave him any choice, they forced his hand. He couldn’t let them take you from him, he couldn’t let anyone take you from him.

If he has to deal with your rage, then so be it. You will be angry, and you will grieve, but you will understand, Ivar knows you will.

When he walks in, there is no rage, and that does unbalance him. It makes grow in his chest what a weaker man would call fear, to see you so deadly still.

You don’t turn around, leaving him to look at the straight line of your back, leaving him with nothing to read in you except your voice when slowly, expectantly even though you know the answer, you ask, “What did you do to them, Ivar?”

“They were a threat and you kn-…”

“What did you do to them?” You interrupt. When you turn around, the first thing he notices is the stains the dirt left on your dress. He tells himself that is the first thing he notices, because he refuses to admit he notices the redness in your eyes, the tremble in your lip. “What did you do to my people?”

“They aren’t your people. The people of Kattegat are your people.”

You shake your head, resolute, unwavering. It grips tight at his heart, the way you seem to be unmovable, the way you feel locked away from him somewhere he can’t reach.

Anger burns at him from the inside, bubbling under his skin and making his grip on the crutch tighten until he fears it will break. You made him do this, he did this for you, and now you will turn your back to him?

“I will always be their daughter before I am your wife, you know that. You know before there was a ring on my finger there was Greek blood running through my veins,” Your voice starts to rise, your anger breaking past the cold distance of your disdain; and he almost feels relief at the sight of your rage. “The same blood you have spilled.”

“You made me do it!” He yells, uncaring with how your eyes widen in affront. He wants you to be angry, he wants you to fight. He cannot stand the thought of doing something that makes you surrender. “You let them get close, you-…I know you will choose them over me, over everything I have given you!”

You walk closer, deliberately slowly.

“Everything you have given me!?” You repeat, disbelieving. “You have given me chains, Varangian, nothing more than that!”

His breath stutters and gets stuck on his throat, and Ivar can only look at you with wide eyes.

Varangian.

The fight leaves him, the fire leaves him. He remembers what that feels like, the useless struggling as air is unavailable and useless lungs slowly suffocate him no matter how much he fights against it, he remembers what it is like to be tied to a mast and dragged down to the depths in the inescapable grasp of Rán’s net. It feels exactly like this.

You continue attempting to ignore him, but he won’t be overlooked, he refuses. It is maddening, because he…he believed that was over. He has lived with the uncaring glances, the irrelevance, all his life; and now things are supposed to be different. They have to be, he is better now, he is King, he…

“I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.” You tell him, returning your gaze, your attention, to your work.

Grabbing onto that knife feels like relief, feels like control. When the drops of blood hit the floor, he feels his lips tremble into a mad smile he has to bite back.

By force if you make it so, by fear if he has to, but he won’t be ignored.

Ivar feels like his head is filled with noise, and he stumbles back, catching himself on a wooden post. Dazedly, he thinks he remembers sitting on the ground before that pillar, with you sitting between his legs, your back against his chest, as he taught you to throw knives and watched you fail miserably.

Varangian.

He shakes his head, or he thinks he does. He isn’t sure of that. He isn’t sure of anything, really.

He isn’t even sure that memory of you in his arms is real.

You lift your hands between you, the rattling of chains making him grit his teeth.

“I refuse to die a Varangian’s prisoner.”

Your eyes are burning with a disgust he is familiar with, though not when it comes to you, and that is what makes him want to make you pay for looking at him that way.

So, he chuckles, mocking you and your anger, and your pride. He’d rather have you hate him, if that is all he will have.

“You think you have a choice.”

Voice rough, he orders, “Do not call me that.”

Varangian, Varangian, Varangian, it rattles inside his head. Taunting him, mocking him.

“That is what you are to me,” You retort coldly, cruelly, “That is all you will ever be. The Varangian that took me from my people, that slaughtered them!”

Ivar stops by the door, gripping tightly onto the crutch by his side. Slowly, he asks you to repeat yourself, dares you to.

But he should know the kind of woman you are by now, he should know you are too stubborn to keep your mouth shut. He wishes he could hate that about you.

“You need my consent for us to be married, Varangian,” You state proudly, standing up. He turns to face you, gritting his teeth, and you continue, “I am a free woman, you can’t force me. You won’t break a promise, so you won’t make me a slave.”

Ivar feels the familiar burn of anger and resentment, a pointless and pathetic hope dying somewhere, and he steps forward. He refused to tell you about your mother’s deal with him, but now you’ve forced his hand.

If you ask, he will tell you he hid it for this long because you wouldn’t believe him, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows he did it because he held the stupid hope that marrying him could somehow be your choice.

“I am your husband.” He corrects you. When your eyes are drawn to it, he notices his hand not on the crutch clenched into a fist.

You slowly lift your gaze to him, and demand, “I want you to tell me what you did to them. I want to hear it.”

You don’t, but he was never one to refuse a challenge.

Ivar steps forward, a deep thrust of the crutch against the wooden floor that he didn’t intend to make you flinch, but finds himself almost satisfied that it does. If nothing else, he will take fear.

He will take fear, he will take hatred. Anything but indifference, anything but that distance, that coldness.

“Our men attacked while they were sleeping, lit their homes aflame. Most died screaming, burned alive,” It is a lie, it was just iron and arrows that ended the Greeks, but he knows what will make it more painful. “The ones that ran out were struck down, forced to watch. Happy?

You stay silent, eerily silent. Tears run down your face when you close your eyes, but there’s a jarring kind of peace to your expression as you accept his words that makes Ivar feel like the ground isn’t solid under his feet.

“Answer me!”

“You betrayed me.” You tell him, and he hates it, he hates the way your voice has no tone to it, even the accent seems gone for a moment. He hates the way he made you sound dead.

But no, no, this isn’t his fault. You forced his hand, you and those Greeks.

You have to understand that it isn’t his fault.

“And what are you going to do, hm?” He dares, and he isn’t sure what he wants to hear as an answer. He isn’t sure if it is the part of him that wants more than anything to hear that this is something he can fix that makes him ask you that, or if it is the part of him that has always known you would turn your back to him at the end that does.

Whatever the answer is, it is better than this silence.

You shake your head, though he isn’t sure if it is at his question or at your own thoughts.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Ivar,” You confess breathily. When your hands join together in front of you, he can’t help but notice you aren’t twirling your wedding ring on your finger as you usually, do, but clawing at the edges of it, as if trying desperately to take it off, though you don’t attempt to. “I do not want to fight you.”

He does. Still, he walks closer, his free hand reaching for you.

Ivar cups the back of your head, noting the way you lean tiredly into the caress and finding his breathing gets a little easier at that simple gesture.

“Can you forgive me?” He asks, though he knows he shouldn’t. He still doesn’t regret it.

Your lips pull into a trembling smile, “I have no choice, do I?”

Instead of giving you an answer, Ivar brings you to him and kisses you deeply, letting himself believe when your breaths are one that everything is as it was, or that it will be, somehow.

Brow pressed against yours, he studies your features carefully, noting the strain in your expression even as your eyes remain closed.

“I love you.” He whispers, and he knows you are aware it is a pathetic and desperate request to hear it back, but he doesn’t much mind anymore.

Your eyes search his, bloodshot and tired and defeated, and he knows he is the reason why. He knows, and it tears at whatever is left of his heart, but he still cannot regret what he did.

The silence deafens him, and he grits his teeth to keep at bay desperation made words.

Say it back, even if you don’t mean it. Lie to me if you have to.

A few quick blinks as if to dispel any tears, and you offer the faintest of smiles. Your hand lifting to cup the side of his face lets him breathe easy, and Ivar doesn’t bother stopping himself from leaning into the caress, the softness.

He hasn’t lost that yet, he hasn’t lost you.

“And I love you,” You tell him. He can pretend your voice doesn’t break halfway through; he can do that, and he can pretend everything is as it was, especially when you press a gentle kiss against his lips and whisper, as if nothing had changed, “More than anyone, more than anything.”

____

When Ivar first wakes up with his arm stretched over the empty space where you should be, he keeps his eyes closed, knowing he will soon hear your soft footsteps as you go about the room, hear you cursing to yourself in your native tongue as you skip over the cold wood, hear you poutingly asking that he move to the colder side of the bed to leave room for you.

He tells himself to wait, and he does, for so long he can no longer pretend the empty side of the bed is still warm in your absence.

Ivar opens his eyes half-expecting to see you there, sitting silently by the dim fires, lost in your own thoughts. When you see he is awake, you will return to bed with him, with your always slightly-cold skin pressed against his, and it will stave off the bubble of fear that is growing in his chest, leaving no room for his lungs to breathe or his heart to beat.

You aren’t there, you are nowhere he can see, even as he sits up on the bed and looks around the darkened room.

But you wouldn’t leave, you wouldn’t leave him. He knows that.

He asked you once, demanded out of you maybe, that you promised to never turn your back to him, to never lie to him; and you gave it, you gave him your word and your trust and your heart and…and he still has them, all of those.

You wouldn’t leave him, you love him. You told him you did, and you don’t lie to him.

So, he calls your name. You’re probably on the other part of the room, moving the weakest of plants you continue to insist on taking care of towards the windows so they can soak up the sunlight.

You will hear him call for you, and you will return, muttering about how it was a mistake to try planting those seeds from the East this far into winter. You will burrow close to his chest, seeking his warmth, and he will wrap his arm around you and everything will be as it was, everything will be as it should be.

But it isn’t, it won’t be.

You are nowhere to be found.

He finds you, eventually. The old bedroom you used to occupy before you were married to him, the one that you still lose yourself in sometimes, with the tougher plants that need less frequent care from you.

One of the thralls told him you had gone there sometime during the night, and hadn’t come out yet. Ivar knows what he did is wrong, and he knows…he knows it will be difficult for you to forgive him, but he will convince you to return to the bedroom you share. He hates the idea of sleeping without you by his side.

He opens the door with his free hand, walking in and immediately recognizing the familiar scent of lavender. It is comforting, more than he would like to admit.

Until he sees you.

There lays the bloodied and lifeless body, blade embedded deep in the chest, round handle of the knife almost hidden in the bloodied folds of the dress. The knife he gifted you, so long ago.

I do not fear death, no Hiereia of the Dread Gods fears death, you told him once.

He has always known you’d prefer death before chains, he has always known above anything else you would choose your freedom.

“N-No, no, no,” Shaking hands drag him to you -he doens’t know when he fell to the floor-, and the way your body lolls lifelessly when he holds you to him makes him feel like vomiting. All that leaves him are choked gasps, he isn’t sure if the ragged and roughened sound that he hears is his voice, but it seems like it. “No, p-please, I-…”

He doesn’t know what he is talking to, he surely cannot talk to you since you are…

No, it isn’t you.

The shape of her nose is wrong, and the color of her eyes, even past the veil of death, is wrong. Everything, once he can actually think clearly, looks wrong about her.

She isn’t you.

He is going to lose his mind, he is sure of it.

Ivar moves away from her, from…it, but the way she still resembles you so strikingly makes him sick, and the sound the body makes as it stiffly falls from his lap to the cold wood rattles inside his head.

He closes his eyes, focuses on breathing. She smells like lavender, like you, and…yes, he is sure he will lose his mind here.

Ivar doesn’t know how much time it passes, how long he stays there in that room with a dead woman. He knows at some points he forgets it isn’t you, and at he knows when he remembers it isn’t that he realizes this is your last message to him.

By the end of the day, Ivar stumbles back into an empty bedroom after standing for so long as they celebrated a funeral for a woman that lives and breathes, but even as darkness presses ruthlessly against the dim lights of the room, he refuses to get in the bed to sleep.

He will not lay alone in that damn bed again. Not until you return to him.

And you will.

____

He knows you went to them. He knew that, long before they received word from their scouts that you had reunited with the surviving Greeks.

It took them four days to find where you had been, and three days of travelling. Ivar wants to find those responsible for taking this long and punish them for their slowness.

If he could focus on the anger for long enough, he would, but he can’t seem to focus on anything.

“Our faster men can reach that town in a day and a half, let m-…”

“She will come back, brother,” Ivar interrupts, eyes focused on the shape of the snake in the bracelet you left behind. Since he gifted it to you, you haven’t parted it from it, wearing it as often as you can. He knows you wouldn’t leave it behind if you didn’t intend to come back, he knows you left it as a sign to him, a promise that it is only a matter of time. Like the knife he gifted you, it was all a message, he knows it. Ivar swallows thickly at Hvitserk’s silence -it sounds so much like pity, he hates it-, and insists, “She didn’t leave me, didn’t b-betray me.”

“You betrayed me.” You tell him, voice by his ear, a defeated sort of numbness in your voice that he remembers from that last night. Sharply, he turns to you with a gasp that dies on his throat.

But, of course, all that he finds is nothingness.

“Ivar,” Hvitserk calls out, an edge to his voice. He turns to his brother, finds a frown marrying his features. “I can go myself. Let m-…”

“She will come back!” He interrupts again, though it sounds manic even to his own ears. He tries making his body let go of the stillness that makes even breathing difficult, but he can’t. Still, he offers a smile that his brother almost flinches at, and insists, more calmly, “I know my wife better than you, hm? I know…I know her, just-…you’ll see.”

Offering only a sigh, his brother stands up, “At least get some sleep. You haven’t slept in…what, three days?”

Seven.

____

Days continue passing, and almost as a punishment for refusing to accept you are gone, for insisting on not even looking at that damn bed until you are back by his side, Ivar hears your voice more and more often.

Today, you are talkative, and you sound as if you were sitting by his left side in the emptiness of your bedroom. He wishes with your voice also returned the familiar scent of lavender that seemed to accompany you everywhere. He misses that.

“Find a way or make one, but you will always have a choice.”

You told him that before, when you were sanding by his side, and your hand was solid and comforting in his grasp. He wishes he could pretend he still feels the press of your lips on his shoulder from that day, he wishes he could pretend he still feels you next to him.

Still, because it is just him and your absence now, no one left to see he has lost it, he asks the nothingness, “What choice did you leave me with, hm?”

He hears a delicate laugh somewhere at his left, and that is all the answer he gets.

Ivar knows what the people would whisper when he first brought you here, those tales of a half-mad king that lost what was left of his mind to a foreign witch.

He realizes with a laugh that bubbles in his chest but sounds choked when it stutters past his lips, that maybe they were all right. Maybe you did bewitch him, or curse him. Maybe he did lose his mind because of a foreign witch.

Your voice breezes past his ear, this time startling him less, “With all the ways we drive each other mad, you still think the Gods fated this?”

It isn’t the teasing edge of that day, the smile he can hear in your voice isn’t the soft and disbelieving one. There is no warmth to any of it.

It is mocking, it is the disdain he made you queen to avoid facing, it is the coldness of the woman he never wanted to see you lose yourself as.

Your words from that day, the words your ghost -his mind?- spits back at him seem fitting, in a way. A twisted, ironic way, but still.

Because you did drive him mad after all, just not with your presence. With your absence.

Regardless, after nearly two weeks, he realizes you aren’t coming back.

He supposes it shouldn’t have taken that long, but then again there’s a part of him that still dares think this is all some twisted nightmare.

They tell him most of the Greeks, including you, have left with merchant vessels near Eldham towards the Mediterranean, they tell him there is no way to track you down now.

They don’t tell him, but he hears it regardless, that you are lost to him.

Ivar’s eyes are trained on this small and pitiful plant you kept potted near the table where you’d rest against at night as you took off the earrings and jewelry you wore that day.

He cannot take his eyes off this insignificant, withered thing. It almost seems impossible, that it looks like that. You’d spend half a day if you had to looking after these things, making sure they were as vibrant and lively as you could keep them.

It dawns on him that it died in your absence, in the absence he had convinced himself was a passing thing, temporary, inconsequential.

You told him things said aloud are made real, you told him that by will alone he could achieve anything he wanted, and he believed you.

He believed you when you told him those things, just as he believed you when you told him you were staying. Just as he believed you when you told him you loved him.

With a yell that sounds like a roar to his own ears, he puts all his strength behind the movement of his arm as his hand grips the edge of that table, flipping it and throwing the things on it, even that damn plant, across the room.

Almost two weeks without sleep have left him weaker than he would like to admit, and it isn’t easy to move his limbs to stop himself from falling painfully to the ground, the movements too uncoordinated, too sluggish.

Resigned to the cold and hard ground, Ivar turns to lay on his back.

With the silence ringing in his ears, he finds himself asking, “Will you stay?”

If all he has is a ghost, he might as well be on good terms with it.

“Of course I will stay. I wanted to, you know,” You reply somewhere at his right. This is the first time you’ve spoken something you haven’t said before, this is the first time your ghost seems to answer coherently. That is, until you whisper, “If you had asked, I would have said yes.”

The words sound more mocking and crueler than they ever did, though perhaps he was foolish to think they were ever anything other than a reminder of what following his father’s last advice cost him.

Be ruthless, be ruthless, be ruthless.

It echoes in his head, louder and louder each time. At some point he realizes that even if the voice of a ghost gets loud enough that he has to resist the urge to uselessly cover his ears with his hands, it at least drowns out his thoughts, and it silences you.

On the floor by the bed he refuses to even touch since it still doesn’t have you in it, he lets himself sleep for the first time in so long.

____

He wakes suddenly, sitting up on the bed and taking gasping breaths to fill his lungs, eyes wide as he searches the nothingness in front of him.

“Ivar?” You ask, and the bed dips when you move to sit up as well. “Ivar, what’s wrong?”

The plant is alive.

And he cannot take his eyes off it.

It is still a small, pitiful thing, but he cannot look away from it. His breaths quicken as he blinks rapidly, trying desperately to get used to the darkness of the room, needing to see clearly that the damn plant truly is alive.

The more time it passes the more he starts to see it withered and dead, and even as through gasping and frantic breaths he somehow smells the comforting scent of lavender and you, it somehow isn’t enough.

It terrifies him, that he doesn’t know what is real and what isn’t.

He knows what he wants to be real, and it is the bed soft and warm underneath him, the sound of your voice being more than an illusion, the damn plant being alive still. But somehow wanting it to be real makes him think that is the one it isn’t.

“Ivar!” You insist, voice more anxious. Your hand on the side of his face almost makes him flinch, but when you turn his face to you, he can see you there beside him. He lifts a hand desperately to hold your own against his face, lest you stop touching him and disappear. Or he does. He isn’t sure. Your eyes search his, and your thumb runs back and forth over his skin. It’s soothing, more than you could ever know. “It was just a nightmare, love.”

Was it?

You are straddling him, arms wrapped tightly around him, hands running up and down his back. He doesn’t know when you moved, but he is grateful for it.

His hand reaches tentatively for you, still irrationally afraid you will vanish, and when he finds soft skin under his grasp, Ivar feels a breath leaves his lips in something too close to a sob.

“Shh, it is alright,” You whisper, soothingly, though he notices the tremble in your voice. “Just a nightmare. I’m here, it’s alright.”

Yes, of course it was a nightmare. He never attacked the Greeks, you never left him.

He knows that now. It felt so real, though.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, surrounded by the feel of you and the maddening scent of lavender, and matches his breaths to the cadence of your own, trying to hold on to the calm you so easily offer.

Ivar isn’t sure how much time it passes, it is more than enough for the sweat on his chest and back to have been bitingly cold and now be gone, it is more than enough for his breaths to be back under his own control. It isn’t enough for his hold on you to loosen, but not enough time can pass for that to happen anytime soon.

Laying back down on the bed with you, keeping an arm safely secured around you as you two lay on your sides, Ivar keeps his eyes roaming over your features, uncaring that you do the same -though you are most likely studying for any tell that he still isn’t well, which he isn’t-, taking in the way your eyes soften to accompany the small smile you offer and the familiarly unpredictable way your hair is tussled by sleep.

“Will you tell me about it?”

His answer is immediate, “No.”

Your lips furrow, and he knows you will insist by that alone. Stubborn, insufferable woman.

“Was it about me?”

“I said I don’t want to tell you.” He snaps, but you don’t seem to mind the brashness.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.” You reassure him. He hates the fact that he clings to those words, he hates how they fill him with a relief none of his assurances to himself couldn’t match.

“I know. Stop coddling me, woman.” He grumbles past gritted teeth, prompting only a smile from you.

“You secretly love it,” You tease, leaning close to press a kiss over the scar on his cheek. “What would you do without me pestering you, hm?”

He swallows thickly, and doesn’t answer. Settling a little closer, you meet his eyes again, a tranquility to your gaze he wishes he could find again, and he gathers he can, as long as that adoration and that softness that shine in your gaze don’t go anywhere just yet.

“You should sleep some more. I promise, Melinöe won’t claim you while I’m here,” You offer with a glint in your eye, managing to make his lips pull into a smile. Closing the distance between you, you rub your nose against his before kissing him sweetly, so softly it almost makes Ivar feel he will shatter at the gentleness of it. Breaths one, you promise, “I love you.”

He exchanges seeing you for feeling you, and closes the distance again, claiming your mouth in a short kiss.

Pulling away, Ivar finds himself asking, “Tell me again.”

Without hesitation, you whisper, “I love you, Ivar. More than anyone, more than anything.”

It doesn’t sound like a lie. Even if it is, he doesn’t care.

____ ____ ____

First of all, I’m sorry. Second of all, I hope it made sense. Those of you that read ἀλήθεια know what Ivar was living through, since this was brought to life by @youbloodymadgenius‘ request of an Ivar PoV of the night she left him in Alatheia and the times that came after that. But, because I am one soft bitch, I couldn’t bring myself to write all that hurt without at least some comfort, so...here ya go!

I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Btw, technically hallucinations as a result of sleep deprivation go from visual to auditory, but fuck it, y’know? I do research to confidently write down useless stuff, yes, but I also do research to stubbornly go against said research for the sake of plot. This time it was the second.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax​ @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog @kaitieskidmore1  

[nichuuu]

Sociopath: Chapter 18 - Cheer Up

I sit there in the waiting room of the hospital...the world seems to go by in a blur as I stare at my hands, my heart aching.

"Sang-woo!"

I look up and see two familiar figures running toward me. I say nothing as they both crush me in a hug.

"We heard about your Eomma...is she okay?" Chaeyoung asks. At that moment, the doctor opens the door to the waiting room.

"Park Sang-woo?" He calls out. I raise my hand and he walks over.

"She's gone...isn't she?" I whisper. The doctor purses his lips.

"N-Ne...we did everything we could but...the bullet chipped her left ventricle and punctured her lung...she was dead by the time she arrived...we couldn't do anything..." He said.

"I-I understand...t-thank you, doctor..."

"Joesonghamida," he bows before walking away. I stare at the door...what is this feeling?

"Sang-woo?" Dahyun calls me.

"G-Girls...I-"

I choke on my words, tears threatening to burst from my eyes.

Keep it together Sang-woo! Stay strong! Stay strong!

My mind is pulled out of my thoughts as the two girls hug me, both of them silently offering their condolences.

"I'm sorry Sang-woo..." Chaeyoung whispers, her grip on me tightening.

Don't cry Sang-woo...you have to be strong, be strong for everyone okay?

How Eomma? How can I be strong for everyone...

It's too much...

I feel like I'm sinking.

I feel like I'm melting.

My body shakes, my vision blurs.

I break down right then and there, sinking to my knees as the emotions that I tried so hard to hold in burst forward in a flood of tears. I know I promised you that I'd be strong Eomma...but at this moment...I don't think I can.

The hands around me only tighten as my two best friends hug me tightly, holding me close to them as I wail. I don't care that I'm in public...I don't care that I'm a grown man...all I want is for my Eomma to be here with me again...

"She's in a better place now Sang-woo...she's free," Dahyun sniffles as her voice starts to break as well. I feel her tears wetting my neck as she holds me close, doing her best to comfort me. It must hurt for them to see me lie this, to see their best friend reduced to nothing but pain and tears.

I want to stop...I want to stop shedding these tears of pain...these tears of sadness, but I just can't, my body won't let me. No matter how hard I try to force myself to stop, I just can't...I'm sorry Eomma...I couldn't save you, now I can't even keep my promise.

"It's okay Sang-woo...let it out...let it all out," Chaeyoung whispers as she pulls me closer, burying her head in the crook of my neck.

Her words make something break inside me.

I let go, I cry, I scream, I yell...

I'm sorry Eomma...but I can't stay strong...

***

3 weeks later...

Dahyun flips the pancake onto the plate, completing the breakfast meal.

"I think you can go get him now Chaeng," she says. I nod solemnly and get up from my seat. I always hate this part of the day...

I take a deep breath and walk towards Sang-woo's door. Being as silent as I can, I twist the nob and push the door open. It takes everything in my body to not let my heart shatter as I see my best friend laying on his side. Those eyes that used to be filled with joy and warmth, now completely empty and dead, the smile that always graced his features wiped clean...I've seen this for 3 weeks straight but goddamn...it still hurts me every time...

It feels like his room is a black and white picture, the vibrancy and joy sucked out of the place. His dinner from last night which he said he'd eat in his room lays untouched at the bedside table, all the dishes still fully intact. His bedside lamp is on, as it always has been for the past 3 weeks, and his blinds remain drawn, no light getting into the place. I walk over to the window and pull the string of the blinds, flipping them open to get some light into the room.

"Hey, sleepyhead...time to get up," I say with a small, forced smile. He lays still, his body not even moving despite the direct sunshine on his face. I lick my lips and walk over to his bedside, kneeling down so that I'm at eye level with him.

"Sang-woo-ya...come eat..." I whisper as I gently shake his shoulders.

No response.

"Sang-woo..." I try again. "You've been skipping meals for days...we're worried sick...please..."

His eyes move, our gazes locking. I smile at him warmly.

"Please?" I whisper. He blinks and finally nods slowly.

"O-Okay..." he mutters. I quickly get up and pull the covers off him before helping him up to his feet.

"Come on bestie...let's get some food in you..." I say. I'm elated to see a small smile cross his face, the first emotion I've seen from him in days.

"Alright..."

I hold his hand as we walk out of his room. Dahyun greets us with a bright smile as she pulls out the chairs.

"Yay! You're awake! Come, I made pancakes!" She chirps as she quickly runs over to help me support him. Together, we hug him and move him forward to his seat. He settles down in his chair and we quickly move to our seats.

"Come! Let's eat!" Dahyun exclaims.

"Ne! Jalmeoketsimida!" I echo. Dahyun picks up her fork and digs in, and I do the same. As I chew, I look at Sang-woo, whose eyes have yet to move from his plate.

"Ya, Sang-woo...you should eat! I need to know how my pancakes taste so I can improve you know? Chaeng has shit taste, she only likes Strawberries!" Dahyun jokes, trying to lift the mood. She gets 0 reaction from him as he continues to stare. Dahyun and I glance at each other, both of us knowing what we're thinking.

"Come on Sang-woo...could you at least take a bite? For me?" Dahyun pleads. He blinks a couple of times before picking up his fork and poking it into the pancake. He cuts a small piece of it off and puts it into his mouth, chewing silently.

"It...It's good..." He whispers with a weak smile. Dahyun beams and holds his hand.

"Thank you! I put a lot of effort into it!" She replies. He opens his mouth to say something, but only a small strangled sound comes out as I see tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. Dahyun notices and quickly rushes to hug him.

"Shhh...it's okay, it's okay, don't cry..." She coos as his body begins to shake. "Don't cry Sang-woo...don't cry..."

She looks up at me, her eyes saying it all as she purses her lips. Ever since Eomeonim's funeral, Dahyun and I have been doing our best to cheer our friend up, especially Dahyun. The last few weeks have been painful, having to see my best friend go through this tugged at my heart...it hurts to see him like this.

The phone rings, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"I'll get it," I say as I quickly run towards our landline.

"Yeoboseyo?" I answer.

"Hey Chaeng...it's Nayeon. How's Sang-woo?"

"He's...we managed to get him out of bed but...now he's crying at the dining table..."

Nayeon-unnie sighs on the other end.

"Has...has he been eating?"

"N-No...this is his first meal in 2 days..."

"Gosh...I'm sorry that I can't be there with you guys to cheer him up.."

"It's okay unnie...you just stay safe for him so that he doesn't have to worry about you too. Besides, I think it's our turn to help him...he's been living us into his arms for his whole life, now it's our time to lift him into our arms."

"Thank you so much Chaeyoung...I...I'll try and talk to Hyejin-ssi so that we can get me out faster...could you...could you put Sang-woo on please?"

"Alright...give me a second."

I quickly turn to Dubu and point at the phone. She immediately understands and whispers something to Sang-woo as she wipes his tears. She silently gets him up onto his feet and walks him over to the phone. I help to hold the phone to his ears as he grabs it with shaky hands.

"N-Nayeon?"

I can only hear the incomprehensible sounds of Nayeon's voice as she talks to Sang-woo.

"Y-Yea...I'm fine honey...D-Don't worry about me...I know...yea...alright I will...I promise...l-love you too baby...bye..."

Nayeon's time runs out and the line goes silent. I slowly pull the phone away and place it back on the receiver.

"G-Girls...I'm sorry for being like this...I...I'm being a big burden aren't I?"

"No no no...you're not Sang-woo...your mother got shot in front of you...it's only natural for you to feel this way..." Dubu quickly says.

"But...I...I..." He chokes, a fresh batch of tears surging forward. I quickly hug him as Dahyun joins in. He cries for the nth time these few weeks, sobbing and shaking as his emotions take control.

"I-I...I'm sorry girls..." he sobs. My grip around him tightens.

"Don't be Sang-woo...it's okay..." I whisper. Even when he's sad, he knows that what he's doing is hurting us...god, I wish I can be like him...we stay there, hugging him silently as he lets his emotions out.

"I'm s-sorry for bringing the mood down girls..." he apologises once again once he's wound down.

"Sang-woo-ya...stop being so apologetic...it's only normal for you to feel this way..." Dahyun repeats herself as she gently rubs his shoulder. "Sometimes it's okay to show emotions of hurt you know...I mean...I did it for a long time a couple of years back..."

I nod and gently take his hand in mine, giving it a friendly squeeze.

"She's right...we know that you're trying to be strong Sang-woo. We know it's hard and we know that all you wanna do is just lay in bed all day and cry...but you're not doing that, you're out here, with us. It's baby steps Sang-woo...baby steps that will get you out of this dark time...and Dubu and I will be with you every little step of the way. Right Dubu?"

"Ne!" Dahyun exclaims as she beams at him. He manages a small smile.

"Y-You two are the best..." he whispers. We smile at him.

"Only the best for our best friend," I say.

"With benefits," Dubu adds. I slap her shoulder and I'm happy to hear a small chuckle from Sang-woo.

"Y-You know what girls...l-let's go out today...I've kept you guys cooped up in here for weeks...you guys need to get out of the house."

"You too mister!" I add. "Let's get you some sunshine!"

"But uh...can we eat breakfast first?" Dahyun grins sheepishly. "I spent a long time on those pancakes too..."

Sang-woo gives a small laugh, lifting my spirits a little.

"Alright...bab meogja," he nods. Dahyun jumps happily as she practically drags him back to the dining table. I smile as I watch her sit him down, her bubbly personality starting to work its effect on him.

"He helped me Chaeng. He helped me out of my darkest time. Now I want to help him, and I won't stop till my old Sang-woo is back!"

I guess Karma has its way of working wonders hm?

"Ya! Come join us Chaeng!" She yells to me. I roll my eyes.

"Coming!" I say as I walk over.

***

"Squid Game? You ready?" I call out to him as I knock on his door. I see the door handle turn and his door swings open, revealing Park Sang-woo dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans.

"Yea..."

I smile and take his hand, slowly guiding him out of the room.

"Ready to leave?" I ask. He nods.

"Yea...let's go."

We put on our shoes and head out, grabbing our hoodies to combat the last remnants of the winter season as we step outside. I hug Sang-woo's arm as Dubu takes his hand, both of us providing him comfort from both sides.

"Where to first?" Dahyun asks him. He purses his lips.

"I...don't know...can we just walk?"

"Sure thing. Let's go," I say as we walk out of the gates and into the streets. The walk is silent, filled by the intermittent rustle of leaves being blown by a chilly breeze as we walk down the empty weekday streets of Myeong-dong...I should really steer him away from that area...

"Hey, how about we turn right here, let's head to Gangnam instead," I suggest as I try to pull him in the other direction, but he stops me.

"I...I want to see the restaurant one more time..." He says. I furrow my brows.

"Are...are you sure?" Dahyun asks, vocalising my opinion. He hesitates for a moment before nodding.

"I need to see it one more time...I need to let go..."

Dahyun and I exchange a look with each other. I nod at her and she turns to smile at him.

"Alright...let's go then!" She says. We walk a familiar route back to the street food section and make our way to the restaurant. The air seems to get chillier and chillier as we slowly approach the building where it stands. My grip on his hand tightens as we stop outside the Selleongtang restaurant, his eyes gazing up at the floor above. The clear glass windows are covered with blue plastic due to the ongoing investigation.

"You okay?" I whisper as I glance at him. To my surprise, he's smiling.

"Yea...just...just letting the good memories flow..." he replies. "I'm alright."

He momentarily lets go of my hand and reaches into his jean pocket, removing a photograph of a small boy and a young woman.

"I think I've accepted her death girls...I think it's time to let go..." he whispers as he rolls up the paper. From his other pocket, he produces a lighter.

"Wait...you aren't gonna smoke that are you?" Dahyun asks, alarmed. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Nope...but I'm gonna burn it..." he mutters as he lights the lighter. Before he brings the lighter to the photo, I catch his wrist.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?"

He nods.

"I need this Chaeng...I need this..."

I purse my lips and slowly let go of his hand. He smiles and brings the flame to the corner of the photo. The paper quickly catches fire as the flames slowly begin to creep up the photograph, burning it from the bottom corner and making its way up. I wait for him to blow it out, but he doesn't. He just slowly watches the flame warp and burn away the photo with tears in his eyes.

"Goodbye Eomma...I'll miss you," he whispers before letting the paper fall to the floor, letting the final bits of it finish burning. My arms instinctively wrap around him as I pull him into a hug.

"I'll be okay..." he says, answering the question that was on the tip of my tongue. I nod and squeeze him tight.

"She would've wanted this," I say. He nods and looks up at the sky.

"She definitely would..."

We give him a few moments to himself as he keeps his head tilted towards the sky, smiling to himself as a few tears roll down his cheek. Finally, he lets out a breath before wiping his eyes and smiling at us.

"Let's go girls...let's go have fun today."

***

Dahyun squeals excitedly as she runs towards the entrance to the aquarium in the Coex mall.

"Ya! Hurry up guys!" She calls to us.

"Slow down! It's not like the sky's falling or anything!" I yell after her. Sang-woo chuckles lightly and makes the effort to jog with me to catch up to the excited Tofu.

"I know, but fishes!" Dahyun giggles. Gosh, just about anything can excite this girl...

We pay for our tickets and enter the aquarium, crossing off the first item on our bucket list today. On the train here, we planned a whole list of activities, starting our day off in the Coex mall and ending it back in Myeong-dong where we will have street food for dinner.

"Oooooo, check out this one!" Dahyun exclaims as she bounces on her feet, pointing at the display case. We walk over and see what she's pointing at.

📷

"Interesting right?" She asks Sang-woo as she pulls him closer for a better look.

"Yea...it's quite something," he smiles. My heart warms as I see him slowly start returning to his old self again.

"Wanna have a look Chaeng?" he asks me as he steps aside. I nod and walk up to the glass display, peering at the fishes swimming back and forth.

"Pretty," I beam.

"But not as pretty as me," Dahyun smirks.

"Nayeon-unnie, is that you?" I retort, earning a small laugh from Sang-woo.

"Aish...Dubu...I don't need to deal with another narcissist. I'm already dealing with one and she's one hell of a person to deal with," he remarks.

"But you still love her anyway," she winks. He smiles and plays with the ring on his finger.

"Yea...I do...jeez I miss her," he muses. "I should probably take her call tonight."

"You better mister, she's worried sick about you too," I chime in.

"Mina and Sana too!" Dahyun adds. He smiles and nods.

"I know they are...how about we invite them over tonight then?" He suggests.

"But...street food?" Dahyun pouts. He laughs and pats her shoulder.

"Who said we were planning to miss things on our list?"

Dahyun squeals and I laugh. Yup, he's definitely coming back.

"Ya, don't forget my art shop in Hongdae!" I add for fun.

"We won't forget that too Chaeng. We'll go everywhere today...clear our minds...settle our hearts. Just the three of us," he smiles. Dahyun and I exchange a happy look with each other, both of us elated that he's starting to talk a lot more now.

"Of course..." I say.

"Just the three of us," Dahyun finishes. He nods and walks next to us, that familiar, warm smile on his face once more.

"Just the three of us," he echoes. "Now...I heard they had beavers here...let's go see shall we?"

He doesn't even wait for a reply from us as he walks away. Dahyun and I smile at each other, sharing a high five.

"He's back baby," she grins. I smile and stare at him.

"Definitely."

***

"Chaeng!" I call out to her. She comes running over from whichever section she was in and comes to my side.

"How does this look?" I ask as I place the dress on my body. Chaeyoung looks me up and down as she examines my outfit with her artist's eyes.

"Hmmm...maybe if you got a blue version it'd go better," she finally says. I nod and put back the dress.

"Yes ma'am! And uh...have you seen Sang-woo? I haven't been able to find him..." I say as I tip-toe to look past the racks, trying to spot my friend in the clothes store in Hongdae. He just finished going to Chaeyounng's art shop and now, we're shopping for clothes. Chaeyoung entrusted me to look after Sang-woo but uh...let's just say I got sidetracked.

"You lost him?" She exclaims. I blush.

"Umm...I uh..." I stammer.

"I'm right behind you."

I swivel around and see Sang-woo staring at me. Shit...he was behind me this whole time? I hear laughter and see Chaeyoung clutching her stomach as she wipes tears from her eyes.

"Not funny!" I pout. Sang-woo chuckles.

"It kinda is..." he jokes as he moves to stand next to me. "What do you guys think of this?" He proceeds to ask as he lifts a sky blue bucket hat up for us to see.

"Are...are you planning to wear that?" Chaeyoung asks. He laughs and shakes his head.

"Do I look this trendy to you Chaeng? It's for Nayeon, she loves these hats...I can never understand why..." he remarks as he examines it in his hands. "Guess she doesn't like the sun..."

"It's fashion, Sang-woo. You need to learn from her and update your wardrobe, this is the 100th time I've seen you wear this outfit combination!" Chaeng replies.

"Have...have I worn this out that many times?" He asks. Chaeyoung turns to me and I immediately understand the mission.

"Yup...pretty much," I add, siding with Chaeyoung. He sighs and looks at his outfit.

"But I like this shirt..."

"And it makes you look boring. Come on! We're in Korea, we're supposed to be the top in fashion!"

"That's a little stereotypical Chaeng..."

"And? Gosh, you're like an old man...let's get you some new clothes!" Chaeyoung decides. "Dahyun, let's have a competition!"

I stand up straighter.

"Go on," I say.

"Let's get a bunch of outfits for him and see who knows his taste better. The winner is the one who gets more of their outfits accepted by him. We have 5 minutes." She explains.

"And what's the prize?" I enquire. She grins slyly.

"Same as the last time..."

"Oh, I'm getting that Makgeolli this time! You're on strawberry girl!" I declare.

"We'll see about that...Sang-woo, count us down!"

He sighs.

"Is this really necessary girls?"

"Just do it!" I scold. He rolls his eyes.

"Alright...3...2...1...go."

I take off, running towards the male fashion area to begin my expedition.

"Did you-"

"Yes, I started a clock!" He yells, predicting my question. I laugh and resume my search, determined to win. I cast glances at Sang-woo every now and then to check on him, and I am glad to see him smiling and shaking his head as he watches the two of us. He's such a simple man...he can just feel happy by watching the two of us do childish things...sometimes I forget how lucky I am to have him as a friend...

"Two minutes girls!" He calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts. I quickly resume my hunt as I toss outfit after outfit into my arms. A few moments later, his phone rings, signalling the end of our small hunt.

"Alright girls...I think that's it...Woah, that is a lot of clothes..." He muses as he stares at the pile in our arms. "How do I uh..."

"Just take both stacks in and try them on. Go go!" Chaeyoung urges him as she dumps the clothes into his arms. I do the same and giggle as I watch him stagger.

"W-where's the fitting room?" He grunts. We laugh and point him in the direction.

"T-thanks girls...be right back..."

He walks off, leaving the two of us alone.

"You knew that it would make him happy didn't you?" I ask Chaeng. She smirks.

"Of course...I know him better than you..."

I chuckle and watch him disappear behind the curtain.

"Yea...you really do..." I whisper.

"H-Hey...I was joking..."

"I know," I smile reassuringly. "Don't worry Chaeng...I'm just...I just wish I can do more for him you know...he deserves it after everything he's done for us..." I sigh. Chaeng nods and pats my shoulder.

"Me too Dubu...me too..." She says. "Damn...must've been a real big stroke of luck that we got in the same project group back then huh?"

"Definitely..." I agree with her. "And I'm thankful for it."

"What would we be without him?"

"Probably dead...and maybe with stage 3 lung cancer for you," I joke. She chuckles and smacks my arm.

"Just because it's true, it doesn't give you the authority to say it," she scolds. I give her a mock bow.

"Joesonghamida Son-ssi, it won't happen again."

"I'll take your word for it, Kim," she giggles.

"Uhhh...girls?"

We look towards the fitting room and see Sang-woo waiting.

"Could we get started? It's almost dinner time..."

Chaeyoung nods and turns to me.

"Neurin Maeul," she says.

"Not today sister, you going down!"

***

"Gosh...This never gets old..." I sigh as we sit atop of the short wall, chewing on the street food that we bought. We have three plastic cups filled with Makgeolli sitting between us as we stare up at the skyline.

"Gosh...I see why Mina like this brand now Chaeng," I smirk as I sip on my prize. That's right, I won the small competition we had, with Sang-woo choosing more of my outfits over Chaeng's.

"Shut up," she pouts as she sips hers as well. "For some reason it tastes shittier than usual..."

"That's the taste of defeat!" I smirk. Chaeyoung whines.

"Ya...Sang-woo, she's bullying me!" She says. Sang-woo laughs and turns to me.

"Keep it up."

"Will do sir."

"YA!" Chaeyoung scolds, lightly smacking him on the head. We all laugh before returning to our food.

"Thank you for today girls...it means a lot," he smiles. I smile back and pat his shoulder.

"No problem buddy, it's the least we can do for you," I reply. "And besides...we're best friends, this is what we should be doing for you...in fact, we should have done this earlier!"

"But...I shouldn't have made you guys worry about me like that..."

"Nonsense!" Chaeyoung interjects. "We should be the ones who should be sorry for not trying to cheer you up sooner!"

I nod vigorously, expressing my agreement.

“Yea! We should have done something! Not just sit around!” I chime in. He opens his mouth to protest but closes it quickly. He smiles at the two of us.

“Thank you both so much…I couldn’t be luckier to have you two…come here,” he says, stretching his hands out wide. We both laugh and crush him in a hug, happy that our friend has returned.

“No problem Sang-woo…and don’t worry, we’ll be out of this soon…” I whisper.

“Umm…Chogiyo…”

We break away and whip around. I blink a couple of times, registering the fact that a short haired woman is standing right in front of us.

“Hyejin-ssi? What are you doing here?” Sang-woo asks quizzically.

“I need you to come with me, I’ll explain in the car.”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Detective Moon Hyejin, the detective on this case,” he replies. “Come on girls, we can trust her.”

“Uh, I just need you Sang-woo-ssi, the other two can’t follow…”

“Why not?”

Hyejin glances at me and Chaeyoung before whispering something into Sang-woo’s ear. His eyes widen as she speaks with him in the softest volume I’ve ever hear.

“Jinja?” He finally exclaims when she finishes. Hyejin nods.

“Yes. We must leave, now.”

Sang-woo purses his lips and turns to us.

“Girls…you two should go home without me.”

“B-But…Sana and Mina…”

“This is important girls…I’ll be okay, I promise.”

I open my mouth to protest but Chaeyoung grabs my hand, stopping me.

“Be safe,” she says.

“I will girls.”

[alleyskywalker]

11 for Throbb <3 <3

(So...it took me a while to come up with something since I don't do That AU Trope that this prompt would most naturally/popularly fit into lol. So here's s whole different AU...) | Send Me a Prompt and An M/M Ship

11. "They're never going to hurt you ever again."

[Read on AO3]

He needed to pull himself together or he’d never be able to do this.

Robb took a deep breath, tried to steady himself like he had done every time before an especially difficult battle. But this wasn’t battle. This was…

His father had always taught him that the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. He’d had to kill people before – countless men in battle. But an execution wasn’t the same. He would have see the face of the person he was about to kill, look them in the eyes, hear their last words, perhaps hear the crying of their loved ones.

He wondered if anyone would cry for the Queen, or her Hand, or…

It was ironic, really. He had spent so many months fantasizing about executing Lannisters and now that the time had come, he was left primarily with women and children: the Kingslayer dead in battle, the Imp escaped Gods know where – likely as not somewhere across the Narrow Sea – Tywin Lannister dead at the hands of his own son, Joffrey dead long before that. There was Kevan Lannister, who was allowed to take the black, as his role in this whole mess was highly peripheral and Robb couldn’t well go around executing every lord who had sided with the Crown. That left him Cersei, and…

Robb cursed under his breath as his hands once again shook too hard to properly tie the knots on his doublet’s lacing. How was he supposed to swing a sword when he could barely get dressed?

The sword in question lay before him, gleaming in the early morning sun, waiting to be bloodied, sharp and ominous. Not Valyrian steel, but it would do.

“Robb?” Robb almost jumped at the voice behind him, stumbling back straight into a firm chest as arms wrapped protectively around him. “It’s early,” Theon said against his ear.

“I couldn’t sleep.” That at least was true.

Theon hummed, hugging him a little tighter. “You’re shaking,” Theon said after a moment, gently turning him around so they were face-to-face. “What is it? Nightmares again?”

He’d been having them more and more, the closer they’d gotten to the King’s Landing – jumbled, nonsensical dreams mostly, full of blood and laughing Lannisters, and his father’s head coming off again and again. Sometimes the head was his mother’s, sometimes Sansa’s or Arya’s. Sometimes he watched his own execution. He’d chalked it up to being nervous about the inevitable siege. At that point, anything could have still happened. He could have still lost.

In last night’s dream however, he had been the executioner, and the heads he had separated from their bodies had been small and blonde and… He’d woken up feeling ill and disgusted with himself. But Theon did not know of the change, so naturally he misunderstood.

“Listen to me.” Theon pressed their foreheads together, his warm breath ghosting over Robb’s lips. “It’s over. You’ve won. They're never going to hurt you ever again.”

Robb let out a small, strangled laugh, rubbing their noses together. “We won,” he corrected. He needed to do this more, make sure Theon knew how much it meant to Robb that he was here. Especially with everything that had happened – was still happening – where the Iron Islands were concerned. That was not something Robb had any emotional energy to think about in the moment, but he could make damn sure that Theon felt included in this victory. After all, Robb didn’t think he’d still be sane if Theon hadn’t been with him all these months.

Theon kissed him, long and sweet, and Robb leaned into it gratefully. He wanted to forget about the executions, about the decisions, if only for a moment. When they drew back for breath, Theon repeated the earlier sentiment. “The Lannisters will never hurt you again. The Southern lords—”

Robb shook his head slowly. “I know that,” he said in a half-whisper. “I know.”

“Then what is it?”

“The executions.”

Theon’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. He started to move away, but Robb clung to him tightly, not at all in a hurry to leave the warmth of his arms. “The Queen des—” Theon began, but Robb shook his head again to cut him off.

It didn’t feel particularly honorable – to execute a lady. But that he could live with, after all the death and suffering she had caused, and not just to his own family. But the children… “The children,” Robb said hoarsely. “Tommen is what? Nine? Ten? And Myrcella a year older.” They had brought the girl from Dorne and presented her to him like she was nothing more than a special prize and not a terrified child.

“I see,” Theon said slowly, in a tone that made Robb wonder if he in fact understood. “Well, there’s no need really for Princess Myrcella’s head. Send her to the Silent Sisters or make her a ward and marry her to a loyal bannerman once she bleeds. Girls aren’t terribly dangerous.”

Robb bit the inside of his cheek. This had been discussed some in council. As Theon said, girls were not likely to raise rebellions, especially when properly disposed of. That had been Karstark’s phrasing, and it still made Robb’s skin crawl. Myrcella and Kevan Lannister and the other distant Lannister children had been discussed, their gender, or age, or distance from the centers of Lannister power, or some other consideration affording them some leeway. But Tommen’s fate had seemed obvious to everyone.

“Could he not take the black like his uncle?” Robb asked, a note of useless pleading slipping into his voice. “Or be a ward…”

“A hostage,” Theon corrected, and Robb winced, burying his face in Theon’s neck by means of apology.

“A hostage, aye. But a life still, and not the worst of them…”

Theon sighed, running a hand through Robb’s hair. “I think we have all learned that some people care for their political ambitions more than about their family. Besides, it’s not the same. Tommen in and of himself would be a threat. Taking someone hostage assumes they will be a deterrent for someone not to do something. Those who may wish to put him on the throne will, as their first step, plot to break him out of captivity. He cannot simply live his days out in Westeros. Or even in exile in Essos. Even as a delegitimatized bastard born of incest. Your enemies will not care. He would simply be a tool. And you must not forget that the Imp is still out there…somewhere.”

“I don’t even care, really, who sits on the Iron Throne,” Robb said, almost growling in frustration. “I don’t care to stay here, only until I can twist Stannis’ arm into letting the North be independent. Then he can sit his ass on the bloody throne for all I care.”

“And if Tommen is still alive, he will likely be burned by that witch Stannis has with him. Is that a better fate?”

Robb buried his face deeper into Theon’s shoulder, like a child hiding under his blankets after a nightmare. As though escaping the world could be that easy. “I can’t do It, Theon. I can’t execute a child. Let Stannis deal with it. Let anyone else deal with it.” He laughed bitterly, almost hysterically. How ironic was it that even dead or in captivity, the Lannisters were dealing him yet another blow – forcing a guilt on him he would have to live with his entire life. Political desperation, Robb thought, disgusted. Gods, he so desperately wished to go home.

“Alright, alright, hush.” For a moment, they stood there in silence, Theon stroking his hair and ghosting soft kisses across his temple. “You Starks and your damn inconvenient morals,” he mumbled finally.

Robb let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “You wouldn’t be able to do it either,” he protested. “If you had to do it yourself.”

Theon seemed to think about this for a moment, but ended up not protesting the assessment. Instead, he said, “Then have someone else do it like a normal person.”

Robb drew back just enough to look into his face. “No, no I can’t. The man who—”

“Yes, yes. I know. But perhaps—”

“No,” Robb said, this time actually managing to sound firm. “I started this war because of the injustice done to Father. I will not betray his principles now.”

Theon studied him carefully for a moment. “So what will you do?”

Robb sighed and leaned forward again to press his forehead to Theon’s, closing his eyes. “I don’t know. But…promise me something?”

“Yes?”

“You won’t judge me too hard for it. Whatever I decide. I have a feeling everyone else will.”

Theon sighed and gave him a small, quick kiss. “I’m always on your side. Aren’t I?”

That made Robb smile a little. He realized he wasn’t shaking quite so badly anymore. “Best thing to ever happen to me,” he agreed.

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

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In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

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Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)