#I wrote this from a writing prompt too!

[valleyrunearchives]

Nightmares Suck

Rating: Teen or Above Fandom: Call of Duty Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 1/1

Like tonight; Where he’s comfortable and his mind is quiet enough that he’s just slipped into a deep sleep. And then the noise happens. This time though, it sets all his nerves alight in tense fear. That was the creak of his door. The sound of footsteps on his floor. Who the fuck was in his room?! They’re also barefoot which is a bit odd. He reaches under his pillow and grabs his hidden knife he keeps there for protection. Just in case. He waits until they’re right up by his bed before whipping the knife out to point it about where he guesses their throat would be based on the heaviness of their steps.

OR

Ghost wakes up to a nightmare plagued sergeant in his room.

Click Here to Read on AO3!

Ghost was a light sleeper and took somewhat of a pride in it. It meant that very few things could sneak up on him. It had saved his life more times than he could count when he needed to catch a little sleep while in the field. But it wasn’t something that he could just turn on and off. Which meant that, even now, well and safe on base in his barrack he could still come awake at the smallest noise or movement. It could be anything really. Someone walking in the hallway. Or one of his neighbors turning over in just the right way to make their mattress creak. Going back to sleep after that is a chore in and of itself as well. His mind is constantly racing with the ever growing need to get up and check things after startling awake. The doors, the hallways, the shadows. Just to make sure, his mind whispers, Can’t take any chances. That’s how you get yourself killed. 

He hates it sometimes. Especially on nights where he happened to be sleeping fairly well before waking up.  

Like tonight; Where he’s comfortable and his mind is quiet enough that he’s just slipped into a deep sleep. And then the noise happens. This time though, it sets all his nerves alight in tense fear. That was the creak of his door. The sound of footsteps on his floor. Who the fuck was in his room?! They’re also barefoot which is a bit odd. He reaches under his pillow and grabs his hidden knife he keeps there for protection. Just in case. He waits until they’re right up by his bed before whipping the knife out to point it about where he guesses their throat would be based on the heaviness of their steps. 

Soap is on the blade side of the knife and jolts back at the sharp tip of it, exclaiming, “Steamin’ Jesus!”

“Soap!” He puts the knife down by his hip and reaches out to click on the bedside lamp, turning back to glare at him harshly, “Wot the fuck!? Why the bloody Hell were you sneaking in my barrack?!”

“Sorry Lt.,” Soaps hands raise in an apologetic fashion, also showing he’s unarmed, “I was just… Well…” 

The Scot reaches up to scratch the scar that lines his chin. A nervous twitch of his, Ghost has come to learn.  Ghost runs a hand down his face in frustration, also reminding him that he doesn’t have his mask on. Whatever. Nothing that Soap hasn’t seen before. Normally he’d probably freak about that but he’s too tired and too irritated from being woken up to care. “Alright, spit it out then. Why are you here?” He demands.

Soap is silent for a long moment. “Nightmares. Las Almas,” Soap’s voice is a low rumble and Ghost takes another look at him. Sure enough, there’s vividly dark circles under the sergeant’s eyes. Seems like tonight wasn’t the first night of nightmares for him then. The shorter male shakes his head, “I just had to make sure… that you were still here and not…. I’m sure you can guess. I-I felt like I couldn’t relax until I did. You’re obviously fine though, considerin’ you pointed a bleedin’ knife at me.” 

The Brit glares at him again. Who’s fault was that? He was the one sneaking into Ghost’s room in the middle of the night! He takes a deep breath to not lose his mind on the other man. He’s been in his shoes before; Plagued with nightmares that just keep popping up every time you close your eyes for longer than it took to blink. He’d never admit it out loud but he probably would’ve done the same thing - albeit much quieter than him - if he was in Soap’s shoes. Well… in his current lack of shoes.  

“I’ll go then, Lt.” Soap turns to leave his room but Ghost huffs out a sigh, calling for him to stop. The man does so and turns slightly to him.

“You came straight here from your barrack? After waking from your nightmare?” Ghost questions, “That’s why you don’t even have shoes on?”

“Yeah. And?”

“You’re tired?” 

“Feckin’ obviously… Exhausted is more like…” Soap snips with a glare of his own, making the  dark circles around his eyes just more evident from it. There’s a long moment where the two of them just stare at one another; As if daring the other to make the first move. What that move is supposed to be, Ghost doesn’t know but he does move first with a pronounced sigh, “Bloody Hell… alright, get over here.” 

He puts the knife away in its sheath and tucks it between the mattress and bedframe instead of under the pillow like it was. Soap watches him do so, bewildered. Ghost then slides over as far as he can to the side of the bed before turning back to Soap. “Well?” he growls impatiently as the sergeant continues to just stand there and stare.

“What?” 

“Are you going to get over here or not?”

“What for?”

Ghost rolls his eyes before gesturing between the two of them, Manchester accent thicker than usual, “We’re both bloody exhausted. You can’t sleep for the nightmares tellin’ you I died in Las Almas. I can’t sleep ‘cause you creeping around in my barrack triggered my fightin’ reflex. So get over here an’ get into bed so we can convince each other that we’re protected and actually fuckin’ sleep.”

“You’re going to protect me from my nightmares?” Soap asks him incredulously. 

Ghost shrugs, “If that’s how you want to think of it, sure. Now I ain’t offerin’ again. Are you comin’ to bed or not?”

That seems to be enough convincing for Soap who takes a few strides over to the bed and cautiously climbs into it, as if afraid that Ghost will change his mind and stab him with the knife he knows he has anyway. That’s ridiculous. Ghost could never stab Johnny, not in a million years and no matter how badly he annoys the shite out of him. He waits for Soap to settle down stiffly in the bed, lying on his side and arms kept as close to his chest as physically possible. Yeah, there’s not a lot of room on the small barrack beds for two but it can be made to work. “Relax,” he tells Soap gently, flicking the lamp off again to put the two of them in darkness.

It takes a moment or two for his eyes to readjust to the dark but once they do he can see that Soap did not heed his advice; Still lying stiffly on his side and avoiding all eye contact. Ghost sighs again, this time in malcontent. He reaches out and lays a hand on Soap’s shoulder. It causes the shorter man to jump at the contact. “Relax,” He says again, soft this time and with his thumb gliding gently along his shoulder. He feels some of the tension leave them before he winds his arm around Soap to pull him into his chest. The tenseness returns but only for a moment. 

“This… This is a bit close to bein’ like a cuddle,” Soap tells him as if Ghost doesn’t already know that.

“Congrats. Want a medal or something?” He replies tiredly.

“You just don’t seem the type to cuddle, Lt.”

He stretches his neck out a bit to get the rest of the tension out of it before resting his nose into the longer locks of Soap’s mohawk, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Soap.”

“... Johnny,” the Scot whispers, “I don’t want to be Soap here.”

“Simon for me then,” he offers back so they’re on an even ground. His brain is settling faster than he expected from this light chatter and the solid warmth of the other. He rightfully feels sleepy again. Perks of having a trusted bed partner after so long.

Johnny moves to burrow his nose into Simon’s chest, “Goodnight then, Simon. Codladh sáhm.”  

“What have I told you about speakin’ English,” He mutters sleepily.

He feels the rumble of Johnny’s chuckle before the man quietly translates, “‘Sweet dreams.’”

“You too,” Simon mutters into his hair.

It’s the best night's sleep he’s ever had.

#cod mw2 #john 'soap' mactavish #simon 'ghost' riley #ghostsoap #ghostsoap fanfic #soapghost #soapghost fanfic #ghoap #I wrote this from a writing prompt too!

[gatzbright]

eepy dnf drabble

#*rises from stone like mushu*ILIVEEEEEEEE #finnaly wrote something after Days of nothinTHANKGOD . #doing word prompts on twt n here is a sleepy morning cuddles dnf ……. i thought i’d share here too :) #dnf #my writing #dnf fics #woooot

[ahollowgrave]

11. Blood at the corner of your mouth.

It is not your blood at the edge of your mouth. Not your blood that your tongue swipes from the corner of your lips.  Not your blood whose coppery tastes lingers between your teeth. 

But he fucking deserved it.

Sister Kindness has you tucked under her arm as she, to use her words, books it. Something she must not do often because she huffs and puffs her way through the crowded Shaded Bower. And though some call out ‘Sister’ to her with warm recognition she does not stop ‘booking’ it. (Sister Kindness would have you know that she is perfectly in shape for a woman of her age. She was ‘huffing and puffing’ from the extra weight of carrying you, thank you very much.)

She slows when the westshore pier appears around the corner and then she steps off the main path and sets you down. Kneeling to be something more like eye-level, she pulls a Roegadyn-sized handkerchief from the depths of her habit. Wetting a corner with a flask pulled from a separate, equally confusing pocket she begins to clean the blood from your face.

Sister Kindness’ hand is firm where it grips your chin, holding as little of you as possible. For once the contact does not send you recoiling. Perhaps it is the way your rage has left you as quickly as it had flooded you, leaving you feeling drained of everything else as well. Now that the moment has passed you tremble and, to your horror, you can feel a well of tears rising to fill that empty space.

“Was a helluva bite, darling girl,” Sister Kindness’s voice is quiet as she tilts your head to the light, searching for any blood she may have missed. You focus on her creek colored eyes and swear you feel their waters lapping at your ankles. Her smile is sudden but woozy around the edges; she is just as shaken. "Reckon he'll have a scar, too. Bet he lies about who gave it to him." ‘He’ was an elezen man -- maybe a merchant but likely not, as Sister Kindness did not know him -- with a face as sharp as his ears and a smile that spoke of too much confidence. And you had hated him on sight. His crime was making Sister Kindness uncomfortable and his mistake was not being aware of his surroundings. 

It does not take much pressure to break skin. 

Pleased with her work, Sister Kindness rises and disappears the handkerchief away. Handing you the flask, she instructs you to take a sip, swirl it around your mouth, and spit it out. There is some confusion about what 'swirl' means but, eventually, she is satisfied with this too. “Well, we didn’t get what I came for but we’ll be headed home all the same. Come now, before the ferry leaves without us. We will, ah, not be telling the abbess about this.” You don’t know if she means the bite or the trip to the city. 

You don’t ask.

Thank you for the ask, Anon! ][ Sensory Prompts ][

#Answered #Pigeon Writing #Sister Kindness #Sister Patience #<- tags for odette/convent stuff as it's her nun name #i have just decided this #which means I will forget it thank you #but also thank you for the ask anon this one wrote itself more or less !! #posting this before i think too much about it #i am lowkey trying to stop writing only second person pov because I've had enough people casually tell me the hate it #(not my writing like specifically but just the pov in general) #(which is normal and fine !!! just sometimes disheartening like life is sometimes) #but the prompt used 'you' and gestures #but also sister kindness why do these merchants greet you warmly HUH!? #aren't you suppose to be living a secluded life of holy contemplation HUH SISTER KINDNESS??? #(i remove my hands from the keyboard so i stop editing the tags) #(brains are dumb why do we even HAVE these)

[ladytauria]

to celebrate hitting 50k i'm sharing a snippet of the longfic i'm currently working on <3 (thank you v much to both @deepwithintheabyss and @paprikadotmp4 for the encouragement & brainstorming help <3)

still untitled (i've been calling it the "aob dubcon fic" lmao) but i have written a summary:

Jason tries to sell off his first heat to make ends meet for the upcoming winter. When he’s taken by traffickers instead, he’s sure that’s the end of him—until he’s rescued by a mysterious alpha. That “rescue” comes with a price: Jason’s heat hits shortly after, and… one thing leads to another, and now Jason and Tim are bound together by a fledgling mate bond. It’s not the first time Jason’s had to make the best of things, but… he finds it a little bit easier this time, especially as he grows to genuinely like Tim. Unfortunately, just as they're starting to settle into mated life, Tim’s ex-pack starts getting involved, and they don’t exactly approve of Tim’s choice in mate—never mind that it wasn’t really a choice at all.

cws/tags for this snippet: reverse robins, aob dynamics, underage jason (15), first aid, medical inaccuracies (probably; i'm not a doctor, so i'm warning to be safe), hurt/comfort, touch starvation, anxiety, allusions to captivity related ptsd, self-deprecation, brief memories of non-consensual touching

editing to add: this snippet takes place in the 2nd half of chapter 2 <3 (& was originally the second scene for the fic lol)

i have also previously shared a snippet of the scene after this, when jason's heat hits, here.

Tim parks outside of an old apartment building. The brick facade is worn, cracked and peeling in places. Most of the windows are intact at least, though; two of them have lights on, the rest dark.

Tim gets out first, already having rounded the car by the time Jason is swinging his legs out. His hand rests on the door, waiting patiently for Jason to join him on the sidewalk. Then he shuts it. One hand rests on Jason’s back again, a gentle guide inside.

There’s a man at the desk near the front entrance, reading a newspaper. He spares them a brief, bored glance before going back to it.

There’s an out of order sign on the elevator, so they have to take the stairs. It’s just two flights, but by the end, Jason’s slightly out of breath. He’d thought he was in pretty good shape, but—

He guesses spending nearly a week in a small, windowless room hasn’t done him any favors.

Tim stops at a door in the middle of the hall, unlocking it and letting Jason go in first. The main room is all one room; living room transitioning to kitchen, separated by an island counter. Tim guides Jason to the couch, directing him to sit while he gets the first aid kit.

The couch is worn but comfortable, cushions sinking under Jason’s weight, cradling him.

Tim disappears down the hall, and returns a few moments later holding the biggest first aid kit Jason has ever seen. Not that he’s really an expert on the things, but— The one at his house was pretty small.

And mostly empty, honestly.

The coffee table looks comically small under it. It makes Jason’s belly flip with nerves, remembering the feeling of latex covered hands on his body, spreading him open.

He bites his lip.

Tim doesn’t open it, though; instead, he slips into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later, holding a bottle of purple Gatorade. Then, he kneels in front of Jason. It’s—odd. Having an alpha kneel in front of him, voluntarily. Even though Jason knows he doesn’t exactly have any power here, the visual dissonance is—

Odd.

He offers up the bottle. It takes a moment for Jason’s hands to move, but he does take it. His fingers fumble with the cap; he flushed, embarrassed despite himself, but gets it open.

As soon as it touches his lips, his thirst hits him full force. He allows himself two large gulps to wet his throat, and then forces himself to slow down, sipping instead.

When he screws the cap back on, he finds Tim still there. Waiting. He twists his hands around the plastic nervously.

“Alright,” Tim says gently. “Other than the bruise on your side, and the rope burns… are you injured?”

Jason shakes his head, twisting the sleeves of the alpha’s jacket. “Nn-nn. Just some bruises,” he says softly. He pauses. “And, um. I did hit my head once. It still hurts, but— I’m not, like, dizzy or nothin’.”

Tim nods. “Alright,” he says. “I’d like to do a head injury evaluation anyway. I’ll just feel over your skull, and then use a penlight to evaluate your pupil dilation. I’ve got cream for the rope burns, and for the bruise—” Tim hesitates a moment, then continues, “I’ll need to check and make sure nothing is cracked, and there’s no internal bruising.” He pauses again. “As long as there’s nothing serious anywhere else… I have some painkillers you can take, when we eat.”

Jason takes a moment to absorb all of that, and then nods, tipping his head forward obediently.

There’s a part of him screaming at himself not to be so compliant. To kick and claw and scratch and bite and fight, the way he has been for the past week. But he’s— He’s so tired, and sore, and—

The alpha smells so good, and— The smiles he keeps giving Jason melt something inside of him. He wants to keep seeing them. Keep earning them.

Tomorrow that might scare him.

Tonight—

His eyes fall closed when Tim’s fingers slide into his curls. The touch is achingly gentle. It feels— It feels good. Nice. Jason can’t help but lean into it. He thinks Tim’s hands linger a little longer than they need to, like he’s indulging Jason’s obvious enjoyment of the touch.

He does pull away eventually. Jason bites back his whine, instead sitting back up against the cushions.

“No bumps,” Tim murmurs. He gets out the penlight next, and cups Jason’s face as he shines a light first in one eye, and then the other. Jason grimaces, hissing a little as he squints. The light aggravates his aching head. “Pupil dilation is normal.” He pockets the light, and strokes Jason’s cheek with his thumb before he pulls away. “Now, I need to check your bruises.”

Jason bites his lip again. The constant worrying is starting to make the top layer of skin break and flake under his teeth. He averts his eyes, rolling the sleeves of the suit jacket up, exposing his hands. Then he pulls his shirt up, bunching it up just beneath his breasts.

His stomach jumps when Tim touches him. Tim pauses, hand hesitating, just barely touching Jason’s skin, and then— He starts to rumble, low and deep.

Jason whines. He doesn’t mean to—but it bursts from him; he can’t stop it, can’t muffle it. It’s a soft, helpless little keen, and the alpha’s rumble gets louder in response. He scoots closer, until he’s between Jason’s knees. His hand settles onto Jason’s skin, curving around his side. His other hand comes to cup Jason’s shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles through his clothes.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, the rumble deepening his voice. The sound—

Jason has only vague memories of his father rumbling for him, from when he was much, much smaller. Before working as a henchman had stolen much of his father’s good will. Other than that, Jason has only ever heard alphas rumble on TV. It’s—

It’s a really nice sound.

Against his will, tears fill his eyes, and he raises his hand, pressing his palm over one, like he can force them back inside. Tim’s hand settles against his side, just underneath the bruising. “You’re alright,” the alpha murmurs. “It’s okay to cry, pup.”

Jason sniffs, loud in the quiet. “I—I—”

“Shh, puppy.” Tim’s hand doesn’t leave Jason as he rises, slipping onto the couch beside him. His other hand cups the back of Jason’s head, tugging him forward—Jason’s arms come up automatically, wrapping around Tim’s neck, his shirt falling back over his abdomen. The alpha’s scent drips with comfort and the promise of protection and Jason—

He feels… He feels warm, and safe, and—

A sob rattles through his chest. Tim holds him closer, tighter, his arm winding around Jason’s waist. He buries his nose in Jason’s curls, stroking his skin with his thumb as he rocks him, slowly.

Jason’s chest heaves. His whole body shakes with each sob, so much that Jason is worried he’s going to shake himself apart. Tim’s steady hold feels like all that’s keeping him together.

It’s not just the last few days, it’s— It’s everything, since his Mom got sick and Dad turned to working as henchman and their lives just… fell apart. He’s— Jason’s been on his own for so long. Longer even than he’s been on the streets. Every day has been a fight for survival and Jason—

Honestly, he thought he’d finally lost.

Tim murmurs in his ear. Jason can’t hear a word of what he’s saying, but the tone is low and gentle, and Jason clings to it.

It takes a long time for Jason’s sobs to subside. Jason— He doesn’t know how long exactly. But he does know that when he’s done he feels exhausted. He slumps into Tim’s chest, tremors still running down his spine. His face is sticky. He definitely got snot all over Tim’s nice shirt, and that—

He’s too tired to even worry about Tim’s reaction.

Fingers comb through his hair again, lightly scritching his scalp. He lets out a soft sigh, slumping even more against the alpha’s chest.

Tim hums. He noses at Jason’s temple; a gentle nudge Jason grumbles at. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I still need to look at your bruises.”

Jason whines—the same plaintive little puppy whine he used to give his mom when he wasn’t ready to get up yet, for one reason or another. It makes Tim huff, amused; the humor reflected in his scent. It’s nice. Really nice.

He noses at Jason’s temple again. “Pup.” His voice is a little more stern. It’s not threatening, though—doesn’t even make Jason’s hackles raise. Tim is still rumbling. Close as they are, it feels like it’s seeping into Jason’s bones. It lessens the ache in him. His skin— His skin has been itchy for years, but. The creepy crawling of it has subsided, for now at least.

He’s comfortable. Jason doesn’t want to move.

He does anyway, sitting back with a scowl on his face. It makes Tim smile—his scowl deepens.

“I’ll be quick,” Tim promises.

Jason huffs a little. He leans back against the couch cushions. Tim’s hand is still under his shirt, sliding back over to the injured side as Jason lifts it. He feels— He feels more settled now. Less nervous, though butterflies still flutter between his ribs.

Jason watched Tim’s fingers probe gently around the bruising. The purple has started to fade to a greenish hue, but it still hurts when he prods it. Jason’s quiet, pained noises are soothed with soft rumbles and fingers rubbing his shoulders.

When he’s done, Tim’s hand lingers, laying casually on his waist. Jason’s skin would normally be prickling, but—

It isn’t.

It hasn’t this whole time, any time the alpha touched him.

“I don’t feel any cracks or breaks. Did— Were there any injuries to your back?” He’s no longer rumbling.

Jason misses it already. There’s a part of him that wants to snuggle up to him, see if he can’t coax that rumble back out.

He ignores it; instead shaking his head. “No. They— The, um, the boss said they were supposed to keep me as uninjured as possible. Any punishment had to be careful not to leave a mark.”

Tim hums. He strokes Jason’s skin with his thumb, and then slips his hand from Jason’s waist. It—

Jason finds that he misses it.

Tim leans forward, finally opening the first aid kit. It’s stocked, full of things Jason has names for and things he doesn’t. Tim takes out two things: the first, a small jar, and the second, a bottle of puppy’s Tylenol. Jason—he doesn’t like it, but he can’t really argue with it. Not at his size and weight and everything. They’re pills, at least, and chewable too,

Jason examines them carefully before he takes them, washing away the chalky flavor with the drink he’d been given before.

Tim unscrews the lid of the jar. The cream inside smells herbal, though not unpleasantly so. Jason holds out his arm, relaxing into the couch as the alpha works the cream into his skin.

It’s easy to let his eyes fall half-lidded. Jason is warm and sleepy. The air is thick with protective alpha scent; it soothes his hind-brain, the part that is purely omega, purely pup and longing for the comfort and safety of pack.

A small voice in the back of his mind is screaming, telling him he needs to keep his guard up.

It’s easy to ignore like this. To focus on nothing but gentle hands on his skin and the ambient noise around him; the hum of electricity and the distant noise of outside traffic.

Jason drifts.

He barely registers when the alpha switches arms, coming back up only to croon confusedly when Tim stops touching him. He blinks up at him, and gets a kind smile in return.

“Hush, pup,” the alpha soothes. “I’m going to get us something to eat.”

Jason blinks slowly at him and hums in acknowledgment. Tim gets a blanket from—somewhere, and lays it over him. It’s soft. Jason likes it. He nuzzles into it, into more of the alpha’s scent, and sighs.

He can hear Tim moving around in the kitchen—the clatter of dishware and pans, the bubbling of boiling liquid, the sound of his soft footsteps. He can smell something savory—chicken, he thinks, and garlic.

He drifts again, stirring only when Tim nudges him gently. A steaming bowl of soup is pressed into his hands.

“It’s hot,” Tim warns, a bit unnecessarily.

Jason still burns his tongue on the first mouthful. He doesn’t care. Having the food in front of him has made him realize how ravenous he is. His bowl is empty far too soon, though he’s too stuffed to go back for seconds.

His empty bowl is taken from him, and then Tim returns again. “C’mon, pup,” he murmurs. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can use. A spare den, too. I’ll get you some nesting materials and pajamas while you brush your teeth.”

Jason reluctantly leaves the couch and blanket behind, shuffling down the hall and into the bathroom. Tim procures a toothbrush for him, and then leaves.

It’s a relief to brush his teeth.

His captors had done it for him, so rough his gums had bled and ached. They still bleed under Jason’s gentle ministrations, but at least it doesn’t hurt. By the time he’s rinsing his mouth, Tim has returned, a bundle in his arms. He offers it to Jason.

“Clothes,” he says, a little unnecessarily.

Jason takes them, and Tim leaves again, giving him privacy. Jason goes to shut the door and then—

Hesitates.

He doesn’t want it open. But— He doesn’t…

What if he shuts it, and it won’t open again?

He’s. He’s being silly.

There’s no way this apartment has more than one bathroom. Trapping Jason inside here would be dumb, and he doesn’t think this alpha is dumb.

Jason takes a deep breath. He shuts the door.

Except—

He doesn’t. The latch hits the frame and Jason stops. His heart thunders in his ears. His breaths come sharper, quicker. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Tears burn in his eyes.

It’s not fair.

He rests his head against the frame; one hand cradling the bundle of clothes to his chest, the other gripping the doorknob.

God. He’s so fucking pathetic.

He shudders. Takes a deep breath. It shakes on his exhale, a tremor in his chest. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to shut it all the way. He can leave it like this, with the metal latch over the door frame, only the tiniest sliver of hallway visible.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

Jason strips quickly, clothes falling into a puddle at his feet. He yanks on the pants the alpha provided. They’re a little short at the ankle, and he has to draw the drawstrings all the way out for them to stay up, but. They fit well enough.

The shirt, too, is a little big, hanging off slightly at one shoulder. It doesn’t show his breasts, and hangs down to his mid-thigh, so Jason doesn’t mind.. Both pants and tee are soft on his skin, not scratching like the other set did.

There’s a hamper. Jason drops his old clothes in, though he’d much rather see them in a dumpster somewhere. The jacket—

Jason hadn’t realized how much it had been comforting him until now. Without it, he feels almost naked. Exposed. He wants to put it back on again. He resists the urge, though. Instead, he straightens it as best he can, then folds it in half and lays it on top of the hamper before he exits the bathroom.

Tim isn’t in the living room any more, and Jason stands, nibbling on his lip. Maybe he should go for the door… but. He can’t bring himself to. Instead he stands there, uselessly, until he hears rustling further down the hall.

He approaches tentatively, and finds Tim in the den at the end of the hall.

Tim glances up when he hears Jason approach, and smiles a little. “I was just getting out some nesting materials,” he says, gesturing.

In front of him is a cushioned nest base, held off the ground by a wooden frame. Piled on top of it is—

Jason had been expecting maybe a couple of blankets and some pillows, but—

The blankets are piled tall; the one on top Jason recognizes as the blanket he’d been using on the couch. There are plenty of pillows, too—and padding, for added layers, and cushions, and, it’s… It’s a lot.

Jason’s throat feels a little tight. “Thanks,” he says, voice small.

“Of course, pup,” Tim says gently. He’s pulled his scent in tight now, but when he draws nearer, Jason catches a whiff of safehere and everythingsokay drifting off of him. His hand moves slow enough it would be easy for Jason to avoid it, but. He stays still, letting the alpha brush his knuckles over his cheek.

“Goodnight, pup,” he murmurs. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall.”

Jason nods. The alpha’s hand drops, and then he leaves.

The rest of the den… It’s not bare, but it lacks a personal touch. There’s a chest of drawers in the corner closest to the closet; a nightstand by the nest; and curtains hanging over the window. He shuffles further in, leaving the door open behind him.

He leaves the nest alone for now. Instead—

He goes for the closet first, opening the door. It’s bare inside, except for a thin layer of dust. Jason shuts it again. He opens the drawers, as quietly as he can. Empty as well. The den smells— Not stale, it’s definitely been used before, but. He catches the barest hints of alpha scent, and other than that… It just smells clean.

Jason rubs at his eyes.

No more putting it off.

As much as he doesn’t want to… Jason doesn’t shut the door all the way. Instead, just like in the bathroom, he leaves it open the tiniest sliver. Anything more, and he won’t be able to sleep. Anything less—

Panic.

Even the thought makes his heart race.

Jason rubs his face. He hates this. He hates it so much. Fuck. Sometimes it feels like life is just out to get him. Like—someone or something out there wants him to suffer.

Stop it. Plenty of people have it worse than you do, he scolds himself. He’s safe right now, or— He has the illusion of safety, at least. The alpha is being nice. Jason is— He’s not bound up. The door isn’t locked. There are no bars on the window. Tim treated his injuries. Held him when he cried. Gave him food and something to drink and soft clothes.

And he’d given Jason plenty of material to make a nice, comfortable nest to den in. One that might finally satisfy the instincts that have been screaming at him.

Jason takes a breath, and pads over to the nest. The sheer amount of material before him is almost overwhelming, but… He goes through it slowly. He starts with the padding, layering it into the nest base and using the cushions to help give it shape. He tests it as he goes, until he has something that’s plush, but not so much that it will engulf him. He works a nest cover over it. It’s a bit of a struggle to get it on, but Jason manages; only a little winded by the end. What padding and cushions he didn’t use—

He decides to put them in the closet, where they’ll be out of the way.

Blankets next.

Jason sorts through the pile slowly, rubbing each on his cheek. Scenting them. The one he used on the couch is the strongest scented; still thick with the contentment he’d felt in the alpha’s arms, and the protective, comforting scent Tim had drenched the air with.

He ends up using a little over half of the blankets Tim provided. The rest he puts in the closet.

Pillows—

Jason doesn’t use as many of them. He ends up putting most of them in the closet. And then, finally—

His nest is done.

He stands back, surveying his handiwork. He trills with pride, running his hand over the edge. His nest is soft. Cozy. It needs— It needs books. And— His fox. He misses his fox, the one his mom gave him. He kept it— He managed to keep it safe, all this time.

It’s probably gone now. Or ruined.

His eyes sting, and he swipes at them roughly.

Jason is so tired of crying.

He climbs into bed, pulling the blankets over and around him, snuggling down into the pillows. It feels—

Safe.

There’s something missing, though. Jason— He’s not sure what it is, but—

He’ll worry about it in the morning.

#jaytim #timjay #tauriawritesfanfic #aob dubcon fic #i'm so tempted to start posting even tho i usually prefer to wait till its done #ive broken everything into chapters; have a list of tags; wrote a summary... #i do not. have a fucking title tho #most of my titles were brainstormed for the 15k version!! which. hm. i *could* post that separately maybe...? #smth to think about #a n y w a y #hope u enjoy <333 #as soon as this fic lets go of the chokehold it has on me i'll get back to like #prompts & the other wips languishing in my docs #(and when i say chokehold i mean i started writing this around like... december 20th?) #(and you can thank abyss for THAT too bc this all spiraled from 8k of a genfic i showed them <3)

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #Dexter Favin #And a drabble-fic under the cut #I ended up writing that the night after I read - I was a bit too inspired while busy so it's a little on the unfocused side haha #I would've cleaned it but I worry it wouldn't make it out of that stage! Please enjoy it for now <3 #This set is mostly periphery ideas - inspired by events rather than directly shown ♪ I suppose the first two kinda count tho #But they're more directly of the little scene I wrote ouò Poor ZEX </3 #And Dex! He's usually so capable! But he's stretching himself so thin ahh it's hard to watch in the best way #Of course he doesn't want to give ''Max'' over to just anyone - anyone at all really - both of their trusts have bottomed out #But how much could he reasonably care for him in that state? When he's still being actively haunted and most importantly - Not Max #He needs helps he needs support he needs to sleep and shower but a second with his eyes off Max and - then what? He'll immolate from fear #It's hard to imagine him crying but pushed to this extreme? To the thought of losing Max utterly and completely? Hhhhh #I do also just love him being possessive even outside of how terrible the situation is - he's always had his glimpses but this situation #Brings out the worst in him <3 In terrible ways #Really his method is just setting ''Max'' up nearby and prompting him over the sound of the shower like that's not nerve-wracking at all #Like he already doesn't answer half the time if that #As for the mini fic I was really interested in Dex's line about indulging ''Max's'' delusions #Apart from the fact that they're not delusions - not that anyone believes him outside of the Institute - what it means to indulge is weird #I saw one example of how to handle delusions that stuck with me - how not to deny them outright while also not reinforcing them #Since it's not actually helpful to be told ''That isn't Really happening to you'' when to you - to ZEX - it really is! How invalidating #And so rather to take the approach of ''I don't see/feel/hear what you are - I can't find any evidence of it myself'' and extrapolating #Dex taking the approach of ''What reality are you experiencing right now?'' and trying to build from there! #Unfortunately ZEX has already been treated like....well like all that - he's not in the mood for games even well-intentioned ones #He /knows/ he's in a human body. He can feel that and see that and understands that. It doesn't change who - what he /is/ #The idea of a completely broken ZEX is so sad to me :( He's so strong and prideful and vivacious - Max really is another him </3 #It's not the same but he was saved from death! To fall into torture... But even despite that I want to see him succeed! As much as he can #Even in that small and shaking way I want to see him be hateful and spiteful - angry. Powerful <3 Fighting ♥

[hersurvival]

We are each arched backs and bent elbows,

Awkward angles,

Interlocked fingers and points in time

Marked by breaths.

Smooth, pale surfaces with gentle curves,

Fingertips tenderly grazing,

Familiarizing the area, tracing your perimeter,

Exploring your edges.

Euclidean geometry in postulate,

In practice.

Simple mathematical treatise,

Thirteen Elements.

@nosebleedclub May 3rd - Geometry

#nosebleedclub #geometry #fun fact: Euclid wrote the book on geometry in ancient Greece #his mathematic treatise consisted off thirteen books #from Ancient Greece to early 19th century #euclid geometry was simply just.. geometry #OH! and his geometry work was called Elements #poets on tumblr #writing #poetry #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #poem #spilled poem #spilled writing #original writing #writing prompt #i wish #too cold for lovin' #need a flame to warm me up

[waterfallofspace]

A Game Of Chess

When D/azai starts a game with C/huuya, he wins it. But will round two turn out differently, or will the King claim his Pawn once more?

So the wonderful @onetrickponi requested something from b/sd with ~this post~ as the inspiration.

I decided to go with S/oukoku, so here's a little two-part game of chess, two different situations where this phrase may occur.

Characters: C/huuya, D/azai and A/kutagawa (briefly over the phone) Word Count, Total: 4.8k Part One, Check: 2.3k Part Two, Mate: 2.4k

(CW: Swearing, sexual themes, character with the kink. No technical smut action happens, but it's quite heavily implied!)

~~~ Check ~~~

Ask anyone in the Port Mafia, and they’re sure to agree; Chuuya is a force to be reckoned with. One that, most will add, shouldn’t be reckoned with. And yet, he’s neither the king of the Port Mafia chess army, nor the queen. 

“Instead,” Dazai continues, taking pride in the pronounced groan from the couch next to him. Seems his talents have been wasted preparing mere witty retorts. A long drawn out monologue serves to coax an entirely new type of annoyance. “You’re more of a pawn. A mighty pawn! But, a pawn nonetheless.” 

“Watch it, you may be able to stop gravity manipulation, but you aren’t immune to other forms of violence.” Chuuya growls, hat sliding forward as he springs to his feet. He corrects it with a single hand, the other glove waving in frantic, yet meaningless, patterns. 

“Oh Chuuya, you have something planned? I knew you cared! See, I’ve been planning ways to bring you down a peg,” Dazai pauses to meet Chuuya’s rolling eyes with a wink, “for years now.” 

“What a load of-” 

“And yet, here I was thinking you didn’t care enough to do the same!” He pauses again, feigning hurt with a hand draped over his forehead in a gesture that can only be described as dramatic. A word often associated with the heart-of-gold, soul-of-grey, detective. “But it turns out I was wrong, Chuuya always car-” 

“AHK’SHHaa! Christ.”  

Chuuya cracks a grin behind his fist as the outburst nearly knocks Dazai off the counter he’d placed himself on. An onlooker would assume it was the ferocity of the sternutation, perhaps the volume. It wouldn’t be an unfounded guess. Chuuya’s not exactly one for subtlety, although he’d like to believe he can control them when needed. 

They’d be wrong. 

Being used to gunshots, like he is, the volume was practically nothing. Surprise could be another assumption, though it would once again be incorrect. While Dazai didn’t see it coming, he’s never been one to jump at unforeseen circumstances. It’s simply not his nature. 

And besides- 

“AESHH’ah!” 

-despite seeing Chuuya’s nose twitch, his brows furrow, and hearing the gasp catch in his throat, Dazai’s whole body trembles once more in time with the sneeze. 

“Oh dear, Chuuya will wake the neighbours at this rate!” 

It’s a bluff, and they both know it. A well thought out maneuver, disguised as a simple taunt. Meant to control the situation, a strategic move, like a chess piece gliding across the board.  

“AKSHH’iuh!” Chuuya straightens up, glove still pressed to his nose. There’s a beat of silence, Dazai’s annoyance monologue temporarily paused. He seems at a loss for words, breath coming a little quicker than a moment ago.

Unfortunately Chuuya doesn’t get to revel in it for long, the shift in his sinuses presenting an urgent distraction. “Pass the tissues, would ya?” 

Without a word, Dazai drops from the counter. As his footsteps fade off into the kitchen, Chuuya allows himself a single heady sniffle. As expected, it’s deeply irritating, both in noise and reaction. The itch that’s been taking its time spreading through his face suddenly hones in on his nose, increasing with every shaky breath. 

“AESHHiew! AKZSHH’aa! Oh Christ… hiH– AMFSHH!” 

Using his gloves isn’t exactly what Chuuya had intended, but hell. It’s better than aiming at the floor. Much as he may enjoy Dazai’s reaction to that display, the other detectives don’t deserve such indecencies.

“EMSFHHh!” Not to mention, the improperness of the act is more Dazai’s particular brand of infuriating. “Speaking of the asshole, when is… AEMFSH’ah! mon dieu. When is that bastard gonna get ba-” 

“Talking to yourself, one of the first signs of insanity, Chuuya.” Dazai calls, a smirk dancing across his face as Chuuya jumps.

“The first sign of insanity is- hH’AKZSH’aa!” He manages to duck to the side, wheeling back around with a glare. “Is the fact I’m wasting my breath talking to you.” 

“Oh dear, was that supposed to be a comeback? It lacks a bit of the wit a good retort should possess.” Dazai mocks, a smile dripping of bitter humour crossing his cheeks. “Seems Chuuya’s tongue isn’t quite as fierce as his glare.” And with that, Dazai leans against the wall, a tissue box still in his hand. 

In the time it had taken for him to walk to the supply closet and back, his entire demeanor had shifted. As simple as changing clothes, he’d replaced the off balance vulnerability with a controlled posture of dominance.  

Still trapped behind his hand, Chuuya finds his knees starting to weaken. It was clear what direction this interaction would be taking. While it wasn’t something he’d planned, it was certainly welcome nonetheless. 

“Well are you gonna hand them over or what?” Chuuya replies, a snarl creeping along his lip as his nose threatens to retaliate against the delay. Despite being pressed against the fabric lining his hand, it seems desperate for further relief. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Then hurry up, you bastard. I… hh– I hhhave to… hhAHh–” 

Dazai lunges forward, the movement sudden enough to trigger a fight or flight response. It takes every ounce of Chuuya’s willpower not to lash out as Dazai, in one fluid motion, grabs onto his wrist and pulls it away from his face. 

“Not yet,” Dazai hums, eyes alight. It seems the games have begun; with Chuuya at a deeply itchy disadvantage. Already down his queen by the second move. 

Dazai's been careful to avoid Chuuya’s bare skin, despite his ability working quite easily through clothing. It’s a hint to the nature of the game they’re playing. Each move will be calculated, each touch laced with intention. 

“aEHh–” Chuuya manages to starve it off with a sharp exhale, his body rapidly beginning to tremble as the power seeps from his veins into Dazai’s grip.

It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, some wouldn’t even notice. It’s not like the action of removing the gift has a sensation, it’s more… the lack of sensation as the power drains away. To someone like Chuuya, who almost constantly maintains a slight flow of their gift, it’s hard to miss. 

“Not as vocal,” comes the next command, Dazai’s grip loosening enough for one finger to trail down Chuuya’s arm, reaching the bare skin between his sleeve and his glove. The touch is cold, a gasp nearly escaping Chuuya’s tightened lips. 

“It’s nhehh– not gonna be easy,” Chuuya lets his eyes shut for just a second, savouring the sweet relief that the false depiction of privacy offers. The promise that when they open again, he’ll be free to release every itch. 

Dazai breaks the spell in a single move, the relief quickly replaced with overwhelming irritation. Chuuya’s eyes fall open in time with his mouth as he finds Dazai’s chocolate gaze awaiting his arrival. Nose still pressed against his, the smirk Dazai’s wearing is felt, more than seen. 

“My my, Chuuya. Your nose is so warm!” Dazai coos, leaning back to demonstrate by running a finger against his own nose, then back over to Chuuya’s. Biting his lip is the only way Chuuya keeps from moaning. Even Dazai touching his own nose seems to tickle. 

“hiEHh– D-Dazai…” 

“And,” Dazai continues, Chuuya’s breath catching in his throat. “It’s practically quivering. Chuuya must need to sneeze something awful. I wonder what could be causing this? Hmm, let’s see…” 

Trailing off, Dazai lets his eyes scan the room. It’s for dramatic effect, he already knows. There’s no doubt he’s known since the moment Chuuya walked in. It’s unlikely he planned for it, considering the earlier reaction, but there’s no question he caught on fast. 

The distraction gives Chuuya enough time to scrunch his nose, a desperate attempt to satiate the ever deepening urge. The action has quite the opposite effect however, a moan slipping past Chuuya’s tongue before he can catch it. 

“What was that, Chuuya?” Dazai hums, the action blowing a soft wind against Chuuya’s nose. It nearly tips the scales, only a frantic clench of the jaw allows him to control the burning need. His nostrils flare greedily, aching for another touch, something to give them the ability to overpower his will. 

“I’m… I’m gohhnna sneeze-” Chuuya manages to gasp out, his lips parting in a snarl, breath starting to come faster, chest beginning to tighten with his eyes–

“Did I say you could?” 

And just like that, the reaction stalls. A tear slides down his cheek, Chuuya nearly whining as Dazai’s cold touch wipes it away, a finger brushing the bridge of his nose. It feels as if his entire face is lit up, the flush on the tips of his ears beginning to match his nose. 

“I dohh… don’t think I… I caahhh– hEDT!  I can’t…” More stutters fall out, each word only delaying the inevitable. The sneeze is coming, and despite his best efforts, Chuuya knows there’s no fighting it. Not anymore. 

“No.” 

And still, somehow, despite the overwhelming desire, the unavoidable trembling, the greedy flaring, Chuuya feels his teeth clench. That command was firm, undeniable, and direct. He is not allowed to sneeze. 

Words die on his tongue, even the idea of parting his lips leaves him breathless. Once he allows a touch of air through, there will be more than words spilling out. Determined to maintain composure, he feels the world start to slip into a light fog. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Dazai hums, giving Chuuya’s wrist a light squeeze. With a poorly contained gasp, Chuuya begins to pant. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” 

Chuuya answers in the form of a watery glare, still too itchy to risk words. Dazai’s fingers relax, dropping Chuuya’s wrist. Without a second thought, Chuuya raises it back to his nose, moaning at the relief the harsh touch offers. 

“AESH’NGKT! Merde-” 

His other hand quickly slips to his face, only managing to half-stifle the sudden burst. The allergic tears lining his eyes begin to pour over, his nose greedy for a full release. If anything, the stifle only served to make it worse. 

“I don’t believe I gave you permission for that,” Dazai starts, fingers beginning to trace up Chuuya’s neck, wrapping around his choker. Chuuya’s teeth pierce into his lip, knees weakening once more. “Though, maybe I’ll allow it. Seems it didn’t do anything to relieve that miserable tickle. I’ll even allow one more!” 

Without a second thought, Chuuya lets Dazai pull his head closer, aiming for a bandaged shoulder as the– “ANGKT!” brings him a moment of relief. From his position against Dazai’s chest, Chuuya lets a smirk flash across his features. Elevated pulse, body trembling in time with each gasp Chuuya takes. 

“I’m being awfully generous here, don’t you think Chuuya?” Dazai purrs, eyes beginning to dance once more as he pushes Chuuya back against the wall, releasing his grasp. “I think you should thank me.” 

From behind his wrist, Chuuya freezes. If he attempts to speak, he won’t be able to hold it back. The dam already broke, the stubborn power of sheer will is fending off the waves. Dazai should know that too… which means this is an indirect invitation to… 

“hieHh–!” 

…or a test. One that letting himself go would immediately fail. Studying Dazai’s expression, Chuuya attempts to navigate his response. The choice is quickly made for him, as Dazai leans forward with a wink. Shivers race down Chuuya’s spine as he feels the breath against his ear. 

“You’ve been quite obedient. Feel free to indulge your own desires now.” 

“AESHH! AK’SHHAA!” The double breaks free with a growl that leaves Dazai trembling almost as hard as Chuuya. Another follows on its heels, then a second, third, fourth, the fit continuing as Dazai’s lip begins to match Chuuya’s. 

“ASHH’aa! Cahhn’t stahh… stop– hH’AEMFSH!” 

A hint of concern passes through Dazai’s eyes as the fit doesn’t seem to let up. “Are you–” 

“AESHHiew! A bid idtchASHH! Idtchy. ADSHH’iuh!” 

“I can see that, or shall I say hear that,” Dazai replies, making a show of covering his ears with a teasing wince. “Might be the last thing I ever get to hear!” 

“Is thad a… ahh– ADTCHh! AESHH’aa! Is thad a complimedt?” Chuuya taunts, pausing to grab a handful of the tissues he’d nearly forgotten about. With a harsh blow, a moan slips out after it. The action lets air flow through his nose once more. “AECHH!” Which of course only serves to agitate it further. 

Dazai rolls his eyes with a smirk, hand finding his way to Chuuya’s thigh. “Only Chibi would think saying someone’s loud is a compliment.” 

“Only you would mean it as one. ASHH’iuh! Fucking Christ.” 

“Switching to English?” Dazai nearly growls, voice lowering with each desperate sneeze. “Is it already that intense?” 

In lieu of a response, Chuuya guides Dazai’s hand up from his thigh, letting the cool fingers brush his warm nose. The touch is excruciating, his chest heaving as he attempts to hold back long enough to get out, “Feel fehh… for yo- hAHhh– for yoursehhhlf.” 

Dazai takes the invitation, tracing each flaring nostril with his index finger, eyes beginning to gloss over nearly as much as Chuuya’s. His breath begins to fall in sync, both of them starting to pant. “Seems so,” Dazai manages to choke out, legs beginning to tremble once more. 

“hH’ASHH! AESCSHH! yeASHH’iuh! YESHH’shaa!” 

Unable to fight it any longer, Dazai leans forward and pulls Chuuya into a greedy kiss, his tongue betraying the depth of his hunger. Chuuya lets himself be swallowed into the embrace, hands finding their way up Dazai’s back to grip his jacket. Together they push back against the wall, intertwined in a beautiful tangle of limbs and tongues. 

Chuuya pulls away first, only managing a sharp gasp before he ducks into Dazai’s shoulder for another harsh– “AETCSHH!” which Dazai blesses with a light moan, pulling Chuuya closer. 

“I’m gonna kiss you again.” 

With a laugh, Chuuya pulls back again, mischief lighting up his eyes. “Did I say you could?” 

Dazai returns the gaze, hunger dripping from his narrowed eyes. “Sadistic, Chuuya.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, bastard.”

~~~ Mate ~~~

Ask anyone in the Armed Detective Agency, and they’ll tell you that Dazai is one of their more valuable assets–

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Chuuya calls from his position resting against the doorway. “The only one who’d call you that is yourself, you smug bastard. The rest of ‘em have enough sense to see you for what you really are.” 

Dazai sighs, letting the paperwork he’d been pretending to fill out for an hour lay abandoned on a desk. A desk that’s certainly not his. Along with a carefully forged note asking Atsushi to fill it out, on behalf of one Kunikida. 

Turning back to the interruption, Dazai gestures vaguely at the empty office. “Then why would they leave me all alone to watch the business? They know I can handle such a task!” He trails off with another performative sigh, sprawling out over his desk. “It’s tiresome, being so crucial and trusted.” 

In response, Chuuya merely huffs a growl, rolling his eyes for what feels like the fifth time in the past ten minutes. 

“Chuuya wouldn’t understand,” Dazai continues with a wink, earning the sixth eye roll. “He’s merely a pawn, while I am a king!” 

“Isn’t the king practically useless?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “The queen does all the work after all.” 

“Ah, a pawn such as yourself would think like that, wouldn’t they?” Spinning in his chair, Dazai catches Chuuya’s eyes with that shit-eating grin that practically screams ‘I’m better than you so I’ll try to dumb this down’. It’s infuriating, and Chuuya finds himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes yet again. 

“While the king may not be on the front lines, his influence is what guides the entire kingdom. Without him, the battle would rage with no cause or order, each piece fighting for themselves. A mere pawn cannot take out a knight with pure strength, he needs a strategy. That’s where the king comes in.” 

“That’s the player, moron,” Chuuya retorts, a new confidence leaving his eyes shining. For once, the high-and-mighty attitude Dazai’s sporting might be all bluster. He mistook the king for the player, a foolish mistake. 

For a minute, just a minute, there’s silence. No witty retort, no smug explanation, just a pause. One hanging thick with deeper meanings, and… something Chuuya would almost call sadness. The look Dazai gives him holds no sense of authority. There’s no superiority in his expression, just a haunting wash of melancholy behind his whiskey soaked eyes. 

Chuuya opens his mouth, just to close it again. No words seem appropriate, not while that look remains on Dazai’s face. A look that suggests something deeper to his meaning that he desperately wished Chuuya would’ve understood. 

The ringing that sounds out knocks Chuuya from his thoughts. His fist connects with the doorframe before he can catch a breath, blood pumping through his ears. “Fucking-!” 

“Chuuya!” Dazai laughs, a cheshire smile smothering the expression that had just occupied that space. Or maybe it was never there at all… “What a foul tongue! And go easy on the offices, would ya? We don’t exactly have the unlimited budget of the Port Mafia. Kunikida will finally have that aneurysm if he finds a hole in the wall.” 

Clutching his phone as it continues to demand attention, Chuuya aims a glare at no one in particular. Not giving Dazai the satisfaction of a direct reply, he snaps open the phone and turns his back to the room. “This is Chuuya.”

The voice starts rambling on about meetings, conferences, deadlines, and something to do with ‘assignment reports missing key details involving jinko’. Digging his fingers into his temple, Chuuya considers hanging up on the kid. 

While there’s no denying his talent in battle, his mannerisms always seem to hit a nerve. A similar nerve to the one Dazai hits, or maybe closer to the sleepless nights where thoughts refuse to give up control.

A combination of everything he hates about himself and Dazai, wrapped up in one human being. Still, it’s hardly like he’s to blame for that. Not like you can hold it against the kid for learning from the role models he was given. 

“Look, Akutagawa, I’m a bit busy at the momen–” Chuuya nearly growls as a noise sounds off behind him, an all too familiar one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he considers leaping from the window. The only thing stopping him is the prickling starting to invade his sinuses. Too late now, no point in suffering for nothing. 

Spinning on his heel, Chuuya casts the darkest glare he can muster at the ‘all too innocent’ whistling detective still holding the weapon in his bandaged hands. Hard to believe a bottle so small can cause such huge fallout, and yet Chuuya can’t deny the powerful itch beginning to spread. 

“I’m gonna hahh– have to call you back. No, I understand the meaning of urgent, do you understand the meaning of busy?” Flipping Dazai off as the snickering gets louder, Chuuya pulls the phone away from his face. “hH’ANGZT!” 

“What’s the matter, Chuuya? You seem a bit irritated?” Dazai calls, increasing his volume to ensure his voice carries through the phone. “Is it talking to Akutagawa? That always sets me in a foul mood.” 

The noise from the phone seems almost hurt, coated in a thin veil of disgust. Chuuya brings a glove to his nose, pinching it shut long enough to get out, “You talk to him then.” Thrusting the phone in Dazai’s general direction, he leans into his opposite shoulder to muffle another “AMFSHH’uh!” 

“Speak to Akutagawa? Yeah, I’ll pass.” Dazai taunts, aiming his speech at the phone, clearly putting on a performance. “That would just ruin my day, and it’s been going pretty well up till now. I spend my days actively hoping I won’t run into that guy.” 

“You-” Akutagawa starts, before the lines goes silent as Chuuya’s body jerks with another “AHGNTiew! AKNGDT’hah! Merde.” 

“Are you alright?” Akutagawa offers, the genuine nature of the question getting overpowered by joyous laughter bubbling up from Dazai. Chuuya barely has time to glare before he’s aiming for his shoulder again as another harsh sneeze nearly doubles him over.  

“Oh Chuuya here’s just fine, I think he’s just allergic to your presence! Even through the phone, you seem to leave him in… quite a state.” Dazai wipes a tear from his eye as Akutagawa lets a few faint curses slip through the phone. “Maybe you should consider hanging up, let the man have a bit of time to breathe.” 

Finally able to get a word in, Chuuya brings the phone back to his ear with a cautious fist pressed against his nose, fingers holding it shut. “I’b fide. Just repord to Bori idstead. I’b a bid… ah’GNt!” He breaks off into a cough, the tight stifle leaving his head pounding. “A bid preoccupied.”

After a few muffled objections, a comment Dazai vaguely catches about ‘why are you even there’, and a final request for backup on the next mission he’s being sent on, Akutagawa hangs up. 

Dazai offers an innocent smile as Chuuya turns back to him, a red hue beginning to flitter over his skin, fists balled at his sides. “What the hell was that, you bastard! Are you seriously trying to– AESHH! trying to get a fucking– YEASHH’iuh! fucking pounding?” 

“Why Chuuya,” Dazai coos. “What a generous offer! I’d simply adore it if you pounded me all–” 

“Shut the fuck up, you know that’s not what I meant.” Chuuya growls, pawing at his nose as another sneeze doubles him over. “Mon dieu. Did you really hhhah– have to spray that in here? If I don’t… ihihh– if I don’t leave I’m gonna be itchy for hours. ARSHH’iuh!” 

“Oh my- I really didn’t think that through, did I? How reckless of me,” Dazai hums, sliding up from his chair. Chuuya feels himself step backwards before he can process the change, involuntarily retreating from the source of the tickle. 

Sliding a hand in front of his face, Chuuya glares over the makeshift mask. “You’re still covered in the stuff. Keep your distance mackerel or I swear I’ll breAKSHH’aa!” 

“Sorry,” Dazai replies, taking another step closer. “I didn’t quite catch that. Or you’ll what?” 

“I’m serious, you bastard. I’m… hASHH! EMFFSHH! AHMFSH’aa! Fucking Christ.” Chuuya coughs out, his nose twitching dangerously with each step Dazai advances. As if just the knowledge of a closer proximity to his allergen is making the reaction worse. 

“You’re having sex with the lord?!” Dazai gaps, a playfully smug expression resting across his eyes. “I mean, I know I’m good in bed, but to call me your saviour.” 

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, Chuuya takes another step back, missing his shoulder completely when the next “yeASHH’iuh!” catches him off guard. Dazai seems to tremble a little at this display, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. 

Chuuya takes a step forward, taking note of the way Dazai allows the intrusion, sinking back to allow Chuuya space to stand. His posture is open, inviting, nothing like the commanding stance of last time. This is a new game, and he’s inviting Chuuya to take the lead. 

“Well fuck,” Chuuya growls, lowering his glove just long enough to let the sickly floral scent intrude past his defenses. He nearly whimpers as the itch increases tenfold, each breath bringing a new round of desperate hitching. “IhheHh– I’m gonna sneeze-” 

“Did I say you could?” Dazai purrs, the sound catching in his throat as Chuuya spins him around, knocking him into the wall hard enough to expel his breath. 

“I don’t remehhmber asking.” Chuuya smirks as Dazai’s eyes flash, his tongue poking through his teeth in a hiss of pleasure. Leaning closer to his shoulder, Chuuya allows his breath to catch once, twice–

“AESHH’ou!” 

The action jerks his body closer to Dazai’s, a moan slipping from the detective's lips. Barely a moment to catch his breath, Chuuya lets the second, third, and fourth slip out in rapid succession, each aimed a little closer to Dazai’s neck. 

By the fifth Dazai’s panting, shivers running through him as Chuuya’s nose rests against the bare skin. Gathering his composure long enough, he brings Chuuya’s hips towards his own. Dazai leans his head back, eyes fluttering shut in time with Chuuya’s. 

“I’m not… not done…” Chuuya stutters out, a single tear running its way down his cheek. The slow trickle brushes against the side of his nose, leaving him breathless, only enough time to inhale for the– “hEYESHH! EASHHMF! MMFFSHH’aa!” 

“You know,” Dazai whispers, voice stolen as Chuuya begins to rub his nose across the sensitive skin below his ear. “You don’t have a lot of warning for your…” 

Chuuya smirks, pulling Dazai down to his level, breath caressing Dazai’s ear. “For my what, bastard? Say it.” 

Dazai moans in response, a mixture of pleasure and submission as Chuuya lets his teeth mark Dazai’s skin for his own. Gentle enough not to leave any marks that will last too long, but not so gentle that he’s not reminded who’s winning this game. 

“Your sneezes,” Dazai manages to pant, the aforementioned action drawing his breath once more. 

“AESHH’aa! Fuck. Yeah, I guess they don't,” Chuuya replies, releasing Dazai’s shirt quick enough to slam him into the wall with a grunt. “I guess I don’t pay as much attention as some people.” 

There’s a faint whimper in response, Chuuya taking the cue to let his hand wander down Dazai’s chest, resting right above his thigh. “However, I can definitely still feel it. There’s a near constahh… constant buzz. It’s just that I’m never sure when it’s gonna turn into a full sneeASHHH’iuh! Fucking hell.” 

As his body jerks, Chuuya lets his hand slip lower, Dazai responding in kind with a moan. Pausing, Chuuya waits for the next move. It comes sooner than expected, Dazai barely able to contain himself as his hand grips Chuuya’s back, head tilting down to expose the hunger in his eyes. 

At this, Chuuya pulls back, smirking at the whimper breaking their contact coaxes from the other. “Being this close to you is making the itch so much worse,” He muses, rubbing a finger under his nose. An invitation. “I think I’m gonna sneeze again–” 

Not one to turn down the chance for a script flip, Dazai grabs his wrist, pulling it down to his waist. “I think you’ve had more than enough of those.” 

With a barely concealed smirk, Chuuya lets his head tilt back, meeting Dazai’s eyes. “And if I caASHH’iuh! Can’t stop?” 

“Well then,” Dazai taunts, letting his fingers slide up under Chuuya’s nose. “I guess I’ll just have to help you.” 

“EHNGT!” Chuuya gasps in the aftermath of the forced stifle, his breath catching once more as Dazai’s fingers do nothing but irritate his nose further. 

“I do believe I said that was enough, didn’t I?” Dazai hums, fingers rubbing back and forth over Chuuya’s rapidly twitching nose. The tortured appendage wriggles, Chuuya’s eyes fluttering shut as his whole body trembles. 

“AHDTSHH’aa! Fuck, it won’t stahh… AENGT’shiew! Won’t stop if you keep… keeASPTCHH! Keep doing that.” Chuuya growls, leaning forward to rub his nose against Dazai’s shoulder again. He’s stopped by a single movement, Dazai maneuvering himself out of the way with a flourish. Too distracted to attempt to follow, Chuuya raises a fist back to his nose as the tickle hits its peak once more. 

“A Port Mafia executive can’t even stop his own nose?” The taunt stops him in his tracks, Chuuya’s eyes snapping open to glare at Dazai as he finishes the statement. “The standards have really dropped it seems.” 

“Or maybe,” Chuuya begins in a near purr, reveling in the slight crack that spreads through Dazai’s smirk at the abrupt tone change. “I never intended to stop it at all.” 

It’s not easy to catch Dazai off guard, especially when he’s spent nearly 8 years studying your every move. Not easy, but not impossible. As Chuuya releases the grasp on his nose, pressing Dazai back against the wall, he takes pride in the light gasp that escapes the bastard. 

“ASHHH’ou! yeASHh’iuh! hehH– ASHH’iuh!” 

Mask fully shattered, Dazai can do nothing but moan as each sneeze jerks their bodies closer together. Chuuya drops all decorum as he rubs his nose against Dazai’s neck again. He lets a few groans slip from his tongue, flaring his nostrils as the skin contact leaves Dazai quivering. 

Dazai’s response is a simple phrase, barely audible as his voice catches in his throat. 

“Chuuya was never a mere pawn; a checkmate well earned.” 

#waterfallwrites #i'm gonna be honest i wrote both of these in one session each and then edited for typos/anything obivous #but this was stream of consciousness style writing so i hope to GOD its enjoyable hahaha #also soukookoo for cocopuffs is just gonna live in my head now #anyways i hope you enjoyyyy~ and that i did justice to the prompt! #i just couldnt get the idea of someone fighting against it out of my head too- #and honestly i feel like both of these are what s/oukoku is #a mixture of teasing from one side then teasing back from the other #d/azai more often in control yes- but c/huuya can hold his own more than people give him credit for #ANYWAYS character study mode turned off ahaha #throwin this out there hoping it's not awful <3 #s/oukoku #d/azai #c/huuya

[factorialsotherfandoms]

"Forever?" Pac calls around the base. "Are you here?"

In the back of his mind he hears Mike laughing - they both know that Forever is somewhere within his larger base, just that Pac isn't entirely sure where. Richas had said he was here, and Pac's pretty sure the mentioned stack of paperwork isn't letting him up any time soon. Not if not even their son's begging had not dragged him away.

He twirls the vine lasso in his fingers - that's what he's here for, after all.

"Forever?"

This time, when he listens, he can hear a groan and something mumbled. It's clearly Forever, but also does not sound like him at all. Something's wrong; Pac tucks the lasso he bought to drag Forever from his work away, and heads towards the noise.

A little silly kidnapping is nothing between friends, but if there's genuinely something wrong then he needs to be ready. Mike, settled in the back of his mind, agrees - asks if he shoukd send Rocharlyson to Cellbit and come over too.

Pac declines - for now - but makes a careful approach in the direction of the noise.

He turns a corner and there Forever is, sat on the floor with a blanket over his shoulders and a giant stack of paperwork around him.

"Forever why aren't you at a desk?!" Pac says, before he can think of anything else.

One look at the paperwork shows most of it is Presidential work, but at least a few pieces look like redstone machines.

"Oh hey Pac," Forever doesn't look up. "Just fancied a change of scenary."

"You'll hurt yourself," Pac says with the certainity of someone who has done the same a thousand times before. "Do you want help carrying it back to your office?"

"Just let me…"

Forever's signature on the paperwork is lopsided at best - he reaches for another, and Pac slaps his hand away.

"Richarlyson misses you," its a low blow, but it is one. "Let's put this in your office then go see him."

"I'll put it in my office, but I need to work," Forever's face is at least appropriately pained as he says that, and the compromise came unusually fast.

It's okay, once they put the paperwork down then Pac can kidnap him and force him to see some sunlight; he leans down, and grabs a stack. Forever makes to stand up, only to lean heavily on the wall.

"Forever?" Pac's eyes fix on him immediately. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Forever waves a hand. "I'm fine, I just... Need to get this done."

Pac doesn't quite believe him; he begins to lower the papers back to the floor, that he might offer Forever the support of his arm.

He's not quick enough - Forever seems to gather himself, makes to stand properly, and in a blink is back on the floor, sprawled amongst the paperwork.

Pac screams in every way possible, dropping the papers to get to his friend. He hears Mike say something along their bond, but doesn't listen as he drops to his knees at Forever's side.

Already Forever is starting to come around; Pac taps his cheek for attention, and eyes flutter vaguely in his direction.

"Forever?" he asks, trying to pull him closer to awake. "Forever, you do not get to tell me you're okay."

"Pac?" Forever's voice is hazy, and its not reassuring.

"I'm here," Pac says. "Mike will be here soon - he'll do the yelling. Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Soon is maybe an understatement; as soon as he says that, he hears Mike's panicked yells from above. Afraid of hurting Forever's head more Pac instead tugs on their bond, a little scared himself but guiding the other half of his soul down.

He doesn't try to hide his own fear there, for all he masks it from Forever.

"Or... Now."

Mike makes much better time than Pac did, glasses slightly askew and lab coat far from clean as he storms over.

"Forever, you idiot!" He yells, before taking a breath and dropping maybe a third of his volume. "When did you last eat? Or drink something? Sleep?"

Even as Mike says all of that, he and Pac flash their own thoughts back and forth - Pac shows him how he found Forever, and what happened. Mike continues scolding as he guides Pac through checking Forever's head and spine for any damage. To their joint relief, there doesn't seem to be any.

"Where's your kitchen?" Mike ends with.

"Kitchen?" Forever screws his eyes up, the effort of thinking entirely consuming as he waves a hand in the approximate direction.

Pac and Mike share a worried thought, unbroken even as Mike hurries off in that direction.

"Forever?" Pac tries to ask more gently his time. "Does anything hurt?"

There's a pause; Forever shakes his head a bit, only to grab at it.

"I'm just a bit dizzy... it's fine," the words come too slowly, quiet and slightly slurred. "Just... A moment."

Pac tries to swallow his throat, reaching out and resting a hand on his arm, "take your time. Do you want help sitting up?"

Forever nods, and it's another terrible decision. Pac shuffles closer, helping as Forever eases himself up and against the wall. They're near one of the slight corners, and the extra wall seems to take a lot of his weight.

Once he is situated, Pac pulls his hands away. They hover, expecting to need to catch him again; thankfully it isn't true. "All good?"

The nod doesn't seem to cause too much trouble this time, though Forever's breathing still sounds a little off - forced but level, like he's counting breaths - and he still refuses to open his eyes.

Mike returns not long after; Pac feels him coming, and looks up to greet him. He's carrying some juice and some toast on one of their lab trays. The plates are Forever's and presumably clean, at least.

He kneels next to Pac, and puts the tray on the floor. He squeezes Pac's leg a little - Pac presses a little weight against his side - before picking up the juice.

"Forever," he says. "Drink this."

Forever cracks one eye open, and groans. He does, however, take the glass. Both hands are needed to hold it, and he makes use of the straw Mike put in there, but despite the slight shake he manages it fine.

After the juice, Forever is handed the toast. Pac watches as a little colour returns to his cheeks, and finds Mike relaxing too.

Now he can see that Forever simply forgot to eat anything for a while, Pac relaxes. He's done it before, Mike's done it before - he's pretty sure everyone on the island has, even if not to the point of fainting. Maybe not Etoiles - he has to be so much more careful about his blood sugar than the rest of them - but Etoiles would know how it feels none the less.

"Sorry," Forever quirks half a smile around the toast. "I must look an absolute dumbass."

"It's okay, we've all done it," Pac tilts his head a bit as he smiles back. "Mike and I have picked each other off the floor so often."

"You do," Mike confirms, taking back the cup. "I'm dumping your paperwork on Cellbit, and you're having a nap."

"Cellbit doesn't sleep either," Forever points out.

"But he's Roier's problem, not mine," Mike stands, offering Forever an arm.

It takes a little effort, but they get Forever on his feet. The query about his bed makes Mike, once again, protectively angry. Pac... declines from mentioning his own lack of one, but then he usually shares with Mike so perhaps its not so much a problem.

Pac grabs the tray, plate, and cup, ready to drop them if his hands are needed but not expecting it.

They end up setting up a bed in the corner of his sitting room - Pac has no doubt it will disappear soon enough - and sitting Forever down on it.

"Guys, I'm fine," Forever says, and he genuinely does sound better now.

Pac isn't sure, though, and Mike feels even less believing of the words.

"Nap while we make you dinner?" Pac suggests.

Forever looks between them, goes to argue, then sighs and lies down.

Pac actually looks at Mike this time, and the look is returned - Forever is definitely not okay.

I'll cook and you stay with him? Pac thinks at the other half of his soul.

Mike nods to the suggestion, and perches on the back of the couch. Pac nods back, and vanishes off towards the kitchen.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp mike #qsmp pac #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp forever #whumpcember2023 #prompt: fainting #hah I wrote this one in advance and scheduled it woop! #now I just need to remember I did that so I ao3 it later... #platonic soulmates due to experiment fuck up as teens tazercraft my beloved #accidentally fused their souls and now telepathy #man forever is getting the short stick atm huh #poor guy #eh he'll probably suffer more later too #he's apparently the current chew toy #probably because pac and phil would both fuss over him #wanna write more from the guy suffering's PoV soon #we'll see what I get to #and what inspires what #hope you enjoyed! see you sometime! #forever's behaviour after fainting is based on a combo of my own #and the one time my GM didn't eat /and/ had a head massage and passed out at the table #mine aren't usually food related though it was once #did consider forever's PoV but frankly when I faint my perception gets so fucky it wouldn't be much fun

[nuclearanomaly]

9 – Fair

wc. 1389 | Post Endwalker, pre 6.1 ​

Ninira Nira, Warrior of Light, hero and saviour of the world does everything within her power to keep the people she loves safe. Tataru Taru, fashion designer, coin keeper, and notorious blackmailer, keeps Ninira safe.

Tataru Taru sat patiently in the elaborate sitting room. It was impressive, she thought, that they had been able to find and furnish such a property in such a short period of time. Though, knowing Ul'dahn merchants it was probably more likely that they had simply maintained ownership of the property despite being out of the country for the better part of 30 summers, give or take. Tataru still hadn’t found exact documentation of the couple’s leaving. 

She had only begun to make her move once she had finished wrapping up her details with the disbandment of the Scions, and once she had established where exactly the merchant couple had settled. She was pleased, and if not grateful, they had chosen a return to Ul'dah. She had briefly considered involving Estinien; an intimidating presence would have only helped her cause. But involving him required explanation. While she may have been able to get him to keep the details of this excursion secret, prying him away from Radz-at-Han would surely have caught Ninira’s attention. And beyond anything Tataru knew Ninira could not be involved in any way. 

She had sent the letter requesting an audience a fortnight past. Fortunately, with a few extra string-pulls her request from Tataru Taru’s Boutique for the organization of a deal for a supplier of dye for her skyrocketing fashion business had been worded in such a way that was sure to catch their eye, and catch it it did. Approval of the meeting, and a time had been sent back to her, exactly as she expected. And though she had been waiting a while in the sitting room, that was also to be expected, it was part of the game. The game that Tataru Taru had fooled them into thinking she was playing, a game that she was going to turn on it’s head. 

The Lalafellin couple entered, dressed in elaborate clothing and fine silks they radiated exquisiteness, perfection. Though Tataru felt smug knowing she had seen them a little more frazzled in Old Sharlayan after their arrival amidst the other Thavnarian refugees. Understandable, after the ordeal they went through, though she knew they deserved none of her sympathies. 

They took seats in the elaborate chairs across from her, impassive and professional as they regarded her. “Tataru Taru, of Tataru Taru’s Boutique I presume?” The lady spoke her voice cool, her tone suggesting she had perhaps expected more of the owner of a fashion business. 

Tataru smiled pleasantly. “Yes, what a pleasure it is to finally make your acquaintance. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.”

The discussion began, amicably enough. Tataru laying out what she was looking for and what she expected for her business, while they responded in kind. What Tataru was waiting for, however, was the right question, the perfect opportunity to spring her trap and finally it came.

“If I may ask, how you happened to hear of us?” Tataru had learned quickly that the lady handled most of the talking. “We were not long back in Ul’dah when we received your letter, not many clients had heard fully of our move. It is impressive you knew where to find us.”

Tataru smiled. “While my business may be newly budding I have been keeping an eye on potential collaborators for a while now.” She admitted sweetly. “I happened to hear about you from… another under your employment at the time. Rurutsu Rutsu I believe her name was.”

This gave them pause, and though they remained mostly impassive Tataru clocked the brief look of shock on their face.

“I encountered her a while back now. Poking around in my business looking for answers regarding her clients missing daughter.”

The Lady’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re wondering why you haven’t heard from her, fret not. While she came to no harm we came to a very quick understanding that should she continue to try and follow through on her clients request she would meet dire consequences. I compensated her for her work, as was deserved. Her contract with you is now void and she will not be speaking with you in the future.”

“You dare interfere with private–”

Tataru cut her off. “Hardly private. Apparently your contract contained no requests for privacy in the matter of your search for your daughter, so Rurutsu was very kind to disclose what details she knew of the request and you, to me.”

“The bitch.” The lady had gone so red faced with anger that her fake tan appeared splotchy, Tataru noticed, amused.

“She seems very capable, you hired a good hand so I suppose you don’t need me to tell you how foolish it would be to try and track her down. After that encounter, however, I started conducting some very thorough research. About you, your move from Ul'dah to Radz-at-Han, your attempts to exploit and control the import market on alchemical goods, your profits, your work ethic, your reputation and regard for your employees and clients, and of course your daughter. Incredible how she went missing so long ago and how unphased you seemed by that news of her disappearance, or even possibly her death.”

They both regarded her coolly. 

“The only puzzle I admit I have not yet figured out is why the sudden reinterest in her wellbeing.” Tataru shook her head. “Not that it matters. You’re not stupid and I suspect you have puzzled out a few new possible answers for her on your own. This is where I come in. I’m not here to talk about my business or yours. I’m here to strike a much different deal.”

“The Warrior of Light,” Tataru was not about to hand them Ninira’s name. True it would be easy enough to find if they wished it. Many people knew her identity, but Tataru was not about to let it be known from her. “Blessedly, remembers nothing about either of you. And I intend to keep it that way.” 

“As you may be aware from your brief stay over in Sharlayan—yes I was aware of you then as well—The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, saviors of the star, are a group of powerful individuals.” While the disbandment of the scions was official in the public eye she highly doubted either of these individuals had heard the news, or paid it any mind if they had. 

“Even more powerful are their connections. We have a well established repertoire with the city leaders, their soldiers, merchants, craftsmen, spanning the entire star. As official secretary to the scions I have dealt with many of these individuals personally and have their favour should I ever need to call upon it.”

Neither of the other Lalafell had so much as moved while she spoke, though Tataru suspected that should the lady narrow her eyes much further they would be reduced to slits. 

“I’ll cut to the chase. Consider this a cease and desist. If I catch so much as a hint that you have started to take action in the search for your daughter again. If I catch word that the Warrior of Light has become even marginally aware of your existence. I will not only end your business but I will crush your finances and scrape you for every last Gil of your worth.”

The lady’s hands had balled to fists in her lap, knuckles white. Even the man furrowed his brow at this remark.

“You may think my threats are hollow but I have it on good authority that the Saatrap of Radz-at-Han, the place you called home for so long, is willing to bring any and all documents of your time there to light. Whatever is needed to ensure the protection of the Warrior of Light.”

This made the man pale slightly and the lady sucked in a sharp breath. “You would do no such thing.” She hissed.

“I would. You have my word.” Tataru smiled sweetly. “My demands are simple. You will never talk to, try to talk to, reach out to, or attempt to communicate with the Warrior of Light. Aside from that I have little care for what you do. Grow your wealth and bask in whatever comfort it brings you. But do so knowing that I will personally take every last bit from you should you ever break my terms. A fair deal is it not?”

#ffxivwrite2023 #Tataru Taru #Ninira Nira #(mentioned) #and then I went as vague as I could bc I really don't feel like trying to name Nini's parents right now #you do not fuck with tataru taru #I love her and I especially love the idea that she is quietly keeping Nini safe from her nasty parents #meanwhile Nini is oblivious and will never know #I've been uh ignoring new prompts while working on a different one #and had initially ignored this too but it really said look u can do this with it and then I blacked out and wrote my longest fill so far #sorry no proof reading we post and die like men #writing: mine

[ocshatethem]

medwhump day 1: under anesthesia.

sypnosis: Devin Farrow (one-off, he/they) drifts in and out, appropriately drugged for the serious burns he endured during an apartment fire. A guy who introduces himself as simply "Pines" (also a one-off and he/they) fills him in on the event. (like these guys? send asks about 'em!) for @medwhumpmay

The last thing Devin remembered was waking up to the smell of smoke and an orange, firey blur. It had come with no warning, no fire alarm, no unattended stove… not in his apartment, anyway. Around him, people rushed, uncoordinated, overstimulating. There was so much white it hurt his eyes, so bright that it didn't matter if he closed them. And still, the room around him. the people, the sounds of tiny scratching moving objects in the halls was so far away. He could barely tell if he was moving or if the walls around him were - trying to think through the fog just made him more disoriented. Before long, it all went dark.

When Devin awoke, the white hadn't gone. It was more focused now, but they were no less distant. They were actually almost more so - their whole body felt numb, and they couldn't move their arms. Just attempting was exhausting, and they soon determined it wasn't worth it. So, they tried their voice instead.

All they could get out was a soft grunt, but it was enough to grab the attention of a person in the corner of the room. Devin couldn't recognize them, as hard as he tried. As they approached, a concerned expression on their face, Devin felt himself fade again.

The next time he woke, Devin could see again. A dull tension ached through his body, and he felt panic start to rise but it seemed to dissipate unceremoniously instead of chaining into an attack. He felt dull and tired, like he could never feel anything but dull and tired again, and he was now unfortunately much too aware of the obnoxious numbing fabric wound so tight into the flesh of his arm and side that it felt like it was inside it. Lethargically, he raised his arm and reached towards the awful stuff - but his hand was intercepted by a somewhat uncomfortable looking stranger he could finally vaguely recognize as an apartment neighbor. "Woah- what are you doing, there?" Even though the guy seemed genuinely nervous and not threatening at all, Devin reacted immediately, threatening the IV needle stuck in his good wrist with the speed he yanked his hand back. He tried to ask "who are you", but it didn't come out - rather, debris in his throat from inhaling so much smoke threw him into a coughing fit. The stranger quickly slunk backwards, startled. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, clearly a bit on edge. "I didn't know you'd react like that. I shouldn't have - " it was probably a better outcome than letting Devin claw his bandages off, though, so he shut up.

Devin continued to stare at him, too delirious to be upset beyond just reactive panic. Finally, the stranger spoke again. "Uhh, just call me Pines," he said, seemingly desperate to find excuses to break up the silence. "I'm the one who called emergency services - I'm on the first floor of your building. Youuu. Didn't have an emergency contact, so they let me stay here when I told them I was a friend." Pines seemed uncomfortable. This was normal info to give out, right? Not too much? Eventually, he pulled a chair over instead of just hovering in the corner, and after a while, Devin found the words to start asking about the event. The fire had been started by the landlord, apparently, and Devin was lucky not to have died. Much of the building was in ruins after the fire, both he and Pines would have to find someplace new.

Quickly, information compounded, and the delirium won over. All this bad news… it was still distant, impersonal. It didn't matter yet, right?

It didn't have to matter until the drugs wore off.

#fic tag #medwhump may #ocs: oneoffs #medical whump #med whump #drugged whump #not too much else going on that could be tagged for #btw this is a little bit bad i was struggling with characters and vibes. BUT #i wrote something despite not really vibing with the prompt which feels like a huge step up to me from writing nothing at all so 🤷 #also it's 10pm in hawaii so this still counts

[shivunin]

A letter in an unopened envelope propped on the kitchen counter in a cottage near Amaranthine. The surrounding countertop is covered in a light layer of dust.

Fenris, 

To begin with, don’t be angry with me. I know: that is not an auspicious way to begin a letter.

I’ll send a version of this to the address you left, but I can’t be certain that these letters are reaching you. I haven’t heard from you in months, and well I don’t it’s not that I don’t 

I trust that you can take care of yourself. I trust that you are safe and well, wherever in Tevinter you’ve gone. I hope you can extend me the same trust now. I’ve had a letter from Carver and I need to go. The man who recruited him, Stroud, has information regarding some issue in the ranks. I’ve sent Aveline after Carver to get him clear of it, but you know I won’t be able to stay here until things are resolved. 

I know I promised you I would stay put. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie. What you’re doing is important and I won’t interrupt; I can’t wait for you to come back and I won’t call you away. I’m afraid a letter is the best I can manage at the moment, and it’s a paltry thing to trust one’s heart to flimsy paper. 

You have the whole of my heart. My leaving does not change this. Please, take care of it as best you can until we find each other again.

I’ve sent Miser to stay with Merrill for a bit while I’m gone, as I am not certain I want to take him with me to the Deep Roads, in case that is where we’re headed. I’ve also asked the young lady with the sheep to mind the garden for me as best she can, but I’ve warned her about the enchantments on the house. If anyone is trapped in the yard, do please try to help them get free. 

I am certain I will be back before you can even find this letter. I hope it is so. If not—I will make it up to you, I swear it. 

Yours, 

Maria 

P.S. Nothing is going to happen, but you should know anyway: Varric knows where the will and other documents are. Nothing is going to happen. Please, take care of yourself.

(for the prompt "A letter from your OC to their love interest" from this list for @scribbledquillz)

#maria hawke #fenhawke #prompt response #codex prompt response #my writing #hawke headed to inquisition alas #maria: nothing is going to happen! #fenris: finds this letter half a year after it's dated and the house has clearly not been touched in all that time #i am most certainly going to be writing all the letters he wrote her too at some point if only for the pain...but unfortunately #that means i need to read all the tevinter comics for him #or like an actual summary from somewhere #shivunin scrivening

[lavend3r-stardust]

You're the kind to forge your tongue,

And wield it like a weapon.

You always keep your walls raised,

your heart guarded through armor

thick and impenetrable,

save for your own anguish

being the only thing that

tears you open from within.

You ready your arrows, sharpen your

spear and mind alike;

For your body is the weapon,

You are the sword,

the conduit of your Creator.

You are deliverance and destruction,

destined to save the world

once it has been ravaged.

Because only then

will there be redemption.

When everything falls with

a single stroke of your hand.

You are the butcher,

the savior and the damned,

The saint who will bring glory.

The one who will destroy the realm

in an effort to purge it of chaos.

You are the deathdancer,

the commander, the cleaver of tides,

the horrifying and ghastly and

hauntingly beautiful as

blood streaks your face like

lightning rips apart the sky.

And your anger is righteous fury.

Rage is your divine justice

As you bend the universe

to your iron will.

Because the mandate of heaven

means nothing to a burning god

willing to raze it down to ash

and start anew from rekindled embers.

#shira talks #was originally thinking of Rin from the Poppy War when i wrote this (and it's a great book too!!!) #creative writing #writing prompts #original writing #writer #writing #writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writing and rambling #writing and poetry #writing and stuff #original poem #original work #prose poetry #prose poem #poem #poetry #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #poems and quotes #poems and poetry #literature #literature and prose #light academia #dark academia

[kaizsche]

There is a hesitation in her step, “Hey if you’re down, I’d love to stay for a while.” She tells him, bottom lip tucked underneath her teeth.

He can hear her heart hammering within her chest cavity. Sometimes, Elena forgets that he’s a vampire. Oftentimes, she treats him like her equal—a frail human capable of feeling emotions. She’s just that kind of girl, compassionate to a fault.

Elijah doesn’t blame her. She hadn’t yet seen the world as it truly is, hidden behind her rose-colored lenses. 

Yet still, his heart longs for her. The company she affords him is a great deal of relief to him. It eases his regrets and lifts the burden off his shoulders—allowing a momentary reprieve from his past. 

She is his heart.

(And he will not be as foolish as he once was.)

“Of course, lovely Elena. Please make yourself comfortable.”

#elejah #ficlet #my first 2023 fic LOL #i wrote this instead of my pending activities #elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #inspired by a writing dialogue prompt i reblogged #THE GIFS ARE NOT MINE #i was too lazy to screenshot it myself so i just borrowed whatever from the internet #so credits to the original owners for the lovely gifs! #kinda testing the waters for now #cause i was inactive for almost 2 months #okay?! #bye #UNEDITED HELL LIKE PLS #kaizschefics

[sisterdivinium]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: Gen Relationship: Sister Camila & Sister Lilith (Warrior Nun) Characters: Sister Camila (Warrior Nun), Sister Lilith (Warrior Nun), Yasmine Amunet, Mother Superion (Warrior Nun), Jillian Salvius, Father Vincent (Warrior Nun) Additional Tags: Rated for some gore

"To see the friend, not the demon… Camila had both hands atop Lilith’s in trying to yank herself free, but she dared to detach one of them and raise it towards her foe, to her face, aiming to stroke her cheek." Scarce as it is, all evidence points to the same culprit... Camila is sure she is the only one who can uncover the truth.

#warrior nun #this is another one of the fics that i wrote during three weeks. i've linked it here before but to dreamwidth so now i'm linking to ao3 #the thing with this one is that time was running out so you will notice there is room for improvement #respecting the challenge however i will keep it as it is #i'll be taking a break from challenges too. i like them and they inspire me to write things i otherwise wouldn't (like this) #but the commentfic fest is coming and i want to be free in case anyone leaves prompts i might want to write #AND i have longer stories of my own to work on. there are three little canon divergent AUs i've been dying to fiddle with #and in order to do that i need to focus #so this is the first before the last challenge for the time being i think #unless the next one is just too irresistible lol #narratives and similar

[ladylynse]

Hi again! I have a writing prompt, First ninja grieving

(If this is too dark to do then I completely understand if you wanna leave this in the inbox)

The ache in his chest was his only companion these days—or, more to the point, on these sleepless nights that only ever seemed to be staved off by sheer exhaustion, a point he had not quite hit however close he’d come.

Life had been full of faces and voices, with as much joy and laughter and teasing as focus and training and planning, but then the first thing had gone wrong, and then the second, and then things had spiralled and they’d gotten desperate, they’d gotten angry, they’d gotten sloppy, and even now that he was the last one standing, he couldn’t give up, because that would mean it had all been for nothing, so he had to do this, he had to, but—

But now he had to do it alone.

-|-

see more fics | more RC9GN fics

#rc9gn #first ninja #grieving #grief #three sentence fic #three sentence fics #my writing #ladylynse #not too dark #honestly this is much more in my wheelhouse than any kind of fluff #I wrote an entire Miraculous Ladybug fic focusing on grief and it was not short #and by 'not short' I mean nearly 100 K #to be fair plot crept in and then it got away on me but grief was at its heart #so different characters dealing with grief from different angles is something I can do #but also you probably won't drop me a prompt too dark for me to write #this is mild compared to some of the other stuff I've already done #so uh #no need to hold back on that front

[milky-fixx]

monsterfucker kinktober day 2 (genshin): sneak peek 

“And what if I were to claim you, comrade? What then?” 

“Soulmates and bonds for life are a thing of fiction. Real wolves though,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “We see something we like, we stake our claim.”

#Genshin impact x reader #pretty sure y'all can tell who it is just from the dialogue but! #I will say it's related to the halloween prompt I wrote a few days back #for a certain harbringer #these sneak peeks give me motivation to write it lmao #if people know I'm writing something #now I have pressure to see it to the end #tati.txt #will be writing this while drunk too LMAOO let’s see how this goes