#words are a weapon and i do with them what i can

[brnesblogposts]

monster in his nightmares

pairing bucky barnes x reader

warnings ANGST!!!

a/n can you guys let me know if you can click on my master list and are directed to my fics because it’s not working for me.

reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed !

You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe. Your neck is being squeezed so tight your vision spotting as panic takes over.

“Bu- Bucky” You whisper as best you can in broken breathes, he doesn’t know he’s doing it. He never does, his nightmares are vivid and so real to him and he can’t control his physical reactions, tears are rolling down your face as you move your hand to grip his metal wrist and try loosen his grip, you don’t want it to have to come to violence but the fear you might die and the fear he’d spend the rest of his life feeling guilty for something he couldn’t control- you start kicking him, kicking and hitting. Wake up, wake up you think to yourself

‘No. Stop. Please. Dont put me back in the chair, dont wipe my mind again’ Bucky thinks to himself in a panic as Hyrda agents push him back, how did they find him? how was he tricked into being taken again and now his memory wiped of everything he loves- his memories of you- ‘No.’ The thought of losing you is enough to make him push through and use all his strength, he takes his metal hand and wraps it around the nearest agents neck, it call kicks off into a frenzy then but he fights through it, he watches as the life drains out of the agents face.

“Bu- bucky?” What? No they don’t- they call him soldat- who’s speaking, who’s kicking him? this man he’s strangling sounds like a woman? odd. what’s happening?

He’s in a room, it’s dark. He’s on something soft, a mattress? They don’t give out those in Hydra so he can’t be back with them, who’s underneath him?

“You’re okay” Strangled sobs, you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. “Bucky” You all but desperately whine, that’s when he really wakes up.

Bucky shoots back quickly sitting on his knees as you take in deep breathes of oxygen and rub at your aching throat, he’s bewildered, did he? He hurt you. He hurt his doll.. He jumps off of the bed and backs away, he’s shaking, sweating, he’s starting to violently sob as reality comes crashing down. He almost killed you.

You finally get enough air in your lungs to notice Bucky is gone, you sit up and your heart breaks as you see him sitting against the wall on the other side of the room, looking at his metal hand like it’s a weapon, like he’s sickened by the sight of it. Getting up slowly you approach him and crouch in front of him, at the approach of your hand he flinches.

“No” That one word holding so much pain.

“Get away from me, I- I don’t wanna hurt you anymore Doll” He’s not looking at you, he can’t. If he sees the state of your neck, the bruises he’s left-

“Bucky” You whisper quietly as he shakes his head again, it’s hard for him to comeback down from nightmares but you don’t know what to do in this particular situation, he’s never hurt you because of them before, not this bad.

“It’s not your fault” You reassure him, not expecting an answer but you hope to get through to him, that the reassurance and love you show him right now will help him see he’s not the man in his nightmares.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me” You say as you sit down across him him still giving him space as he holds his head in his hands and cries.

“I’m okay” You don’t care how long you have to sit here, as long as Bucky needs you’re gonna be there for him.

You sit in silence for a few minutes and just watch him as he takes some deep breathes, a technique he learnt in therapy, you get up and grab him some water leaving it by him for him to take in his own time, he does eventually and takes small sips.

A record is playing softly in the background he notices, one of his favourites. He senses your presence, he knows you’re there but he doesn’t understand why. He almost killed you, why aren’t you running away from him?

“I-i’m dangerous, you should get away from me-” He wont meet your eyes.

“I trust you, Bucky.” You don’t know what else you can say to reassure him, he just needs time to come down from this.

“How?” He looks at you now, grimacing as he sees the bruises on your neck. “How can you trust me, look what I did.” He’s so ashamed.

“You didn’t mean to. You were having a nightmare, we can work this out, we can talk to some doctors and see how to get your physical reactions to nightmares under control Buck. If you think i’m leaving because of this you’re wrong. I’m fine, you came out of it and i’m okay” Tears build up behind your eyes but Bucky is so fragile and vulnerable right now you’re trying to be strong for him.

He stares at you for a few seconds, his eyes wet with tears and his face one of shock horror, you can’t hold it back anymore you start to tear up.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through this, I wish I could take it all away, I really wish I could.” You reach your hand out in hopes he’ll let you have that little bit of contact and he does, he takes your hand albeit cautiously and at the contact you start to cry harder.

“You don’t deserve any of it, Buck. You never did. You’re the best man i’ve ever met and your heart is so pure. It makes me so mad to think about what you’ve been through and how it will stick with you for the rest of your life. It’s fucked up and I wish- I wish I could- I want to kill everyone who has ever been bad to you or used you.” The frustration of having to watch Bucky suffer the severe PTSD that he does hurts your heart, it causes your chest to actually ache because he is so sweet, so gentle.

“Don’t cry” Bucky says in response as his heart is being ripped out of his chest at the sight of you so upset. “There’s no need to cry” Despite everything he’s been through seeing you even just the tiniest bit upset hurts him more than anything ever could, so it’s for that reason that he looks past the fear he’s holding and leans forward to pull you into his chest.

You instantly curl up, this is so grounding for Bucky, feeling your heartbeat against his, your skin on his skin, it’s so intimate for him in times like these where he’s taken back to times when he never received simple love like touch, now more than ever he cherishes it.

“Buck-“ You croak out as you kiss his face all over, trying to show just how much you love him. He shushes you and rocks with you, his head clearing and eyes drying up. Your presence alone does more than therapy ever can.

So you both sit there for awhile, the only sounds to be heard is the both of you breathing. You stroke comforting hands up and down Buckys back and through his hair, he relaxes into your touch, into the moment, present. No longer stuck in his nightmare he’s now in a dream, being with you is a dream.

After awhile you speak up “Do you want to go back to bed? Or we can go into the living room and watch a movie or a tv show? Whatever you wanna do” You would do anything for him to be okay, you would take his trauma and deal with it yourself if you could if you knew just for a second that he would finally be at peace in his own mind.

He thinks for a second, contemplating.

“The beds kind of- it’s- too fresh in my mind you know? You can go back to bed baby i’ll go to the cou-“

“No” You cut him off “I’m with you, i’m not leaving your side.” He smiles because he’s grateful for you, with that he stands up, you still clinging to him like a koala and moves the both of you to the couch laying down with you on top of him.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asks.

“Anything you want, whatever is gonna make you feel better” Your hands are in his hair again.

He puts on a lighthearted sitcom that makes the both of you laugh as he strokes his hands up and down your back soothing not just you but himself, the contact keeping him in the moment. That’s how the both of you spend the next hour or so before you hear Bucky snoring lightly, finally sleeping nightmare free and you join him, ready to comfort him should he be woken up again.

—

a/n i started writing this a few weeks ago and then i got busy and then i fixated on something else but anyways i finished it! kind of hate it now tho but i haven’t posted in awhile,

taglist- @ktgsoul @orihimi-19 @mostlymarvelgirl (let me know if you wanna be added to a permanent bucky taglist)

divider by @/cafekitsune

[skyward-floored]

The Lost Woods aren’t so bad.

Not after traversing them more times then Link can count, at least. Sure the paths shift, and monsters occasionally slip their way inside to hide in the bushes and trees, but Link knows the way to the clearing where he needs to go.

The forest only needs to let him.

His boots cut through soft grass, an occasional crunch belaying a leaf. The song of the woods is on the wind, and Link follows its winding tune, the pipes of water, strings and drums of leaves and branches. Quiet giggles make his ears twitch, but Link knows to ignore them.

He plays the game of the Woods, walking its paths, watching poes with a careful eye to see where they lead. The song dances by, high and low, loud and soft, and the flute that sometimes joins it makes his heart ache.

Time stretches strangely under the canopy of trees and fog— Link feels like he’s been here for hours now, but the glimpses of sunshine that peek through the branches are no different from how it was when he arrived. Link passes through another clearing, doubt beginning to nip at his heels. They’re not called the Lost Woods for no reason after all, and he’s starting to wonder if he hasn’t passed their test this time.

Is it because of what I’ve done since last I’ve been here?

But then something in the air, in him, clicks, eases, Link doesn’t know the word. But it’s like a fog lifts from his vision, and the path he needs to take is suddenly obvious. Link follows the pull past flowers and stones, over a barely-there path. It guides him through the yawning mouth of a log, and birds softly chirp as he emerges into a familiar clearing.

Fog drifts past his boots as he looks around, and a single shaft of sunlight breaks past the trees, drawing his vision to sparkling blue.

Link exhales, and steps forward, squirrels and other small creatures darting away into the bushes. He steps up onto the small stone platform, and doesn’t move for a long moment, looking at where the Master Sword sits with wisps of fog and sunlight dancing around her. Waiting for him.

“Hey old girl,” Link says softly, and for some reason his throat aches as he rests a hand on her hilt. “Been a while.”

The metal under his skin is both hot and cold, warmed by the sun’s light, and cooled by the stone it rests in. Despite years exposed to the elements, the Master Sword isn’t covered in greenery like it was the first time Link found her. Nor is her shine diminished in the slightest. Her blade is dimmed only because she rests, her power waiting for the next hero who needs her.

Who just happens to be Link again.

A shaking sigh escapes him, and Link puts both of his hands around her hilt, the electrifying hot-and-cold sharp-and-soft thrill of her power zipping through him as he pulls.

The Master Sword slips loose just like it did when he pulled her the first time, and Link raises her to the sky, the fog parting and fading away. The sunlight brightens somehow, making her sparkle and glow, and Link’s throat tightens again.

He hadn’t realized until now how badly he’d missed her.

Link lowers the blade again, running a hand over her cool steel as he studies her, looking over her finer points to familiarize himself with the weapon once again. Something is different, he realizes after a minute or two. And when it finally dawns on him what it is, he holds the Master Sword tighter, almost hugging her.

“I’ve grown,” he says quietly.

The blade fits his size now.

Instead of the still-pudgy hands of a child grasping at her hilt, there’s the worn hands of an adventurer ghosting along the metal, scars catching in her grooves. There’s blood staining his hands now that wasn’t there before, yet she still allowed him to pull her.

“You fit better, now,” he continues, voice shaking a little. “Hopefully this’ll... make things easier.”

His breath hitches, and Link swallows it back, clasping the sacred blade in his arms like one would an old friend.

He squeezes his eyes closed.

“I guess I thought I wouldn’t be doing this again,” Link whispers, ghosting his fingers along the gem in her hilt. “Not... not after the last one.”

Not after what I did.

The metal seems to warm just a hair, like the sunshine got pulled into it, and Link rests his head against the Master Sword, allowing a single drop of saltwater to trail down his cheek.

“Thanks,” he croaks, and the softest, faintest of chimes echoes in his heart.

It’s enough to pull him from the grief that was threatening to swallow him up again, and Link sets aside the weight of an island, and focuses instead on the weight of the sword, and his kingdom.

He’s needed. He can’t get lost in grief.

Link breathes out, running his hand along the steel one more time, and then he gently sheathes her, stepping down from the platform.

“Here we go again old girl,” he says as he steps outside of the clearing, weary with grief, but determined to stop the evil returning yet again.

He closes his eyes.

“One more time.”

A single pure note chimes in his chest, and Link feels something other than grief wrap itself around him, urging him forward to take another step, to press on despite the weight.

It feels a little bit like hope.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | three

prologue | one | two | three |

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: heavy injures, description of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, bad language, english not being my first language

They look at each other, adrenaline boiling and screaming in everyone's veins. Nimue doesn't take her eyes off Rhysand, but she feels everyone looking at her.

She feels naked, unprotected.

She blinks to get used to all that light. She had never seen so much light and it's beautiful.

Her senses come to life as she lets go of Rhysand's hand, which she had unknowingly been clinging to. She breathes over and over, trying to calm herself, but involuntarily she begins to tremble.

What has she done, what has she done, what has she done.

Father is going to kill her.

Amidst her frenzy of thoughts, Rhysand starts barking orders. She doesn't hear them well, only scattered words: healer, help, house.

Nimue glimpses a huge house to her right, and realizes she has brought them all to the courtyard of a mansion. Around her, everyone seems to spring into action.

The blonde female runs into the house, and seconds later comes out accompanied by another woman, shorter and slighter. She can't tell if she's fae or a creature. When Nimue and her lock eyes, it's like they're looking in a mirror. Both frown but decide to ignore each other.

For Nimue, it's as if everything is happening in slow motion: when she wants to realize, there's another person there, attending to the two injured Ilyrian. A glow emanates from her hands, its warmth reaching the princess's face. A healer, she supposes. She had never seen one.

She fights against her own panic, trying to get used to all the hustle and bustle and all those sounds. The birds flying above her head, the sunlight, the smell of the sea, the smell of pine and cedar, the voices around her, the poor Ilyrian screaming in pain...

She lowers her gaze, and without thinking, she starts speaking: "I can help."

Everyone looks at her again, judging her. They scan her from head to toe.

The two females who were thrown into the Cauldron are to her left, crying and hugging the one who was with Rhysand. Are they sisters? They looked so much alike...

"I can help," she repeats, this time firmer. She starts walking and sees how Rhysand prepares to attack her, "I can heal both of them, if you let me."

She analyzes the High Lord's face, and sees how little by little he is giving in. No one articulates any words, with a simple nod of the male's head, he grants her permission. He has nothing more to lose.

She kneels beside the one with the shattered wings and begins to do what she does with herself and the wounds she has ever suffered: with her magic, she grasps every little nerve ending, every small piece of skin. She pulls them and threads them, weaves them, joins them and separates them as if making a tapestry. So little by little, she shapes the wings of that Ilyrian. It's all pure instinct, what her nature dictates to her.

Father always told her she was his Goddess of Destruction, but Nimue knew deep down that she was capable of fixing, of healing, of bringin good to the world.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, she was piece by piece, shred by shred, joining and repairing the broken wings of that male. When she reached the bones, she simply imagined how they should have originally been: she ordered them to return to their form, to be soldered, and they obediently complied.

With a final grunt from the male, Nimue finished her work. But before she could get up, he grabbed her arm:

"Thank you," he whispered. Nimue is stunned. Thank you?

Had anyone ever thanked her for anything? Had anyone shown her gratitude?

No, her real doubt wasn't that. Had she ever done anything worthy of others' gratitude?

She swallowed her fear and terror, kneeling on the ground. She watched as the male limped away from her and enveloped the blonde female in a hug, how he squeezed her tightly as they both cried on each other's shoulders.

She was so, so lost. Where was she? What was happening around her?

"What a miracle of a girl," the healer whispered. Standing between Rhysand and the slighter female, the more aged-looking woman never took her eyes off her, "You are a Cauldron's blessing. When you're done, I'll need you to teach me how you do that. You are a–"

"Silence, Madja," Rhysand's voice resonates under her feet and in the very mountain, as if he had spoken those words inside Nimue's skull. She shrinks, intimidated. That's the power of a High Lord, "Now him. Heal him.”

She looks away from Rhysand and sets her gaze on the last remaining male.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him is a pool of his own blood and something that seems to be shadows, moving frenetically back and forth. She had never seen anything like it, those... beings, moving around the man. Nimue hears faint noises that she can't quite understand.

Behind her, she feels a presence moving. Rhysand looks down at her, those violet eyes so deep that Nimue feels hypnotized, "Don't just stand there gaping and do what you did to Cassian. Now. Or I'll cut off your head, you filthy Hybern rat."

She nods, and when she turns back to the winged male, he looks back at her. His amber eyes follow every small movement she makes: from the slight tremble of her lower lip to the way she raises her hand.

When he tries to speak, a trickle of blood runs down his lip to his chin, "Touch me and I'll cut off your hands, traitor."

Nimue trembles.

What the hell is she doing? Where has she gotten herself into?

Before she knows it, two streaks of water run down her cheeks. Is she crying? She had never cried before, what a strange sensation.

Her gaze travels to the hands of the male in front of her. He grips a beautiful black dagger, its tip directly aimed at Nimue's chest.

She swallows hard and, in a quick motion, grabs the arrow he has lodged in his chest and pulls it out with all her strength. She has been so fast that the male collapses forward, falling on top of her.

Rhysand and the healer, Madja, take care of getting him off her, and when Nimue tries to touch him again, the High Lord growls at her, "I told you to heal him, not to open up the damn hole in his chest further."

By pure instinct, Nimue snarls back at him, "I am healing him, you idiot. Back off."

Where she found the courage, she doesn't know. But they obey her, and she gets back to work.

The male is lying on his back on the ground, and Nimue places her hand on his chest, where the arrow was previously lodged. She begins to weave again, slowly, thread by thread.

Her gaze rests on his face, which, with closed eyes, lets out the occasional groan between his teeth.

Azriel feels like his chest is on fire. He feels the edges of the wound burning, he feels combustion from within. He takes gulps of air as he struggles not to lose consciousness, and blinded by the pain, he reaches his hand into the air and grabs onto the first thing he finds.

Nimue startles when his hand grabs her elbow, but she lets it be, the touch of his glove is a new, pleasant, and different sensation. She looks back at his face, and in a low voice, she speaks to him, "I'm almost done. Just making sure there's no trace of the poison that the arrow was coated with."

Azriel lets out a growl. He couldn't care less about the explanations. He just wants it to be over already.

The pain reaches the core of his bones and he opens his eyes abruptly, looking at the girl in front of him.

What is that?

Around her, he sees a thread, a small golden rope encircling her: it descends down her shoulders and arms, caresses her wrists and fingers, and wherever her skin meets his, he sees how the thread enters his own body.

Is he hallucinating?

Hasn't he had enough with the arrow between his ribs, that now the poison is making him hallucinate?

Behind the girl, he sees Rhysand, Amren, Cassian, Mor, even damn Madja. He sees how in slow motion their brows furrow, he sees how they lean forward, looking puzzled at something that makes Azriel scared.

"What's going on?" he asks agitated. He tries to sit up on his elbows, but although the pain has already diminished, it still doesn't let him breathe properly, "What are you all looking at like that?"

Nimue furrows her brows as she pushes the man back to the ground so he stays still. She frowns, as she begins to feel something on her fingertips...

Something is not right.

The sensation travels up her forearm and shoulder, and settles in her chest. There inside, like a caged bird, that sensation starts tumbling, back and forth, faster and faster.

She removes her hand from the man's chest and he sits up in front of her, like a spring.

Azriel feels like he's going to explode. What has that witch put inside him? What kind of magic has she used on him?

"What the hell have you done to me?" he shouts. Azriel brings a hand to his chest when that pressure keeps growing.

Nimue mimics him, feeling like her chest is going to burst.

What has she done? Has she made a mistake? Perhaps her magic has betrayed her now for the first time...

She's hyperventilating, and when she feels that, indeed, she's going to explode like a firework, she looks into the eyes of the male in front of her.

And then everything suddenly calms down.

They stare at each other, stunned, not knowing what to say. Their breaths come together, equally fast and choppy.

And when their bodies stop vibrating and calm down, she feels it there.

There's something, something pulling her towards...

Towards him.

Azriel jumps to his feet, as if they hadn't just removed a poisoned arrow from his chest or he hadn't just lost liters and liters of blood. He finds Truth Teller in its usual place and with a practiced motion after years and years of battles, he grabs the girl by the collar of her clothes and lifts her up like a feather. The dagger rests comfortably against her neck, and she does nothing but look back at him, wide-eyed.

"Azriel!" Rhysand shouts. He ignores his High Lord, although every fiber of his being tells him to obey him, "Azriel, let her go!"

Then, Nimue comes to her senses. With a practiced movement, the winged male is kneeling on the ground again. The pretty black dagger is now in her hand, while with the other she pulls back his hair.

Azriel doesn't know when all this happened. He just knows that he blinked and now he's the prey. He clings to the girl's hand pulling his hair and tries to break free, but he can't understand how such a small woman can have the strength of a thousand men.

"Now I'm going to let go of you and you're not going to attack me. Understood?" She utters each word slowly, as if speaking in another language.

Nimue takes a step back, releasing the dagger, which falls to the ground with a dull thud.

Azriel stands up, and in a leap, he's next to Rhysand in an attack position.

Before Nimue, everyone present is on high alert. Some in attack position, others simply ready for whatever may happen.

The first to speak is Azriel, with the same accusatory tone as before, "What have you done to me? Undo it." He's trembling, and Nimue can't tell if it's from fear or from the pure rage she sees in his face.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't undo it, because she herself doesn't know what has happened.

What is that pulling her? What is that feeling in her chest, an anchor dragging her toward that winged male?

Everyone remains silent, looking at each other.

However, it's Rhysand who speaks first, the voice of reason in a desperate situation, "Let's all calm down."

Because he doesn't know if he's the only one who sees it, who feels it. That sudden change in the air. It smells like cedar and mist, like Azriel. But if he pays attention, he smells the sea salt and the sweetness of poison in the air. The scent that the girl in front of them emits. It's intoxicating and chilling at the same time. He couldn't say.

What he can say, however, is what he sees crystal clear. Azriel's essence, mixed with that of the unknown girl. He sees how both mingle in the air.

And then, Rhysand would swear that he stopped hearing Azriel's heartbeat next to him.

"My mate," his friend whispers. His face, a complete expression of surprise, something that the Shadow Singer rarely showed, "She's my mate.”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @donttellthecats

A/N:I really hope you are all enjoying it. Every kind of support is greatly appreciated, and thank you so much to those who already support it!! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know 🥰

[kissmguts]

I saw you said requests are open and thought I’d send one! (Can I be 🦙anon?? If that isn’t taken by someone else!)

Imagine being Aiden’s sibling (and Ben’s cousin) and dating Tyler. Like just what that’d be like? And also had a thought like I could just see happening with being Aiden’s sibling and dating Tyler 💀.

But like Aiden always unintentionally stopping them from kissing?? Even just a simple kiss on the cheek because he keeps unintentionally interrupting/making it awkward every time. Even funnier if they have yet to have a first kiss and Aiden keeps unintentionally stopping it from happening without realizing?? 😭💀

SO FAR, SO CLOSE

author's note : you can be llama anon (i love ur brain)

concept : being aiden’s sibling AND tyler’s gf? genre : headcanons content : curse words, you’re involved with the phantom world stuff

⠀ › ⠀being aiden’s sibling meant handling annoying situations ⠀ › ⠀growing up, aiden was unintentionally your “patience trainer” ⠀ › ⠀unless you have the same personality as him (which would be way worse than the phantom world, you guys would be the cause of world destruction) ⠀ › ⠀dating tyler at the same time meant dealing with both their bullshit ⠀ › ⠀tyler does try to keep it cool, he doesn’t wanna bother you by shit talking your own brother ⠀ › ⠀tyler gets all “aiden was such a… rascal! he was being so!” he would pause to use the right words ⠀ › ⠀gets irritated when aiden interrupts your kisses to the point he literally accuses aiden of doing it on purpose ⠀ › ⠀”i swear you’re trying to start a fight!” tyler complained ⠀ › ⠀“what happened?” aiden scratched his cheek with a dumb smile ⠀ › ⠀tyler would sometimes blurt out cursewords at aiden “you dumb #### i will #### you! i swear to god!” ⠀ › ⠀at some point tyler would have actually yelled at aiden “i can’t even kiss my own girlfriend because of your lemon-headed ass always having to be everywhere!” ⠀ › ⠀like the twins, it was some unspoken rule to aiden that you wouldn't leave his sight unless you're just in your room chilling.

bonus:

⠀ › ⠀absolute chaos in the phantom world honestly. ⠀ › ⠀tyler would check on his sister and you first, obviously ⠀ › ⠀when tyler would save you from a phantom, he would heavily breathe and ask “you okay?” with his weapon up (blushing n kicking my feet) ⠀ › ⠀aiden would smile at this and kill the next phantom before tyler could and ask you “you okay?” before giggling ⠀ › ⠀tyler’s eye would literally be twitching and the others would have to remind them about the serious situation ⠀ › ⠀so many situations where they exchange “that’s my sibling!” and “that’s my girlfriend!” ⠀ › ⠀whenever you are going out on a date with tyler, aiden would come with you to “drop you off” ⠀ › ⠀you could feel the tension when aiden says goodbye with that eat-shitting grin on his face

[rainyyynightssss]

Omg record of ragnarok, where have you been oh my lord when I’ve been needing some of it abdvducudhrdbxu! But if I may can I ask for Buddha ( how much I love him is just unreal dhtgrhdudh ) and Poseidon where god(dess) reader is fighting but gets badly hurt in the fight?

Record of Ragnarok

Reacting to you getting badly injured in a battle

Characters: Poseidon, Buddha

Notes: Thank you so much for this request! (My love for Buddha is similarly unreal.)

Poseidon

Resting your weapon down, you stare your opponent dead in the eyes. Defeating a mere human would be easy work for a god like you. You worked hard to be the best, just as your family is. When the tournament was officially on its way, you knew what you had to do. Humans are selfish creatures that can never reach perfection no matter how hard they try, not like a god can.

The human who stands before you is a young woman, a marksman with a stetson hat you already knocked clean off her head as soon as that bell rang. She tried with all her might to get a good shot at you, but a gun is no match for divine power.

The match has been going on for about ten minutes. You begrudgingly have to admit that despite her shots not reaching you, she did manage to dodge all of your swings towards her. You're building up a sweat and you reach up to wipe the offending substance.

As you look up, you find Poseidon watching the match with his usual blank expression. It was well known he didn't acknowledge anyone who didn't reach the pinnacle of perfection. And even then, perfection is already expected of gods so there was no need for him to give them praise either. Despite this, you're determined to make the icy sea look at you.

You turn back to the human and snort as she unites with her Valkyrie. "Honestly, why don't you just give up?" You could nearly laugh at her enraged expression. She once again cocks her gun at you.

"I'll even spare you a painful dea-" Your words are cut off by a bullet piercing through your flesh, slicing through several organs before shooting out of your back. Your hands shake and you look down with wide, dazed eyes to find a sizable hole in your stomach.

Even with Völundr, a human should not be this strong. A human shouldn't be able to make a god bleed. And yet, blood fills your mouth and you're forced to cough it out.

"Vile...filthy...disgusting human!" You bellow out before raising your weapon high. Quickly tired of playing games, you slice and hack at the human. You use your divine abilities to show the human just exactly what kind of advantage a god has over her. She tried her best to defend herself, her bullets grazing your arms and legs, but ultimately she's no match for your prowess. With one last swing from your weapon, the human stumbles and falls to the ground in several pieces.

A crescendoing roar erupts from the crowd on the god's side. It's nothing compared to best pounding in your head as you try to stumble your way to the gigantic doors. Your ferocity towards the human overshadowed the pain you felt at the unnatural hole in your stomach, and now you're feeling it at full force.

A couple medics rush over to try and hold you steady but you shove them off. You could hardly call yourself a worthy god if you weren't able to walk off after your match. Your body did not seem to agree with your ideals since you soon collapse to the ground and your consciousness fades.

You wake up in a room full of stone. The light shining through the windows makes you squint your eyes. The pain in your abdomen makes you not want to move an inch and you groan quietly to yourself. You didn't leave the battle unscathed as you expected. Even worse, you passed out in front of everyone and had to be carried out. You would never be like your esteemed family. You would never be deemed worthy of being looked upon.

***

You sigh and reach your hand down to touch the bandages wrapped around you. A large hand grips your wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Unless you enjoy the prospect of bleeding out all over the table." Poseidon says. His eyes, of course, are not on you but rather on the window above your head. Your own eyes widen and you freeze in place, trying to conjure up some words to say to him. If he notices your hesitation, he doesn't say anything as he moves your hand back to your side.

"What are you...doing here?" You manage to say. Poseidon hums to himself for a moment and taps a steady beat on the head rest of the table.

"Some gods feel we should have sympathy for the humans. That maker should help their creation." Poseidon's finger pauses and he meets your gaze. "You don't think that way, do you?"

Seeing his blueish-gray murky eyes on your own makes you take pause. You don't understand it at all. You made yourself look like a weakling and yet he's still looking at you. Despite the intimidation in his gaze, you find that you can't look away.

You shake your head at his question that was said more like a statement. Humans needed to fend for themselves, as they're doing now.

"Good. I'm glad there's at least one god around here who has some sense." He remarks. You feel slightly embarrassed by the blooming in your chest caused by his praise. You try to sit up on the table, clutching your abdomen as it aches terribly. Poseidon's frown deepens as he holds you still with one hand.

"Didn't you hear what I said? Troublesome..." He lets out a deep sigh before moving you back down on the table, forcefully but not unkindly.

"Thank you...for coming here." You tell him. Poseidon hums again and turns to walk out of the infirmary. He pauses for a moment at the doorway.

"You did good." He leaves you with that and you wonder if you might see him again.

Buddha

You wait just inside the hall that stands before the wide doors, anticipating the moment Heimdall would call your name. You should be completely confident and ready to fight for the gods but you hesitated to even bring yourself out of your quarters.

You knew you would have to go to battle, just as your parents expected, rather demanded of you. Second thoughts are foreign to gods; they usually do what they feel at that split second. But something in your consciousness told you that this isn't right. Contrary to your family's beliefs, you did not believe humans were completely weak, selfish creatures. They definitely make some bad decisions at times but they also make good, inventive, and empathetic ones. They're entirely complex and you couldn't find a solid reason to want to fight one of the humans you've tried so hard to help for centuries.

Your parents, well-admired gods themselves, drove it into you that you had to do what was right for the gods and to disregard any pathetic feelings you had for humans. You tried to do as they said, but their hold on you was shaken when Buddha declared that he would fight for the humans. Everyone knew he was the kind of god that did whatever the hell he wanted, but it was still surprising that any god would stick their neck out for the fate of humans.

But who else would do such a reckless yet altruistic thing besides him? You haven't seen him often since you live in different realms but the few times that the various gods have come together, you have admired him from afar. He didn't listen to anyone or anything but himself and you wish you had that kind of courage.

You begin to hear Heimdall announce your entrance and the doors slowly open. You force yourself to walk out on steady feet. You hear the gods cheering for their soon to be champion. Some of the humans boo in disgust or shake their head in anger, but the emotion that strikes you the most is fear. It's bursting out of the eyes of many and their worst case scenario would be closer to confirmed if you fight against them today. You hate that look and resolve to replace it with more peaceful feelings.

"Fighting for the gods is-" Heimdall shouts but stops at your tapping on his shoulder.

"About that..." You whisper the rest of your intentions into his ear before taking a step back. Heimdall's hands quiver on the Gjallarhorn and he screeches, 'Not again!'

"It looks like our competitor for the gods will be switching over to the humans side! Oooh, management isn't gonna like this..." Heimdall clutches his head as if he has a major migraine. There's only a seconds pause before the crowd starts yelling. The gods' side is naturally furious at your betrayal while the humans are excited to have a god fighting for them.

Your eyes glance over to the stands and you immediately find your parents disapproving faces. They are surely going to have a word with you after this, if they could anyways assuming you survive battling another god. You try to peel your eyes away from them, and find yourself drawn over to the guffawing god who has his head thrown back in glee.Buddha stands back up, meeting your gaze and sending you a wink. Before you can figure out how to respond to him, your opponent steps out into the arena.

The god that slithers before you is lean but extremely tall. He must be over 20 feet tall and he grins maliciously at you with all sharp teeth. You don't waste any time and begin attacking the other god. He slips out of the way easily, though some of your hits manage to hurt him as he scurries away. His bites sink into your limbs but you try not to let it phase you too much. You respond by striking harder and faster.

Just as you think you have the upper hand, the other gods' silver staff comes to life and you can't move out of the way in time before its jaws clamp down on your entire leg. It rolls you around like an alligator, teeth sinking in past the bone. You cry out in pain and as it tries to twist you again, you shove your fingers under its jaw and painstakingly pry it open. You succeed in pulling it open enough to slip your leg out but it leaves your fingers a mangled mess.

You curse and drag yourself a few inches away, trying to bring yourself to stand up despite the immense pain. Your betrayal would be all for nothing if you died here. Your opponent cackles and lunges towards your position. You throw yourself out of the way and use the momentum to thrust your weapon forward, cutting him down where he stands. He howls and shakily tries to grab at you but the strikes keep coming and don't stop until he's a bloodied puddle on the ground.

You inhale sharply, stumbling back until your legs fall out from underneath you. As your body hits the ground, the humans cheer in delight for your victory. Most of the gods grumble and talk amongst themselves. You let out a few shaky laughs, feeling more delirious as blood leaks out of your leg. The medics take hold of your nearly limp body and you end up passing out in their arms.

Images of your family rebuking you and casting you out flash in your mind as you sleep. You thought you made the right decision and yet you can't help but think about what your parents will say.

You slowly stir and can still feel the throbbing pain in one of your legs and your hand, only a little less intense. You sigh and ease your way up to sit on the table, only to come face to face with Buddha.

"Want one?" He grins and offers you a sucker. Before you can respond, he lightly flings the stick at you and you luckily grab it before it smacks you in the face. You mumble a 'thanks' and start opening the wrapper.

"Who would've thought? The child of warriors, fighting for the humans." Buddha teases and you look down at your bandaged hand.

"I'm not sure that was the right thing to do." You confess. He leans his arm down on the table so that you can smell the sweet scent of his candy.

"Really now? Tell me then, how do you feel?" Buddha asks and you look at him in confusion.

"Besides the searing pain in my leg? I guess..." You take a moment to introspect. While you are worried about your family's reactions, you also take pleasure in the rising security in humanity's fate. "...content, but also troubled." You ignore Buddha's 'blegh' at your last word.

"Leaving humans to defend their own fate is what my parents want." You add.

"Is that what you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want-"

"If that's the case, you wouldn't have gotten your leg chewed up for them." Buddha says as he takes your non-injured hand and pops the sucker in your mouth for you. "You're fighting for what you believe in, no one else. That's a good thing."

You nod slowly. You aren't sure that you can immediately come to terms with that but it's certainly something to think about.

"Take it easy. You worked hard." Buddha says before strolling off towards the door. He turns back for a moment, striking blue eyes looking at you from above his glasses. "See ya around."

[comradekatara]

Hello, how would you rank the gaang+fire ladies in a best sense of style to worst of sense of style?

oooh fun! wait, is this modern au or not?? just in case, i’ll do both…

toph is the worst, obviously. she has no sense of style whatsoever. she does have her little pom pom opera headband, which is very cute, and honestly her fire nation fit is the cutest one (sorry katara), but i don’t think she actually gives a shit about any of that, she just happens to slay regardless because she can’t not slay. in modern au she mostly wears large shirts and sweatpants and flip flops, and yet somehow she still looks remarkably good “dressed like a slob” (katara’s words) because she is simply beautiful enough to pull it off.

i don’t think zuko has a bad sense of style, i actually think a lot of his outfits are genuinely cute (i esp love his one tank top in book 1 that’s such a look imo), but like toph, he also isn’t really putting effort in, so it’s not so much a “sense of style” as it is in his nature to serve cunt. in modern au he actively tries to spice up his wardrobe (with katara’s help), but then he never actually wears any of the stuff they bought together because he needs his emotional support favorite cardigan and/or black turtleneck. he can pull it off because he looks cute and cozy, but no is mistaking him for an expert in fashion any time soon.

i always wonder how aang found those monk’s robes in book 3, whether he made them himself, and if so, with which fabrics. so in that sense, he’s actually a diy style icon. but in modern au, he literally dresses like roman roy in the finale, walmart boys’ color block t shirt, so i’m docking points even though, again, he does look adorable and it is a Look in its own right. the light up heelys also add or dock points depending on who you ask.

from book 2 onward, sokka has a nice, simple outfit that is a good cut and a good color without being remotely flashy or complicated, and he accessorizes with weapons, which are both practical and spice up his outfit. “like toph, he also doesn’t give a shit about his looks, it’s just a coincidence that he looks good,” one could argue. but i think he knew what he was doing with that sleeveless top. and besides, he was excited by the fact that his bag matched his belt. in modern au, sokka doesn’t give a shit about style until adulthood, because he and katara just focus on their respective domains and thus katara has the monopoly on fashion, but then he starts figuring out his gender and sexuality and the world of fashion opens up for him. that said, his idea of going crazy is like, wearing a couple rings, so he’s still towards the middle bottom of this list.

azula doesn’t really have a sense of personal style, she just wears what she thinks looks best for her circumstances, and since her goal is to intimidate, she happens to slay. but if she was like, a farmer, she would not be bothering with the winged eyeliner and red lipstick and perfect hair, because that is a product of her environment rather than an internally motivated mode of self-expression. so in modern au, she trades shoulder spikes for shoulder pads, and knee high boots for tastefully high heels, but the effect is the same. respect me, fear me, take me seriously in my navy blue blazer.

suki never really gets to pick her own outfits unless you count the fire nation crop top, which is cute but obviously wouldn’t be her first pick in garb. that said, the kyoshi warrior armor obviously goes so hard and she looks great in it, so she’s a style icon just for that. in modern au, she dresses in a way that is deceptively simple but knows that it makes her look really hot to her target demographic (dykes and sokka). she generally just opts for flannel and cargo shorts, but on days where she’s on a mission, she’ll wear a short sleeved loose button up with half the sleeves undone, some necklaces, and no bra. and she’s a hero for that.

mai’s outfit is actually my favorite in the entire show (like, i would wear it), but there’s something kind of cutesy about her hair style that i feel like was probably imposed on her by her mother. like don’t get me wrong, it still looks good on her, but i can’t see her actually caring to maintain something so elaborate without the presence of external pressures. i can picture modern au mai’s sense of style so perfectly, though. soft flared pants, in a silky fabric; turtleneck tank tops; leather jackets: dark peacoats; dyke boots to stomp around in; mostly in various shades of dark red, dark blue, and black. she keeps it simple and classy, and has the freedom to experiment with hair styles more as well. when she’s alone, everyone is envious of her effortlessly chic steez, and yet, when she is with ty lee, everyone’s like “awww it’s cute that ty lee lets that kind of schlubby girl hang around her.”

ty lee puts effort into her appearance for the purposes of attracting specific results. she knows she’s beautiful, of course, but she also wants to be beautiful in a cute way, harmless and inviting. pink is less threatening than red, showing skin makes her seem vulnerable and desirable, her braid is simultaneously perfect and kind of messy. in modern au, ty lee would similarly be attuned to the cultivation of her aesthetic for a similar purpose. she wouldn’t just wear whatever she felt like, but rather would have an extremely curated wardrobe of outfits that all adhere to the same theme of making her look impossibly beautiful but in a cute and harmless way. idk man. there’s something wrong with her, i think, but also that thing might just be patriarchy.

katara is the only character who canonically takes an interest in fashion for the sake of fashion (iirc), and so that immediately elevates her in my opinion. she clearly cares a not insignificant amount about her appearance, and takes pride in looking good (as she should, because she’s beautiful). i love the idea that she got her book 2 outfit in the northern water tribe and was so excited about getting a new fit that she literally wore it the entire season even though it was springtime and she was sweating buckets. she’s so excited about dressing up in ba sing se, or when they steal clothes in the fire nation, or when she gets to take kyoshi’s clothing in “avatar day,” or when she goes to the spa with toph, or when she’s telling aunt wu about her skincare routine. it matters to her! and i think that as she gets older, and more resources are available, she gets to expand and experiment with her wardrobe more, and that’s really fun for her. and in modern au, she’d also love fashion of course, and would have a lot of opinions on how to participate in fashion ethically. her wardrobe would be kind of all over the place because it’s mostly thrifted, but she’d put so much effort into curating an outfit every day before she leaves the house, and she can go weeks if not months without repeating an outfit, not because she has an unlimited wardrobe, but because she’s really clever and thoughtful when it comes to what she pairs together on any given day. and she sometimes makes her own clothing, or modifies thrifted pieces, and that somehow looks great on her too. my point is, she wins in a landslide.

[tcw-x-reader]

When The World Comes to Pieces

Crosshair x reader x Tech (no clonesest, ew), usual star wars violence, swearing maybe?

"I don't like this.." I mumble as Crosshair and I put our rifles together.

"What do you mean?" Hunter calls from the front, turning his head to look at me.

"I don't know...I feel, uneasy." I say, looking up at him.

"If you hurl on me, I'll kill you." Crosshair says, standing up and lifting up his rifle, testing the weight.

"Duly noted." I reply, moving to the front of the ship.

"Don't worry, when we get back to Kamino, we'll be back in our own barracks." Echo says, I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but the smell in that room only made me sicker. I sigh as I sat in the seat by Wrecker.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

-

As we make our way back to where Caleb said we were needed, Crosshair and I break off from the group and get on top of a rock formation of sorts, aiming our weapons below. We shoot the droids down, one by one, making a path for the others to run through.

"Wrecker's having too much fun with this." I chuckle and Crosshair groans.

"As long as he gets the job done, he can have as much fun as he wants."

"Crosshair, N/n, let's get these tanks moving!" Hunter's voice says through comms.

"You heard the man." I say.

"Sir, yes, sir." Crosshair says, and it almost sounds like he's excited. We both take aim and shoot at the same time, the lines connecting to the tanks and Wrecker goes and starts pushing them.

'Huh? Hey. Stop that. Adjust the stabilizers. We're going over!' We both hear the droid scream through Echo's comm. I laugh boisterously and don't miss the shake of Crosshair's shoulders as he tries not to laugh as well. We both watch the tanks go over and Tech detonate the bomb. Cross and I both run down the hill and when the blast goes off he instinctively shields me before we start running down again. We meet up with them at the bottom, Wrecker pulling me to him and cheering.

"You saw that, right!" He smiles under the helmet.

"I did! That was awesome!" I say.

"Oh please, don't encourage him." Crosshair groans.

"What was it you said uo there again? Hm..Oh yeah as long-" Crosshair brings me to his chest, putting his hand over my mouth as we continue to walk.

"Not. Another. Word." He lets go.

"If you wanted to cuddle, you could've just asked." He rolls his eyes, flicking my forehead.

"You're dead." He hums.

"Well, it's been real." I shrug, he mused.

-

We make our way out of the dust that settles and to the Jedi and their Captain.

"Care to introduce your new friends, Caleb?" The Jedi master asks, I can't help but feel a sense of loss when I look at her. My brow furrows.

"Yes, Master. This is Wrecker, Hunter, Echo, Tech, Crosshair, and Y/n. Clone Force 99." I smile politely.

.

"The Clone War may soon be over." Tech says, and I feel my stomach drop, i subtly grab my side and my chest tightens. Why did I like the sound of that?

"I am referring to the encrypted comm chatter. Clone intelligence is reporting Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi has found and engaged General Grievous on Utapau."

"If he captures of kills Grievous, the Separatist command structure will collapse." Echo says.

"And most likely the droid armies along with them." Tech adds.

"-I suggest we focus on the task at hand." The Jedi General says.

"Any orders? Or shall we do what we do?" Hunter asks.

"Let's blow something up!" Wrecker says enthusiastically, making me snort. The Jedi padawan runs alongside us, and yet again, I feel my gut clench. And then...I hear it.

'Execute Order 66.' No.. No, that's not, that can't be right. I turn around and gasp at the Jedi, who's now engaged in a battle with her own troops, the very ones who were defending her five minutes ago. Her padawan runs to her and I hear her yell for him to run, I run up behind him and grab his robes, pushing him back and grabbing my rifle.

"No, stop!" He yells, hitting my gun.

"I won't hurt her." I say. "But you need to run." I say, making my way back to Crosshair and Hunter.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asks, grabbing ahold of my shoulder when I run past.

"Yeah- What was that? Why are they..?" He shakes his head.

"We don't know, for now, we need to make sure that kid makes it." He says, and I nod. He runs down a drift, Cross and I following behind.

.

For a split second, Crosshair hesitates. Out of the corner of my eye, k watch him lift his rifle to where the kid is, Hunter is too distracted. Crosshair shake his head, clutching at his forehead, letting the rifle drop. He looks up and we make eye contact briefly, I nod to him, silently checking in. He nods in reply.

All three of us see the kid, Caleb, run to the cliff. My heart stops.

"No!" I shriek as he jumps..and.....makes it. I grab at my chest plate, where my heart is, and sigh. Hunter's hand pats my shoulder before pulling away as the other clones come down. We all silently walk away from them and back to the others.

.

"I don't- What was that? And what..What's..I was.." Hunter sighs.

"You left, N/n, nothing will happen to you. You're a part of this team, and an effective one too-"

"You already have a sniper." I state, making Crosshair smack the back of my head as he walks by.

"Emi. You're a vital part of this team, and a part of this squad, don't ever doubt that." Hunter said.

"Yes, according to the data I've collected, our numbers have accelerated at a higher rate with Emi on missions with us." Thank you, Tech.

"Thank you, boy wonder." Tech looks up at me.

"One day, i hope to understand the odd language you use."

"Funny, i think i could say the same about you." He smiles at me.

"Feeling better?" Wrecker asks, coming in and jostling me in a friendly manner.

"She'd probably feel better if you didn't manhandle her like she's a droid." Crosshair says, making Wrecker pout.

"Stow it, Crosshair." Echo and i say, making Crosshair groan.

"Now there's two of them."

.

Later that night, we're all in our bunks on the ship, I can hear Tech's snoring, and Wrecker's mumbling, and usually that doesn't prevent me from sleeping, but tonight it does.

"N/n, come here if you're planning to worry yourself mad." Crosshair says from the bunk next to me. I smile, getting out of mine and crawling into his, he acts upset, even though he's the one who suggested it.

"I knew you wanted to cuddle." i say, snuggling into him.

"Yeah, yeah." he rolls his eyes, i don't have to see to know. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, running his fingers through my hair. Over the last few months, I'd noticed it become habit for him to do so when he was stressed.

"I saw that look in your eyes, you know...I knew you held back." I say, his hand stills.

"...I wanted to, I heard the order, I wanted to...follow orders." He stumbles over his words. "But I knew you'd kill me if I ever hurt anyone innocent, so I tried." I tilt my head up to him, looking into his guilt-ridden eyes.

"We'll figure all of this out."

"Yeah," he nods, pulling me to his chest again, "we will."

[jamiedc-they-them]

Good People (Platonic)

Summary: While in the Wasteland, running on nothing but fumes and even less hope, you meet someone. Someone who might just be the one thing you need in a place like this: a friend.

Note: This is shorter than my usual stuff (both in terms of words, probably, and also just in terms of content - more so a scene than anything else; maybe a series of short scenes showing Lucy's arc if you guys want and how her friendship with Y/N develops?) Let me know in an ask!

You were a survivor. You had been since the moment you were born, but you weren't sure how much longer that was going to last.

Your day hadn't started off good, you see. You were running out of water and had passed out earlier due to some kind of infection - no idea what it was or who/what it was from, you had come across a lot of beings and things in your travels - and some guy had thought you were dead and even pissed on you just in case. Was not refreshing, or nice.

You had fought him off, tackling him to the floor and punching him quite a few times. You didn't kill him, however. You just left him be after that.

An odd fellow with a briefcase who promise you everything you could ever want passed you by. He gave you something that gave you a boost. You had no caps, so the only piece of fluid you had left on you - your water container - was given to him in exchange for this item.

So, now you were even more screwed then before.

The man even seemed to somewhat pity you, but he still left.

You find an abandoned bus. It's been picked, recently or otherwise doesn't really matter, picked clean is picked clean. Or, well, as clean as you can get within the apocalypse.

"Hello?" a voice says. You spin around, reaching for a weapon you don't have as you lost it in the scuffle before, and so instead duck down - hitting your head on one of the seats.

You hear the person outside cringe.

"Sorry," she says, earnestly to your shock, "that sounded like it hurt."

"...It did," you find yourself saying in reply, but still keep your head done.

"Sorry," she says, again, "it's ok," she assures you, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

You peak your head up. The first thing you notice, is how clean she looks. She gives you a bright smile.

"Hi," she says, enthusiastically.

You just blink at her.

"It's ok," she assures again, "my weapon is away. I just - I just wanna talk. I'm a bit lost out here give, you know, everything is mainly just sand."

You guess that's fair. So, against your better judgment, you make your way to the stairs at the bus, and sit down. The woman sits down, letting out a sigh, glad to be able to rest for a moment.

She stretches. You adjust your neck. You must've slept funny.

"I'm Lucy," she says, holding out a hand to you.

"Y/N," you say, shaking her hand. Feels weird, being this open with someone.

"Y/N," she says, "that's a nice name. I never knew someone called Y/N before."

You're about to ask her why, when you see what she's wearing.

You whistle, or as best you can with a dry throat, it's croaky but the idea comes through, "you one of them Vault Dwellers?"

"I am," she says, and you're unsure if it's a proud statement or not, "but, I do also recognise my privilege for being one."

You hum, "how you finding up here?"

"Hot," she says, "we have air conditioning in the vaults. So, it's weird not being able to just turn down the temperature."

You chuckle. She smiles.

"Thank you for not trying to kill me."

You gesture to yourself, "don't exactly have anything to do that with, you know? Besides, you're not a bad person. I've met some bad people, you ain't one of them."

"Thank you. I knew there were good people out here."

You shrug, "I don't think I'm exactly 'good', but I've known worse."

"Well, I'm glad I've run into you. You're alot nicer than the previous man I met."

"Yeah, there'll be people like that..." you pause, then ask the question on your mind, "what brings you top side, Lucy?"

"Oh," there's a hint of hope, mixed with sadness in her eyes while she answers, "I'm looking for my dad. Some horrible woman called Moldaver took him. She steals dads."

You may internally find that last part funny, but you find yourself saying 'I'm sorry' to her about her plight. She thanks you once again.

"You're not crazy like that other man."

She's blunt, you'll give her that.

"I can be," you don't quite know why you're insulted by it.

She cocks her head to the side, "I'm good at reading people," you aren’t sure on that one, but you don't say anything, "and you're not like that previous man."

"What'd he do?"

"Drank most of my water. You ever met anyone like that?"

"Guy pissed on me this morning. Another stole my canteen."

"Oh..." Lucy says. You nod, expecting this to be the end of your conversion, but then she reaches behind herself for something. Instinct makes you freeze, but she just gives you a reassuring smile once again, and holds something out to you.

Her own canteen.

You look at her, doubt, confusion, and thanks all in your eyes at once.

"Take it," she insists, shaking it a little to tell you that there is still water inside it, "I mean it."

"But, that other man --"

"He's greedy. You aren't. And, judging by your lips, rough voice, inability to whistle, and slight grovel to your voice, and the way you hold yourself," perceptive too, "you need this more than I do."

"You sure?" she nods. Hesitantly, looking from her to the canteen as you reach out - her leaning forward to help you with your lack of energy due to dehydration and all - you grab it. It's not harsh, you don't rip it out of her grasp. Your actions are slow, deliberate.

You open it, and lift it up to your mouth, letting a few water droplets hit it.

You close it and give it back to her. But she pushes it to you again. This goes on a few more times.

"I meant what I said," she says, "take it."

You look around at the desert, "next water well won't be for a while."

She shrugs, "there's a town nearby. There should be some there. But, either way, you need this a lot more than I do."

You drink the rest of it. And, you feel ok. Not great, but better.

You cough a bit. Both due to whatever illness you have, and just from the water and how fast you drank it.

"That's a bad cough," she notes, taking the canteen back.

"Ah, it's nothing," you say, waving her off. Had worse infections.

You stand up, and she holds her hands out in case you fall. You put a hand up, telling her you're ok.

"Well," you say, "thank you for that, and the talk. Good people are few and far between. Best of luck --"

"Hey, wait!" she calls out as you start to walk away, "wait, please. Maybe - maybe you can help me."

"I ain't exactly much help given the lack of weapons, strength, and my illness."

She frowns, "well, once we find my dad, we can go back to my vault, we have doctors there who can help you and give you a good meal!"

She's preppy, but soon that softens in her eyes, "please...I can stop people from...urinating on you."

You snort at her disgust of the language. She has a lot to learn. Social ettiquite may exist in some places in the wasteland, but not everywhere.

"Well, when you put it like that..." you say, before smiling. She beams at you.

"Okey Dokey!" she exclaims.

"Okey Dokey!" you find yourself saying in kind, not mocking for once - you and your mouth had gotten you into trouble before, it was nice to not have some agenda with it this time. To let your guard down.

"Have you ever been to Filly before?" she asks you as you walk side by side. Though, she slows up a bit as you try and both get your strength back and keep your remaining bit.

"Once or twice when passing through," you say.

"Alrighty then," she says, glad to not be going in completely blind, "'this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'" she says to you, clearly quoting something, based on her voice. You look at her confused.

"I'll show you the film when we're back at the vault," she says, before you continue on your way.

It's good to meet someone who didn't want to kill you on sight or extort you or something.

It was nice to not be alone anymore.

Lucy feels the same way. She has a sort of guide now. A friend.

An actual friend from the outside.

She's glad.

And, little did she know how right she'd be. It would be a friendship that would stand the test of time and everything in between.

Lucy had just met her best friend.

You had met yours.

Even if you both didn't know just how dark and dangerous the road ahead would get...

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 14/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13

You guys ever read They Both Die at the End cos this is looking a lot like that the more we go on.

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

Lucifer had begun to tell them of his trip to Heaven, from what had prompted Michael to almost destroy Hell with his holy weapon to the brewing civil war.

They listened intently to every word he said, not once interrupting him again until they got the full story.

And that's what he gave them.

Well... almost all of it.

He left out the part where the Fates had prophesied his imminent death in the war. Revealing that particular information would raise more questions that Lucifer wouldn't be able to answer.

Charlie: I still don't understand. Why would they involve you, Dad? If Heaven goes to war, how does that affect us?

Satan: Despite what most might think, Heaven and Hell are not two separate entities. After the creation of humanity, it's impossible for one to exist without the other.

Lucifer: He's right. Back then, before... everything. Hell hadn't been made yet because, while yes there was darkness, there were no lower beings to corrupt. Thus no use for a pit to contain them. But then Adam and Lilith happened. Then Eve...

Mammon: So what? We're screwed?

He shook his head.

Lucifer: No. Just me.

Satan: Huh? What do you mean, just you?

Shit. What is with his mouth today?

Lucifer: ..... Michael told me that he took a look at the Fates and saw me among those on the battlefield.

Beelzebub: Excuse me?!

Satan: What the hell??

Leviathan: So it will happen down here? Because there is no way we are letting you go back up there for anything.

Belphegor: Were you also planning on keeping that to yourself? Really, Lucifer?!

Asmodeus: I don't like this.

Charlie: The Fates?

He understood their reactions; after all, this was too big of a revelation to keep quiet for this long about.

Alastor had been awfully quiet beside him, but he can't dwell on that right now nor will he call out the look of disdain the guy is giving Levi.

'Do those two know each other?'

In the end, he chose to ignore Belphegor's accusation (is it really an accusation if it's true?) in favor of answering his daughter.

Lucifer: The threads of life. Pre-written destinies of every being in existence. It might be placed in Heaven, but no one, not even Father, can change what has already been woven.

Charlie: And Archangel Michael saw yours? How?

Lucifer: I-You'll have to ask him that. I fell before the duty of guarding the Fates was passed onto me. I have limited understanding as it is.

He's digging his own grave but it's not a total lie.

Charlie: And do you trust him?

Her question throws him in a loop. Because what?

Lucifer: What?

Charlie: I can tell you have resentment for him. Do you not trust his word? Is that why you were not in a hurry to tell any of us because you think it's a trap or something?

Lucifer: Regardless of what my feelings towards Michael, I believe his words. He is not one to involve Hell in anything that can be solved within Heaven. And I want to say that I'm sorry for not telling you all the moment I got back. The only thing I can say is that I was tired and with everything that just happened in Sloth, all I wanted was to sleep. I promise that I didn't know any of that stuff you saw would happen.

Charlie: But what was that, dad?

Lucifer: My appearance might not be the only thing the ritual affected.

Lies.

Lucifer: I'm handling it.

Lies.

Lucifer: I swear it's nothing to worry about.

LIES.

He gives her a smile that he hopes is comforting enough but based on her crunched up expression, it must have came off more strained.

Charlie: Dad...

Tense silence fills the room. Lucifer's well aware no one believes him but he knows they won't try to push further. They are well acquainted with his character, after all. Cowardly but stubborn.

Satan: We'll get our forces ready then.

Lucifer: Huh?

Satan: What? Did you think we'll just sit here and let our King fight alone?

Lucifer: Look, no one else needs to be involved. I am-

Satan: -the King of Hell, are you not? And whoever threatens our King is our enemy.

Everyone let out a chorus of agreement. The Sin of Pride crumples the bedsheets in his hold. There's tears threatening to fall from his eyes in his disbelief.

How did he find people who are all so willing to fight for him? He feels a pang of guilt for he knows that regardless of what they do, he will meet his end in that war.

But how could he tell them that? Tell his family, these demons he raised, that he'll be leaving them?

A Marigold being tucked behind his ear made him look at his silent pillar. Alastor grabs a hold of his hand and plants a kiss on top of it in a manner that makes his heart flutter like a lovesick teen.

Alastor: We will do everything in our power to keep you safe, my King.

.

.

Lucifer: I believe you.

He wishes he could stop with the lies.

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

Once the battlecries died down in favor of the Sins giving Alastor a weird version of a shovel talk, they hear shouts outside the room.

It kept getting closer and closer until the door bursts open revealing the rest of the hotel residents, all holding some form of weapons on them.

He would've thought they were under attack until Vaggie and Angel toss something, no someone, on the ground.

It was a face Lucifer never thought he'd be able to see again. Because he's dead. He should know because he burned the body in Hellfire himself.

On the floor, beaten and bruised, is a half-goat demon wearing a face of a dead man. It grunts and let's out an awkward laugh as it meets his eyes.

Adam: Haha..... Sup, bro.

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

Apologies if that last part is weirdly cut cos I wanted Luci to say that but then I also wanted Adam to appear now.

I'd appreciate any comments or DMs left on your thoughts about everything so far! Reblogs and likes are also much appreciated <3

Have a happy weekend everyone!

[alexanderlightweight]

what about something revolving around Alec and jewelry? Maybe him wearing magnus' or pieces gifted to him by Magnus?

Hi! Thanks for the ask. Hope you like this

—

Alexander doesn’t do it on purpose. Not the first time, or the second: not even after a dozen times. But then instinct becomes habit and Alexander continues.

So Magnus learns to watch as Alexander gets ready to leave and how he hesitates. It doesn’t matter if Magnus is awake or sleeping, in the room or getting ready himself, but Alec will lingers.

Alexander will pace around the room and touches different items. He’ll straighten pictures and brush his fingers over specific items, and no matter how often he does it, Magnus still hasn’t figured out why.

And then Alexander wallows, feet pausing by Magnus’ vanity and his fingers petting over the various trinkets there.

He sorts Magnus’ makeup brushes, and stacks whatever eyeshadow has been left out. Sometimes he even sharpens Magnus’ eyeliner, as if his magic doesn’t do it for him.

And then he hovers over the jewelry. Lifting pieces out and putting them back in and sometimes he takes nothing and other times Magnus hides a smile as Alexander pockets a piece of jewelry.

Magnus knows it will be returned the next time Alexander is back, as if it has never left. And something else will be gone in it’s place, little tokens Alexander takes of Magnus.

It takes time. But slowly instead of pocketing the jewelry, Alexander wears it instead.

Magnus remembers the first time he notices, and truly, since he pays such ardent attention to Alexander, he thinks it must be the first time at all.

It’s a bracelet. A hand carved wooden bracelet, polished to perfection and carved with little verses of good fortune.

It peeks out of Alexander’s shirt sleeve and Magnus wants to leave a mark on Alec’s wrist, so that he’ll have two reminders of Magnus.

When they smile at each other across the table that night, somehow, it’s even softer, but deeper.

It starts to happen more frequently, though not always, until Magnus enters the Institute on a priority call.

Alexander is standing shirtless in the command center, hes already handing off the shreds of a T-shirt and is zipping up a sleeveless, leather vest. There is a wound healing on his chest and a still raw, newly drawn iratze on his hip.

One of Magnus arm cuffs is snugly curled around Alexander’s bicep. It fits there, as tight as a lovers grip and defines the muscles even more when Alexander moves.

Magnus licks his lips and tries not to also remember the long silver chain looped around Alexander’s neck, or the pendant tucked into the curl of his chest hair.

He wants. In a way that he’s very unused to. So much so that it takes everything he has not to fuck Alexander against the main console of the mission room. Instead he tucks himself close, letting his fingers dip into the sliver of space between vest and pants and greedily pets warm skin.

This is a temptation Magnus can no longer bear and he promises himself that the next time before Alexander leaves, Magnus will drapes Alexander in marks and jewelry himself, and then admire the art he’s made later.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

the problem with trying 2 write a crimsonfang fic is what is the setting. what’s the real dynamic here. r they just chilling in the ark. do they take turns bullying legato in his dumb little coffin. does knives sit down all the gung ho guns for meetings and do elendira and livio make stupid jokes to each other during these meetings. do they have a prank war. r they having disrespectful nasty sex or can they even hold hands without blushing. how much is razlo involved. is he besties with elendira and pushing livio to actually fucking talk to her. what’s the vibe here

[ninesecretsteps]

actually crazy how much more comfortable i've become with discussing things on this blog since i started posting like, a month ago. i mean that was the point but the difference feels a little stark just looking through my post tag on here. this guy was afraid of being schizoid on the schizoid blog

[elsolaer]

i have many thoughts in general but this tidbit from tingyun's voice lines is one of the things i wanna elaborate some more on at some point...

" Every time I head out, I leave a letter behind and lock it in the drawers of my shop. If I come back, then I'll burn it later. If I don't... then it'll be something for others to remember me by."

[prodkeiji]

ep 9 is a lot to process uhm

[artekai]

Well. Now I need an excuse to put Sylens and Fross alone together and give them a common goal :/

[majoringinsarcasm]

Ok now under a read more but here’s major’s thoughts on bodies and shit

So I came across someone who is in the process of de–transitioning on Instagram, which made me wary at first because. You know. But it’s really refreshing to just see One Person instead of a static used against people. To hear one singular real person talk about their journey which people in the comments said was akin to a different kind of transition. And how media does not do them justice.

It takes a lot of courage to come out as trans. To figure out so much on your own and then be faced with such hatred and doubt and riddle. To find who you are in the fire and hope you come out alive on the other side.

It takes a lot of courage to say “I actually don’t like this change I’ve made” after however long of talking about it and being on hormones or even having regret with surgery. It’s framed as a reason to keep trans people locked down but that’s not fair. To be unhappy with your identity and to want to change despite how you might’ve felt before. To maybe have overshot where you wanted to be and needing to find a middle ground. To search for your identity in the rubble of what you thought you wanted and trying to find all the pieces.

Being trans is not evil. Detransitioning / transition remix is not evil. Whats evil is using people’s very vulnerable emotions and thoughtfulness of their OWN BODY as a weapon against a community while also MOTHER caring about “this important group that sheds light on the truth of transitioning” outside of using them as a platform to step on.

Had they not detransitioned they’d be back on the chopping block. If they weren’t vocal about their regret and were causal about it they’d be poster children for “getting un-needed surgery like it’s a game”

There are people who have detransitioned who are not kind to the trans community and that sucks. But there’s trans people who aren’t kind to other trans people either. It’s bad because those people are being used for a hateful agenda and people don’t actually care about their journey or lives outside of how it can be weaponized. And it must suck to want to talk about your regrets and changes and how you’re gonna move forward and your words always being used as a gotcha and not what it truly is which is your personal experience

Anyway it was really good for me to see. The media won’t show you allies when talking about those who detransitioned and we have to remember that it’s done like that on Purpose