#If it were not for the several feet of cursed water between them they would be fighting with fists not words

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Playdate in peril, the homosexual thoughts be upon ye.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#MDZS #poorly drawn mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan xichen #I subscribe more to the belief that LXC saw an opportunity for his brother to make a friend his age than him wanting to play matchmaker #in his perspective wwx is clearly going out of his way to *try* and interact with his little brother #and he reads the signs that lwj isn't objecting to it #sometimes you gotta facilitate a friendship between people by setting them up to hang out on a lake together! #how was he supposed to know the levels of tension between the two? #If it were not for the several feet of cursed water between them they would be fighting with fists not words #wwx has incepted a thought into lwj and its not going away! #dear god i hope the boy you like doesn't fall into the water and you have to pull his sopping wet body into your arms #It took every ounce of restraint in me to not pull a quote from the linked song #so now its just a bonus for people who like to click links #I have to continue the pre flashback joke somehow #lets make it soft canon in this comic that wwx has been humming and singing boat drinks the entire time they've been out on the water

[c-nstantine]

The Grandmaster and His Concubine

Description: Bi Han uses his personal whore.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: Y/N has a severe case of dumb bitchitis, smut, cursing, doggy style, not choking but his hand is on her throat, reverse cowgirl, mild breeding kink towards the end (i think this is the first outright smut I've written so go easy on me)

Being weak in the Lin Kuei was simply not allowed. It was frowned upon to be so and it was fortunate that Y/N found the favor of Bi Han, the Grandmaster. For a man who rarely pitied anything, he pitied her. So much so, that he wanted her by his side when possible. Now rumors circulate about the exact nature of their relationship, it's hard for anyone to tell if Bi Han enjoys the company of Y/N.One thing is certain, he enjoys spending his nights between her thighs.

Tonight was one of those nights. He had faced a foe in battle that wasn't strong but it frustrated him to no end. Y/N could hear the footsteps of her beloved as he approached her quarters. His footsteps were heavy and his voice was rough as he commanded his subordinates to do something useful with themselves for the night. Y/N smiled with excitement as her doors opened. She kneeled on the bed wearing only a robe with her hair free as can be.

"Grandmaster," Y/N whispered in acknowledgment of the man in front of her. He stood, looking down upon her. His mask was removed so that Y/N could see his face. She reached out to touch his cheek but he caught her wrist. His grip was tight but not enough to hurt her, not yet.

"You're already on your knees for me," Bi Han's hand found its way to her throat, and out of instinct, Y/N's mouth fell open. Bi Han swelled with pride because of how well he had trained Y/N.

"Of course, beloved," Y/N said with a pleasing smile as Bi Han gave a small squeeze to her throat.

"How endearing. Bathe me, whore," Bi Han commanded and Y/N was more than happy to oblige him.

His grip loosened on her wrist and she took this as time to grab his hand and lead him towards the hot spring just outside her quarters. It was surrounded by wooden walls that were at least 10 feet tall. It's not like anyone could spy on them back here, Bi Han would have the head of anyone peeping on what's his. The water was lined with various plants and the faint croaking of frog-like creatures could be heard. Y/N took her time undressing him, he rarely allowed her to do so. Maybe he did care about her beyond the physical. Steam erupted from the spring the moment that he stepped in. She began to slowly scrub away in dirt and blood from his body as he sat in the water. His hair was in a loose bun with a few strands falling around his face.

This felt more intimate than anything they had ever done. Once again, he grabbed her wrist but this time it was to pull her to be directly in front of him. He removed her robe and grabbed her hips. Y/N sat in his lap.

"Can you feel that? That is what you do to me," With his hands still on her hips, he ground his hips against hers. Y/N shuddered and gasped. She had taken him many times before, but every time, she was still surprised by his size.

He kissed her neck and lifted her hips slightly so he could slip into her. Between the warm water surrounding them and her juicy pussy, he truly thought he was in heaven. Y/N could feel his cold hands move from her hips to her plump ass. She was sure that in the morning, her brown ass would have grip marks.

"Ride me as I taught you," Bi Han took pride in being the first man that Y/N was ever with. Meaning that she was his custom whore and all of her little tricks were only for him and would only be for him. She would never take another lover if he could help it.

Y/N whined at the loss of contact when Bi Han moved his hands away from her hips. He leaned back and spread his arms over the rocks behind them. He smirked as Y/N bounced up and down in his dick. He thought the view of her bouncing titties was a sight to behold. He liked to study her face as she did all the work. The way her face would scrunch as she used his dick to hit her spot.

As Y/N's knees began to burn, Bi Han began to grunt slightly and thrust into her hips. His hands found her waist once more, and he took control of her motions. Y/N's hands were grasping for his shoulders as he forced her down on his cock. Her moans grew louder and louder until her pussy clenched around his cock. He filled her womb soon after, and Y/N was happy to feel so warm with her lover's seed.

Abruptly, Bi Han stood up and moved him and Y/N to her bed. He tossed her onto her sheets and soon climbed on top of her. He stroked her cheek with his calloused, cool thumb. He looked at her more sincerely than before and if Y/N wasn't sure before, she was sure now that she would never leave him. He kissed her still-damp cheek before spreading her legs.

Y/N was still a little dazed from the first orgasm he had given her when he slipped back into her. However, she did not forget how it felt to have inside of her. The way that with every stroke she felt closer and closer to being complete. The grip he had on her thighs would have her bruised in the morning but she refused to remove her legs from above his shoulders.

His hips began to stutter as he plowed into her pussy. Y/N was finding it difficult to stay in place. She was sure that she had came at least twice now but he continued to ram into her. As he continued to fuck her, he got more sentimental. One of his hands left her thigh and began to play with her nipples. Carefully, he'd use his abilities to give her more pleasure.

"Tonight, you will make me an heir. Is that clear, slut?" He spoke cumming in her for the second time of the night. His voice was gruff from all of the groaning that he had been doing.

"Yes, Grandmaster," She was a little drunk off the cock when he flipped her over. Hearing Y/N being so delusional over him, made him want to go another round. He flipped her over and pushed her head into the pillow.

"How does it feel the Grandmaster's personal whore?" Y/N couldn't even respond with how hard she was being fucked. Once again her moans filled the chambers. The sounds of skin slapping could be heard well outside of her room but everyone knew not to disturb the Grandmaster once he was in this state.

"Damn," Bi Han whispered as he took in Y/N's form. He took his hand and pressed on her back so that he could reach the deepest parts of her. She was sure that he was kissing her cervix with every stroke.

"Bi Han," Y/N whined loudly when he finished inside her once again.

Y/N tried to move away from him to grab a towel but he pulled her back to his chest. He was cold but in a comforting way. His eyes said words that his mouth could not.

"You will not move. My seed will not leave your womb," Bi Han said kissing her cheek again. Y/N just nodded tiredly. When he returned Y/N was already asleep, so he placed her bonnet on gently and wiped his excess seed from her thighs. He noted the various bruises and a sense of pride came from them.

"She is mine," He whispered before joining her in bed once more.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #bi han x reader #bi han x black reader #bi han sub zero #mk sub zero #sub zero mk1 #sub zero x reader #mk 1 x reader #mk 1 #bi han smut #sub zero smut

[lllluffyvert]

It happens in the blink of an eye. Sunny skies are darkened by menacing storm clouds, and calm waters turn into monstrous waves that smash into the Going Merry, violently rocking the ship and sending its passengers flying.

Nami is shouting frantically, but her words are drowned out by the deafening roar of the wind and booming thunder. Lightning strikes, and in the fraction of a second that it illuminates the world around them, Zoro catches a glimpse of Nami’s horrified expression as she points towards the bow of the ship.

“-overboard!”

It’s the only word Zoro hears, and dread pools in the pit of his stomach as he realizes its meaning.

Luffy.

Without a moment’s thought for his own safety, Zoro leaps over the ship’s railing and dives into the ferocious sea. It’s bitingly cold and a shock to his senses, but he recovers quickly and swims down against the push and pull of the waves.

The water is nearly black as pitch, making it hard to orient himself. His lungs begin to burn with the need for oxygen, but he can’t fucking find Luffy. He searches desperately until he’s forced to come up for air, calling out for his captain in between gasping breaths.

Lightning flashes, and there, riding atop the next wave is a familiar straw hat. A rush of adrenaline pumps in his veins and Zoro swims harder than he ever has, until he reaches his captain's prized possession, tying it securely around his arm before he takes a deep breath and dives beneath the surface.

The seconds feel like hours and his muscles are screaming, but finally he spots the bright, floral pattern of Luffy’s Hawaiian shirt. He’s sunk nearly to the ocean floor, completely unresponsive to Zoro, who grabs hold of him and pulls him up until they’ve broken the surface.

The storm rages on around them, and Zoro holds onto Luffy for all that he’s worth as they’re slammed by wave after wave and swallowed up by the inky black sea.

-

Zoro stirs and feels cool sand shift beneath him, soothing to his skin which burns under blistering rays of sun. His head pounds dully, his mouth is bone-dry, and it takes him a long second to gather his bearings before it all comes rushing back and he jumps to his feet, eyes frantically scanning the bank until he catches sight of Luffy only a few yards to his right, and relief washes over him. The feeling is short-lived, however, when he realizes that Luffy isn’t moving but lying prone and uncharacteristically silent.

Zoro stumbles towards him, panic coiling in his gut as he drops to his knees and carefully turns Luffy onto his back, gently brushing the sand from his face.

“C’mon Luf. Wake up.” He pats Luffy’s cheeks in a futile effort to arouse him, and when that doesn’t work, he slides his arm underneath his captain’s neck and lifts him, shaking his shoulders with a bit of force. “Luffy, wake up. C’mon, you’re okay.”

Luffy’s head lolls lifelessly. His breathing is ragged and shallow, and his normally bronzed, sun-kissed complexion is unnaturally pale.

Zoro cradles Luffy to his chest and wishes Chopper were here, and tries to imagine what the doctor would do in this situation. Check for injuries, probably. Find the root of the problem. Yeah, that was a good start.

Zoro looks over Luffy’s arms, his legs, pulls aside his water-logged shirt and checks his stomach and back. Minor scrapes here, a few bruises there, but nothing he wouldn’t usually bounce back from. He thinks about the possibility of an internal injury, and curses vehemently under his breath, feeling woefully inadequate.

He does the next best thing that comes to mind, scooping his captain into his arms gingerly and making towards the tree line, into the shade and away from the water and burning sun. They’d washed up on a relatively small, crescent shaped island, only a few yards of white sand away from dense, tropical foliage that was several degrees cooler than the beach. The grass under Zoro’s boots was soft from recent rain, and he carefully sets Luffy down on a large patch, taking a minute to brush the sweaty curls from his forehead and rest his palm there like he’d seen Chopper do before. It’s searing to the touch and beaded with sweat. Fuck.

Okay. Think. Zoro wracks his brain. He remembers when Nami was sick, how Vivi had her wrapped up warm, but also kept a cold cloth to her face. He removes his bandana and jogs back to the beach, dips it in the cold sea water and rings it out before folding it and placing it tenderly on Luffy’s forehead, letting his fingers trace lightly over his captain’s flushed cheek.

“I’ll be right back, Luf,” he says quietly, standing and reaching for his swords. He doesn’t have a blanket, so starting a fire sounded like the best alternative, and with a quick series of effortless swipes he has a pile of firewood big enough to last the night. Doing things survival-style is definitely in his wheelhouse, and it doesn’t take long before he has a decent fire going, and he uses some of the extra logs to build a small lean-to over where Luffy lay.

He checks on his captain, gauging his temperature again and grimacing when Luffy shivers despite being soaked with sweat. He considers their damp clothing and decides to strip their shirts to hang over the flames. His hands hesitate over Luffy’s chest, and he mumbles an awkward apology before gently removing the garment, wishing he had something to wrap around him while the shirts dried and hoping the lean-to would retain enough of the fire’s heat to suffice in the meantime.

“Hang in there, Captain,” he murmurs, and combs his fingers through Luffy’s hair.

Fire, check. Shelter, check. Next up, food and clean water. Finding both is a simple matter, and Zoro is thankful for the island's small perimeter as he returns to their little camp with a couple of rabbits and a flask of crystal clear water from a near-by trickling stream. It was a miracle that the ocean hadn’t stolen the flask of rum from where he’d had it tucked into his waistband, and a bit of a shame he had to pour it out to fill with water instead, though not before taking one last swig. He figured he had a long night ahead of him.

Their shirts are dry and warm by the time he returns, and he wraps Luffy’s around him snugly before slipping gratefully into his own. The sun has begun to dip below the horizon and a chill settles over the island. Zoro dresses the rabbits and lets them slow-roast over the crackling fire before dropping to the ground beside Luffy, suddenly exhausted.

He blinks bleary eyes and pinches himself to stay awake, at least long enough to make sure Luffy gets something to eat. He watches the sparks from the fire until the rabbits are cooked through, removes them from the spit and tears the tender meat into bite sized pieces. Done with that, he gently pulls Luffy into his lap, props his head on his shoulder and tries to feed him some of the rabbit, concern growing sharply when Luffy’s nose scrunches in revulsion and he turns his head away, choosing instead to bury his face in Zoro’s chest.

It was absolutely unheard of for Luffy, of all people, to reject food, and so to see him like this now rang alarm bells in Zoro’s head. He feels an oncoming migraine.

“You gotta eat something, Luf,” he pleads. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“‘M cold.”

It’s the first thing Luffy has said since they washed up on the island, and Zoro’s heart aches at how pitiful the barely whispered words sound from his usually loud and chipper captain. He sets the food down, leans back against the wood frame of the makeshift shelter and wraps his arms around Luffy, holding him close and doing his best to warm him. Luffy’s labored breathing eases some, and he melts into the embrace, a softly whispered “Zoro” spilling from his lips before he passes out.

Zoro props his chin atop his captain’s soft, dark curls, closes his heavy eyes and falls asleep.

-

Zoro wakes to the sound of footsteps and instinctively reaches for his sword, remembers Luffy in his lap and curls around him protectively with Wado Ichimonji pointed menacingly in the direction of whoever was rapidly approaching their camp.

“Found you!” Chopper bursts from the bushes and excitedly bounds over to them with a huge grin, until his eyes fall to Luffy, unconscious and sweaty in the crook of Zoro’s arm, and his expression is stricken. “W–what happened to Luffy?!”

Zoro had dropped his sword the moment Chopper hopped into view, overwhelmed with relief at the sight of the doctor. “I don’t know,” he says. He picks up the sword, sheathes it, and stands, cradles Luffy to his chest and looks Chopper square in the face. “But I know you can fix it.”

His words are spoken with complete confidence. Chopper nods solemnly and Zoro follows the doctor back to the Going Merry.

The other members of the Straw Hats meet them on the beach, and they instantly crowd around Zoro and Luffy, each of them exclaiming the same questions simultaneously.

“What happened to Luffy?!”

“Are you okay?!”

“I don’t know,” Zoro repeats, “And I’m fine.” He walks past them in quick strides to keep up with Chopper, pulling Luffy ever closer to his chest, suddenly loath to let him go as he boards the ship. In the medical bay, he carefully lays his captain on the bed, takes a step back, and feels distinctively colder.

Chopper bustles around him, hastily gathering various glass bottles and a mixing bowl before shooing Zoro from the room.

“I do my best work alone,” he says apologetically, and closes the door in Zoro’s face.

Zoro sighs, and then stiffens as the weight of the other crew member’s gazes hits him. He turns and finds Nami, Sanji, and Usopp staring at him expectantly.

He fills them in, omitting some unnecessary details.

“He didn’t want to eat?” Nami anxiously bites her nails and looks to the med-bay door.

“Let’s not worry until Chopper says to worry, Nami,” comforts Sanji.

As much as Zoro hates to agree with the cook, he has a point. Chopper was damn good at his job, and Zoro had total faith in his abilities. With this in mind, he looks to Sanji and says:

“I’m fucking starving.”

-

It’s a few hours before Chopper clops into the kitchen, looking tired but happy. Zoro’s shoulders sag as any concerns are alleviated.

“He’s sleeping now,” says the doctor, and he smiles at Zoro. “Good job keeping his temperature stable.”

Feeling strangely embarrassed, Zoro simply nods in reply.

“So,” Usopp prompts, “What was it?”

“Poison,” Chopper says, “From a species of native octopus.” He shakes his head, suddenly serious. “Another two days could’ve been fatal.”

“But he’s fine?” Nami asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” Chopper assures them. He turns to Sanji and grins. “And he’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”

“Aye aye, a feast for le Capitaine.” Sanji lights a cigarette, rolls up his sleeves and flashily spins a gleaming butcher’s knife on the tip of his finger. “Leave it to me.”

Zoro debates asking Chopper to let him see Luffy, but decides to remain silent. Instead, he takes another sip of rum and resigns himself to waiting.

-

His resolve only lasts a few hours. It’s close to midnight when he stalks silently past his sleeping crewmates and steps into the med-bay, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He’d been feeling restless, uncomfortable in his hammock and Luffy the only thing on his mind.

He pulls a chair up in front of the bed and sits, watching his captain’s chest rise and fall with deep, steady breaths. He’s even snoring, and Zoro admires his peaceful expression, his parted lips and rosy cheeks framed by long, dark eyelashes. He picks up Luffy’s hand and kisses each one of his fingers reverently, offering a silent, thankful prayer to the gods for Chopper and his unmatched medical skills.

Luffy suddenly stirs, turning his head towards Zoro, who immediately goes still.

“Zoro,” Luffy’s eyes light up at the sight of his first mate, and his sleepy smile is one of the prettiest sights Zoro thinks he’s ever seen.

“Go back to sleep, Luf,” he says softly, his voice heavy with affection. He brazenly kisses the top of Luffy’s hand, and his captain giggles quietly, a sound Zoro could happily listen to for the rest of his days.

“Okay,” Luffy agrees, and then he’s scooting over and lifting the blanket invitingly, looking up at Zoro with those big, brown eyes, and who is he to deny his captain?

“You’re supposed to be getting some rest,” Zoro says even as he slides into the bed, pulling Luffy close and wrapping his arms around him, their faces mere centimeters apart.

“I am,” Luffy replies, warm breath puffing against Zoro’s chin and his eyes twinkling even in the dark. “I sleep better when you’re around.”

He says it so easily, so honestly, and Zoro can’t help himself. He closes the short distance between them and captures Luffy’s lips in a tender kiss.

“I thought I needed rest,” Luffy says breathlessly when Zoro finally pulls back for air. He’s smiling though, and his eyes are filled with mirth. Zoro just hums in reply, and peppers Luffy’s cheeks and nose with feather-light kisses, reveling in his captain’s muffled, giddy laughter and wondering what other noises he could draw from him. A dangerous thought, considering his current position; Luffy flush against him, warm and pliant under his touch. He almost groans, burying his face in his captain’s soft curls and breathing in the sea-salt scent of him.

“Zoro.” The way Luffy whispers his name is almost too much for him to bear. “Thank you for saving me.”

“That was Chopper,” Zoro replies against Luffy’s hair. Luffy pushes him back slightly and looks him square in the face.

“It was you, too,” he says seriously. “You jumped in for me.”

“Always,” Zoro says, meaning it with every fiber of his being. His fingers trace the smooth curve of Luffy’s cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear and leaning in to kiss the flushed skin there.

The simplicity of his reply has Luffy smiling again, and this time it’s he who kisses Zoro, a little peck at the corner of his lips. The sweet gesture effectively unravels Zoro’s resolve, breaking him down to the point where words are pointless and only actions have meaning.

His hands are gentle only ever for his captain, his fingers lightly caressing the exposed skin of Luffy’s chest and his lips against his neck, kissing a line up to his ear and nibbling at the lobe. Simmering embers in the pit of his stomach burn hotter when Luffy responds to his touch with a contented sigh and he cranes his neck, revealing more skin for Zoro to appreciate, which he does with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Luffy,” Zoro murmurs his captain’s name reverently, his hands moving to cup Luffy’s cheeks and he kisses him fervently, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down lightly, tonguing at the shallow puncture marks his teeth leave on the velvety skin there. Luffy makes another small noise that Zoro swallows up and he wraps his arms around Zoro’s neck, returning the kiss, his eyes screwed shut and his nose scrunched adorably.

Zoro can’t get enough. He slows their tempo, his mouth slotting against Luffy’s deliberately, taking his time to taste and smell and touch. His thumbs swipe over Luffy’s flushed skin and he pulls back to gaze at him fondly, feeling rather smug that the dazed expression on his captain’s face was his doing.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” he says, each word punctuated by a quick, affectionate kiss to Luffy’s face, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, licking the shell suggestively. “And continue this later.”

Luffy shivers and nods, perking up at the mention of food and practically bouncing out of the bed with a toothy smile, sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes Zoro’s hand in his own. He skips cheerfully to the kitchen, humming a little ditty and dragging Zoro along with him. Zoro watches the way his captain’s smile brightens at the sight of the other Straw Hats, who’ve jumped from their beds and come running at the sound of his song, and he thinks he would gladly follow Luffy to the ends of the earth.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #zolu #nami #Usopp #vinsmoke sanji #tony tony chopper #guys I live and breathe for them #what a first mate wouldn’t do for his captain #my fic

[tainted-liquor]

'Cuddle Monster(s)☾‧₊˚ ⋅

E42!Miles Morales x Witch!BlackFem!Reader ┆˚✧Ingredients: Crack, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! ┆∘⋆TWs: Cursing, Reader being a menace, n I think that’s it? ┆⁺˚⋆W/C: I’ll fix this later😭 ┆`✦A/N: I lowkey used this as spanglish practice

"Miles? Can you get me some basil and patchouli while you're out?" You called from your bathroom as you heard your front door swing open. "I'm only going to the bodega, but I'll see what I can find Mami!" he shouted back from downstairs before swiftly exiting out your house. You smiled to yourself, thinking about just how much you loved your boyfriend as you threw a slew of items and herbs into a small jar. For the past 5 months, you've been perfecting your new craft of spirit-raising, the art of manifesting a living vessel from the hole between your world and theirs. These spirits, or "monsters" as many people would call them are...usually grateful when you raise them, often repaying your kindness by offering protection and energy in exchange for being their path to this world and theirs.

Since these spirits can be seen as an extension of you due to bringing them into this world, they tend to be in tune with your emotions. When you cried, they cried, when you yelled, they yelled, and when you loved, so did they. When Miles first learned about your ability to pull spirits through that invisible portal, he didn't really care. He's murdered people before, so what's a little witchcraft? After all, he hadn't actually seen exactly what came through that portal just yet.

You casually dumped more herbs and tiny crystals into your jar, maintaining perfect focus on the task at hand as you slowly dumped almond oil into the jar. When everything was finished, you sealed the jar with purple wax before throwing it rather aggressively into your full bathtub. You closed your eyes, silently hoping that you didn't do shit wrong as you kneeled down next to the tub, dunking a hand into the numbing and cold water for a couple of minutes. When you didn't notice anything happening, you sighed to yourself and went to pull your hand out of the water. But no sooner than you moved, you felt something unfamiliar and cold grab your hand.

You felt a harsh tug, then watched as what appeared to be an all-grey horned creature emerged through the tub. It was around 8 feet in height and looked like something straight out of a horror fantasy movie. It had no face, only one massive pitch-black eye where what would be a nose. It stared at you unblinkingly, processing its surroundings before emerging from your bathtub and standing behind you. It looked more afraid of you than you were slightly of it, so you gave it a small wave and a pat on the...knee? to calm it down.

It sat down motionless and limp in the bathroom, radiating content as you heard the front door open. It wasn't even a fraction of a second before the creature came darting out of the room, you following quickly behind it as it advanced toward Miles. Miles didn't even get the chance to scream before it scooped him up, hugging him like the tiniest of babies as its eye closed in joy. "WHEW. OKAY. MAMI, QUÉ ES ESTO?" He shouted with wide eyes. "It's...my new protector! I just raised it...It's not gonna hurt you it just loves you" you quickly explained as Miles froze up in the monster's hands. "Shit...warn me next time" he huffed, slowly relaxing as he processes what was happening.

From that day forward, he learned to accept the sudden appearance of various creatures in his house. A bone dog, a very very long horse, several people that weren't quite people, and various spirits that took on many many forms. He wasn't gonna pretend like it never caught him off guard or scared him, occasionally stepping out of the shower to see a monster or two staring at him silently always managed to raise his heart rate by a couple beats per minute. He knew they loved him with the same affection you always gave him, so he was never truly terrified by them. He had been told it was rude to not speak to them, so he always gave them a rather quiet and shaky "Hola..." whenever he saw them.

"Mama, te amo tan mucho...pero, por favor dime cuando tus 'spirits' will be watching me shower."

"Sorry love!"

And it never quite stopped there. Whenever you were outside of the house and a few entities decided to loom and fawn over your boyfriend, he always knew how you felt in the moment. There were times when he would be sitting on the couch, eating a nice bowl of cereal and a sea of non-human crying could be heard. He immediately jumped up from whatever it was he was doing, running to his phone to check on you. Whether you were minor stressed or full-blown crying, he was able to tell how you truly felt at the drop of a hat. In some sense he was grateful because it allowed him to further understand and navigate...you!

"Mami are you mad at me?"

"...no"

"Tell me the truth, c'mon muñequita"

"What makes you think I'm mad?"

"You deadass?" he huffed as he pointed at the strange thing hovering above him, staring at him with crossed arms and an annoyed grimace.

"okay maybe..."

#across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x you #miles 42 #miles g morales #earth 42 miles morales #prowler miles

[talesofesther]

Meet me halfway, wash away the bad

Robin Buckley x Reader

Summary: Robin letting her walls down, a hot shower, tears, and hugs.

A/N: I know I said I was gonna write for Eddie next, and his story is about halfway done but I just needed to post this little random idea first. I love Robin so much it hurts. And I wanted to explore her vulnerable side, I guess? And talk a little about how all of what happened would affect her.

Masterlist

You closed your eyes as you felt the sting of antiseptic on your cheek, it was followed by a soft-spoken apology from the woman in front of you. You ran your fingers along her hip bone, to chase away the frown you knew was etched in her features right now.

Robin's bathroom felt like a quiet safe heaven as you sat on the counter just beside the sink, with Robin between your legs cleaning up any remaining wounds on your skin. It was almost comical, the fact that mere hours ago you were climbing out of an otherworldly portal, in which you had just killed another creature that shouldn't even exist; and now, you had walked out of a warm shower, happy that your girlfriend's parents weren't home so you could cuddle with her for the night.

You made yourself find joy in the unlikeliness of it all, and the fact that you were both in one piece. Otherwise, the sickening tick of the grandfather clock would still ring inside your head, tricking you to believe you were never free of its curse.

Tender fingers closing around your hand made you realize that she was done. Robin brought your hand to her lips, planting a soft kiss over your knuckles. You opened your eyes and saw her gaze fixed on the purple marks forming on the skin of your fist.

There was no mention of it from either of you, but Robin had been different ever since the imminent threat was dealt with. Without having a fight to focus on, the weight of it all laid heavy on everyone's shoulders. You wanted to believe that she'd take it better the second time around, but you had gone through this rodeo enough times to know that it doesn't get better. It never does.

Robin was never a quiet person. Yet she hadn't said more than ten words since you entered her house.

"How are you feeling?" You ducked your head, trying to catch her gaze. Reaching up, you played with the ends of her hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She pursed her lips so you wouldn't see them tremble. The words she should have said got stuck in her throat, instead, she settled for; "I think I just need a shower."

She looked up at you with her best smile. You almost cried at the pain you saw behind it. There was a time for everything; you cupped her cheeks and pecked her lips, jumping down from the counter. "Okay, I'll be waiting outside."

Ten minutes passed with you sitting on her bed before you heard the shower start, and another thirty passed when you still didn't hear her turning it off. You wanted to give her space, but the worry clawing at your chest got the better of you.

The bathroom door opened slowly, there was a soft steam from the shower in the air, making the tiles slippery and the walls damp. "Robin? I just wanted to check on you." You spoke as if approaching a wild cat, looking at her unmoving silhouette behind the shower curtain.

Several heartbeats passed and all you could hear was water hitting the tiles and your own breathing.

"You can come in if you want."

The tightness in her voice made you undress faster than ever before.

You opened the curtain and saw Robin's back to you, she was leaning a hand on the cold wall, water falling into her hair and making it cling to her skin.

The water under your feet was fairly warm, and the stream from the shower was even warmer when you reached out a hand under it.

Robin's shoulders tensed before she turned to look at you, making your throat close at the sight. Her bright eyes were bloodshot and swimming in tears that were just a blink away from cascading down her cheeks, her breathing came in short intakes, making her lower lip tremble. You never saw her like this, and it broke your heart.

"Robin talk to-" you started in a breath.

"I just- can you just hold me?" Robin's voice broke halfway, it was timid in a way you never heard before, not even on the first time she asked you out. For a fleeting second, you wondered if she considered the possibility of you saying no. If she thought about her pain as some kind of burden.

You didn't say anything as you brought her body to yours, with an arm around her waist and the other going up to her head, threading your fingers on her wet hair. She held you back almost desperately, bringing you tightly against her in an attempt to ground herself and make her own mind believe that you were really there.

You kissed her bare shoulder, feeling how her tears mixed with the warm water from the shower falling into your skin. The tip of her nose brushed your neck when she lowered her head onto you.

Skin to skin, you could feel the beating of her heart against your own; yet there was nothing sexual about the way you clung to each other under the steady stream of water. Just two souls meeting halfway without any barriers to keep them apart, in a world that had done them wrong one too many times.

Your hair was getting wet all over again, loose strands clinging to your forehead. Goosebumps raised on your skin when Robin started tracing patterns along your back. "I almost lost you today."

You felt more than heard Robin's words against your skin. You shivered just by remembering the livid nightmare, but the way her body trembled with a sob on your hold could make you believe it had been even worse for her. It's not every day that you almost witness someone's eyes go lifeless in front of you. It's not every day that you almost have the person you love taken from you in the worst possible way.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Buckley." You tried, but when the only answer you got was her squeezing you tighter, you stopped masking your own pain. "I know it was scary, but I knew that you'd be there for me. And you saved me, okay? I'm right here."

Pulling back only enough to look at her, you cupped her cheeks, brushing away stray tears with your thumbs. "I knew you would, you know me better than anyone else." You whispered, leaning your forehead against hers, thinking back on how Robin immediately knew your favorite song; something you couldn't choose by yourself even with a gun to your head.

Robin closed her eyes, her nose nuzzling yours. "But what if I didn't?" Water clung to her eyelashes as she looked at you, and you followed a few drops as they passed by her freckles. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something went wrong and-"

"Let's not dwell on the what-ifs, okay?" You raised a hand and brushed away the drenched hair that was in her eyes, leaning your head under the stream of the shower and pecking her lips. As you pulled back she followed you halfway, holding you under the warm water with a hand behind your neck. Her kiss was desperate, passionate, and gentle all at the same time; her lips molding with yours as water rained down over your closed eyes.

She refused to part when air became a necessity, giving your lips multiple little pecks before burying her head on your shoulder again.

You ran a hand along her spine, feeling her shiver and curl more into you. "I'm here, Robin. For as long as you'll have me."

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Robin’s taglist: @milkiane @wandaownsme @rob1nbuckl3ys @myownpainintheass

Let me know if you wanna be added to her taglist.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley x fem!reader #robin buckley #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #robin buckley x you #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #robin buckley fanfic #robinbuckleyedit #maya hawke #my story #stranger things x reader #st

[svltzmans]

'tis the damn season - h.m.

a/n: hi! i'm sorry i haven't posted a fic in a few days things have been slightly crazy in my silly little life 🥸 i hope this fluffly little fic makes up for it!!

warnings: none!!

ice skating as a date had been hope's idea, and y/n was cursing her inability to say no to her girlfriend.

the nearby pond had finally frozen, and hope was insistent about embracing the winter weather.

y/n wasn't picky about dates, and she loved everything her and hope did together.

the only problem was that she had no clue how to ice skate.

sure, she had done it before, but not very successfully.

hope insisted that it would be fine, and that although she was no expert, she was stable enough to keep y/n on her feet.

or so she thought.

when the pair arrives to the pond, hope opens the back of her car.

"these were my old ones, but they should fit you fine," hope says, handing y/n a pair of not-so-sharp ice skates.

"oh, so i get your recycled stuff now?" y/n teases, watching as her girlfriend pulls her own pristine pair of skates out of the car.

"what, you thought i was gonna let you skate on my babies?" hope responds, pretending to swaddle her skates in her arms.

"woah, hold on, i thought i was your baby?"

"well, you're one of them."

y/n rolls her eyes playfully, and hope gasps in feigned offense.

hope extends her hand to y/n, who happily takes it in her own as they walk toward the ice.

hope leads y/n to a bench, where she ties her skates while y/n watches in awe.

"aren't you gonna put yours on?" hope asks, noticing that y/n hasn't moved.

"well, i was kinda hoping you would do it for me. i'm not good at it," y/n pleads, giving hope her best puppy dog eyes.

"gimme your foot," hope gives in immediately, gesturing to her lap and allowing y/n to rest her foot in it while she ties her skate perfectly, repeating the process for the other foot.

"how are you so good at that?" y/n asks, watching hope intently.

"it's just like tying a shoe, silly. but i like that you're staring at me," hope teases, giving y/n a smirk.

"come on, you flirt. teach me how to skate."

"gladly."

hope steps onto the ice first, holding both of y/n's hands in her own.

"come on in, the water's fine," she laughs, watching y/n tentatively step onto the ice with one foot.

"what if i fall and break my ass, hope?"

"y/n, you know i can catch you, right?"

"yeah, but what if you're in front of me?"

"i'm gonna be next to you, silly goose. come on, you can do it."

with that, y/n finally allows herself to slowly glide to hope.

"see, you're already a natural. skate to me, baby," hope encourages, widening the distance between them slightly.

although she looks like a toddler trying to walk, y/n eventually makes it close enough to grab hope's hands.

"i made it! i'm here!" y/n cheers excitedly, earning a bright smile from hope.

y/n has noticed that when she's overly happy, she can't help but to hop slightly in the air to express that excitement.

and it seems like that doesn't stop when she's on ice.

"shit," she says, and before she knows it, she's sitting on the ice after falling backwards.

hope practically jumps to y/n, risking her own balance in the process but quickly regaining it.

"are you okay? oh my god," hope mutters, her concern evident.

to her surprise, y/n just starts laughing.

"i told you i was gonna fall on my ass," she jokes, holding her hand out to hope to encourage her to pull her back to her feet.

hope can't help but to laugh too, and once she has y/n back up, she doesn't let go of her hand.

"hope, i think i can do it by myself now. i'm getting the hang of it, right?"

the pair had done several laps around the pond together, hand in hand the entire time. despite a few close calls, y/n had managed to stay upright.

"what, you don't want to hold my hand anymore?" hope pretends to be offended, playfully frowning at her girlfriend.

"of course i do. but i want you to watch me skate by myself," y/n responds, tenderly kissing hope's flushed cheek. "damn, your face is freezing."

"i wonder why," hope laughs, still squeezing y/n's hand.

"i'm gonna let go now. skate behind me in case i go down again," y/n affirms, looking to hope for approval.

"i got you, beautiful. let's see your skills."

hope notices that y/n has really gotten the hang of skating, and that her sense of balance has greatly improved.

she smiles as she watches y/n, moving freely in front of her.

the pair do a few more laps, hope following closely behind y/n.

when they finally step off the ice, y/n immediately sits on the bench.

"you're a better skater than me now," hope praises, taking a seat next to her girlfriend. "let me take those skates off for you, yeah?"

"you know i'm not gonna say no to that."

"is there a bruise on your butt yet?"

"okay, i didn't fall that hard."

they both can't help but burst out laughing thinking about y/n's fall.

"thank you for taking me here today. i'm really cold now, though," y/n declares, resting her head on hope's shoulder.

"wanna get hot chocolate?" hope offers, already knowing the answer.

"i think i'd be crazy to say no."

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #wlw #legacies #legacies x reader #hope mikaelson x fem reader #the originals x reader

[just--vi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FIRST (and favorite) FIC

This fic was my first dip back into the fandom after a long long break, and I'm 100% convinced it led me to some of my loveliest friends (and turned into several more fics in the meantime).

Lil snippet under the cut if you'd like a preview.

As luck would have it the beach this time of year is frigidly cold. Tourists line the boardwalks in puffers and trench coats with scarves wrapped around their necks and beanies on their heads – if you squint toward the shops it’s a sea of multi-colored bobbles and the occasional ugly beret.

Remus’ spot isn’t far off from the thick of it. An old folding table with uneven legs that is covered in chipping paint, both old and new. He has wedged half a newspaper under the back right foot of it and is using a collection of heavy rocks to keep the painted postcards from whipping off toward the water. Just the other week he’d lost an entire stack of them because some kid had shouldered by a bit too quickly and knocked the make-shift paperweights to the ground, letting the wind catch the postcards and sending Remus scrambling desperately after them.

By the time he’d trudged back up the hill to the boardwalk the kid and his parents were gone.

As foot traffic begins to thin, Remus drops the paintbrush and stretches out the fingers of his right hand. They crack audibly, and the dull ache begins to seep its way toward his forearm. He offers one long, tired sigh before shoving gloves onto his hands and packing his things away into the rolling crate wedged underneath the low barrier between walkway and beach. Old paintings first, wrapped sensibly in plastic now that they’ve dried, newer ones gingerly on top. Paints go into the worn out bookbag that he slings over his shoulder and he waffles for a moment on the decision to try to take everything in one go, or hope his table doesn’t end up stolen or vandalized (again).

Eventually, because his fingers are beginning to go numb and snot is starting to drip out of his nose, he folds the table and hoists it up against his hip with one arm. It’s not terribly big, a handful of feet long and not quite as wide, but the worse his joints get the harder it is to lug around. He wraps his other hand around the handle of his crate and drags it awkwardly behind him, dodging evening stragglers and one dog wearing a sweater, whose owner offers up a sweet smile and gives him a rather wide berth.

His car is parked a little farther than he’d really like to walk, but he couldn’t justify the paid spots and when he’d come out this morning he’d really been feeling quite good… Now the short hill leaves him a little breathless and wheezy, and by the time he’s popping his trunk (the seats already laid down flat) his skin is prickling under his sweater, suddenly too hot.

It’s not a pretty sight, Remus wrestling the table up toward the trunk, only the snaps on the legs have long since rusted out and they keep popping open, knocking him painfully in the knee and drawing a stream of quiet curses out of his mouth, the trunk claims his elbow next and he is moments away from giving up entirely when the weight of the table shifts just enough to send him a little off balance, before sliding seamlessly into the boot.

Twisting around to offer a (faintly irritated) thanks to his helper, Remus stops dead. Suddenly the heat in his cheeks is less for the short jaunt up the hill or the bite of the wind, all flushing blood that reaches all the way into his ears.

“Err – thanks, bit of a pain to do on your own,” he mumbles, ignoring the fact that the other man seemed to have had no such problem. At the very least the comment earns him a barking laugh, head thrown backward and eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes him blush harder because it really hadn’t been that funny.

“No worries, I couldn’t watch you struggle anymore without feeling like an absolute jackass – hand alright?”

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders muggle au #marauders #we're going to ignore the fact that its birthday was actually three days ago #and we're going to ignore the fact that i started and deleted a canon-compliant fic before her that will probably never see the light of da

[belabellissima]

flicker in the night - acotar gift exchange 2023

Hello and Happy Holidays to @darling-archeron!!! It’s me!!! I’m your Santa😊 I have had an absolute blast writing this for you as part of the @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you over the last few weeks!!! I hope you enjoy :) (And yes, it does have something to do with beast forms 😏)

Pairing: Feysand Warnings: mentions of blood Summary: In her dreams, there is a beast. With scales like a lizard, leathery wings at its sides, and fangs the size of her head, Feyre knows she should be terrified. But the beast is too bleeding itself dry, too busy fighting some invisible barrier to ever turn those slit pupils on her. Until, that is, she touches its blood on the walls, and it stains her fingers silver. Suddenly able to see her, her beast has no intention of ever letting her disappear from its sight again.

Meanwhile in the waking world, a stranger has come to her village, one with hair as black as night, and blue eyes Feyre would swear shift purple the second before she looks away.

But that’s impossible - magic doesn’t exist in the human lands.

So why do her fingers still sometimes shine in the moonlight?

Featuring a modified curse, an overabundant use of the word “salt,” and a human!Rhys with a twist.

Read on AO3 or Chapter 1 below:

Feyre knew she was dreaming because she was warm.

Despite her lack of a coat, her bare arms, there was no chill as she crept silently down the long tunnel. That was another clue it was a dream - she didn’t recognize this place. She’d never hunted inside a cave before, had only ever hunted beneath the sky and among the trees, from traps she checked daily and her bow and arrow. The one and only time she’d ever used a knife, she’d cried for hours. The rabbit had been terrified, the poor thing, right up until Feyre had put it out of its misery from her poorly aimed arrow. After that, she’d learned it was better to be far away, to not see them fall. But inside a cave, it was close. Personal.

So she had to be dreaming.

Besides, there were torches lining the walls. No true cave dwelling animal would ever live in one clearly inhabited by a person.

The light from the flames flickered unnaturally against the walls, casting shadows that didn’t match her body. They looked as if they danced on their own, alive. Feyre paid it little mind as she stalked, feet silent on the damp ground. Her bow was drawn, an arrow nocked against the drawstring ready to be pulled taught and loosed in an instant. Once she sighted her prey.

Whatever that prey might be.

Dreams were strange like that - part of her expected to walk around the bend and suddenly no longer be inside, for dream logic to take her away, whisk her to a meadow on a balmy day. But step after step she walked, and the cave remained.

Water dripped from the top of the tunnel, hitting her head in an ice-cold point that made her flinch, lowering her bow so she could rub at the chilled spot. When she touched it, it was dry, yet the cold spot remained none-the-less.

Feyre had never had a dream quite so realistic.

She pressed on, dream logic prompting her to keep going, to not stop until something at least mildly interesting happened, and that was when she heard it. Far away, like there were several turns of the tunnel between them, Feyre could hear something large moving. It would shuffle, the sound of flesh against itself followed by the click and scratch of talons on the rock. Then a growl as she crept around the first corner, a frustrated huff of air evident even through how animalistic the whole thing sounded. A beast of some sort, something as big as her. A wolf, perhaps? The growl went low, a rumble that Feyre could feel through her own chest as she slowed right before the final bend.

She readied her arrow again, barely pausing when she heard the slight clink of metal, the whine of it being scraped against itself.

She peered around the bend, and her heart stopped.

There was indeed a beast pacing in front of the mouth of the cave. Beyond it, Feyre could see a dark blue sky, with stars twinkling in their eternal heavenly dance. But between her and freedom, her and that sky -

When she had guessed a beast, she hadn’t thought it would be one like this. It was massive - far larger than she’d thought. Rather than being a wolf, perhaps an overly large one the same size as a horse, it was large enough it might not even fit in her cottage. It dwarfed her, its head alone the size of her whole torso. Fangs were visible throughout its mouth as it panted, the longest canine tooth easily as long as her head. Its eye was the size of her hand, if her fingers were spread to their full extent.

It was covered in scales, shimmering like a beetle. Black as pitch without light, but a purple and blue sheen that rippled as the torchlight played across shifting muscle beneath the hard scales. Its talons curved against the stone floor, long scratches carved into the rock from the beast’s determined digging. At its sides, giant, membranous wings were folded up, the talons at the apex of each hovering just by the beast’s shoulders. The tips - long and elegant, sharp at the points where the thin bones tapered off - bunched together like the stems of a bouquet, trailing out past its hips. And behind even that, a tail. Thick, long - designed both for the nimble turns the beast might need during flight, and for whipping into opponents with enough strength to break them. Crush their insides all at once.

Feyre hadn’t meant to gasp, but the fear of this dark creature, this nightmare, overwhelmed her. She retreated back around the the corner of the tunnel, praying the beast hadn’t sensed her. There was no way her arrow would be able to do anything against the beast, not unless she shot it in the eye, which from her angle would be near on impossible.

The beast let out a whine - pathetic for its size, really - but it didn’t move closer, didn’t growl at her for intruding into its area of her dream. So, slowly, Feyre peered out again, barely half her face visible.

The second look was when she noticed the blood.

Clouds outside had drifted enough that the moonlight shone down, reaching in through the gap in the rock, and it caused the silver blood to reflect and glow with the same power. The beast’s mouth and claws were soaked with the stuff, its shoulders weeping slowly from long scratches that had to have been reopened over and over again. Feyre wondered what could have caused such a thing. If the threat was still there with them both. If she should be looking behind her, rather than at this beast who couldn’t seem to care less at her intrusion.

But then the beast growled, low and wicked and guttural as it bared its teeth again at the open mouth of the cave. It lunged forward, throwing it’s whole shoulder against the opening. Feyre expected it to go tumbling out, but instead it hit a solid wall of air, forced to remain inside the cave even as it thrashed, clawing again and again at something that did not exist.

And yet it still remained trapped.

The silver dripped to the floor, some specks of it floating from where it was smeared against nothing.

And Feyre… she knew she should leave. Should turn around and run, but something called her forward instead. Pulled at her like a heartbeat, urging her closer and closer to the beast. Come see, it whispered. Come touch.

She was halfway toward the beast from her spot before she’d even realized she’d moved. She froze, expecting the beast to finally notice her, to growl and lash out at her instead. But it remained looking at the empty air, chest heaving from exhaustion. She took another step closer, then another, until she was in line with its head. And still, it didn’t notice her. She might as well have been as invisible as the barrier keeping it contained.

So she looked away, putting the beast from her mind to instead study the supposed barrier. There was nothing there, not to her. She couldn’t see even a glint of magic as she walked the length of it. Barely ten paces across and shaped like a crooked arrowhead, there should have been some hint of what kept the beast inside. The walls - the stone ones, that was - were fully silver from what must have been years of this fight, and the ground was rougher than it should have been. How deeply had the beast had carved into it? Was the reason for the sharp slope not water and erosion, but rather from years and years of pacing, of claws digging, hoping to get under the barrier? Feyre thought it cruel of herself to dream such a trap, to give the beast claws strong enough to shred stone, only for the beast to discover that the barrier went even deeper, into the very rock itself.

Feyre glanced at the beast. It still didn’t see her, so she ducked under its head to cross to the other side. Dream logic was strange that way - what had once been pure terror was nothing anymore, now that she knew it wouldn't hurt her. It wasn’t real. She controlled the dream, and the dream said the beast couldn’t see her. So what did it matter if she walked beneath its massive head, those wicked ivory fangs?

One of its feet was in her way, the claw on the end strong enough for Feyre to step on it as she continued to the other side. Double checking after the risk, she glanced at the beast. It remained looking at the expanse of forest outside, the moonlight shining down. Its heaving breaths had slowed as it recovered from its fight, but the gusts were still strong enough to send her hair dancing from where pieces had escaped where she’d tied it back.

Feyre could see a bog in the distance, mist rising up with chilling threat. She didn’t look for long, turning her attention back to the gleams of moonlight, of starlight, that speckled the air in front of her, slowly dripping down like rain on a window an hour after the storm had passed.

And then she reached out and touched it.

It didn’t feel like blood, tacky and sticky. It was slippery instead like oil. The way it coated her fingers reminded her of butter, the way it had coated her hands the last time she’d helped Elain knead some bread dough. And it was cold, the first bit of chill she’d felt in this dream other than that drip of water that had landed on her head. The kind of cold one could only experience in the dead of night, or in the space between stars.

Feyre looked back outside, absently wiping her hand on her pants to try and clean it of the sensation. But the feeling didn’t go away, and when she looked again, Feyre saw that it still stained her fingers. Had sunk it like a dye, and that none of it had wiped off onto her clothes at all. Frantically, she tried wiping it off again, but nothing changed. Her fingers were still silver at the tips, shining when the moonlight hit them just right.

In that moment of horrified silence, Feyre realized something else - the beast was no longer breathing. She felt the gaze of something on her back, a predator focusing on its prey, and when she slowly turned around, she realized the beast could see her at last.

Its violet gaze was focused unerringly on her - deep purple pits that seemed to pull her in and hold her captive. This wasn’t something she could fight, not anymore. Even trying to put an arrow through that beautiful eye would do nothing, not when she was too close to even draw it in time before the beast could snatch her up in those jaws. Swallow her whole.

Feyre backed up, her body hitting the cave wall within seconds. The rock dug uncomfortably into her spine, and if she were awake, she wouldn’t doubt the bruise that was surely already forming. The beast lowered its head in line with her own height, and then snaked it forward on its long neck. Its mouth parted, revealing those vicious fangs again.

It was pointless to resist, to try and stop it, but Feyre still put her hand out between them, as if she might be strong enough to keep the beast away or turn its chin aside. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her own face away. Wake up, she told herself. Wake up!

Smooth, chilled scales brushed her palm. Feyre flinched, expecting the worst, but nothing else happened. When she dared crack her eyes open to see what the beast was doing, she saw it was squinting at her, eyes almost all the way shut as if it was a cat enjoying a patch of sunlight. It breathed deep, scenting her as something deep in its chest rumbled like a purr.

It opened its eyes again, meeting Feyre’s with an almost human-like focus. It was intelligent, this beast. It knew her somehow, and apparently had no intention of harming her at all. Curious, she twitched her fingers against it, nails catching on the edges of the fine scales there. That purr came again.

Then, down the hall, footsteps. Both Feyre and the beast looked toward it, the beast growling at the threat.

Before Feyre could see what it was that approached, she was yanked out of the dream at last, and awoke.

#acotar gift exchange #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #acotar fic #bela writes #flicker!fic

[angelfoodcake222]

I'm back on my LMK x Hurt!Reader kick!!! Yippee!

"How would these characters react to their friend or S/O, Y/N, coming home after a big fight that made them temporarily forget about a prescheduled meet-up at their (Y/N's) place?" &/or something to that effect. Here's what I have for Mei, Pigsy, Tang, & Sandy.

TW: The reader [that's you] gets into a big fight. Mentions of combat, blood, violence, & bandaging/suturing (like that big, curved needle & all that). Comfort at the end of each.

A/N (Author's Note): I'm labeling this as NSFW as it is dealing with violent elements. I'll make a traditional NSFW version if this one gets some traction via likes & comments. Since there is often a lot to read in one sitting, I'll sever this up to a select few for now. even with the splitting, it is still a fair bit to read. On with the reading, enjoy.

🐉Mei Dragon

>She was so excited about some one-on-one time with you, finally!

>She had set things up to the nines for you; favorite snacks, drinks, fast-paced racing games & movies, karaoke, you name it.

>She was in her cozy PJs, snug on a mound of pillows & blankets that looked like a dragon lover's dream collection (she contributed a few things as you asked her to let you do you, "earn them yourself" as you put it).

>She agreed so long as she got to gift you some things on special yearly occasions; birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, etc. You can bet your bottom dollar that each & every single gift she got you fits you to a T. To the point where it's nearly uncanny that you'd gotten used to it quicker than you thought you would.

>Just as she reclined to stretch out on the cozy hill she heard the door to your apartment swing open against the dense drywall followed by a hard thud generously seasoned with curses in your voice.

>She felt a pit in her stomach, suddenly forgetting her want to stretch, slipping & sliding in her plushie dragon slippers to the source of the pained grunts to find you on the linoleum part of your doorstep.

>Your torn, tattered shirt did little to stop your essence from oozing onto the generic tile below you that acted as a mini-mudroom of sorts. Your jeans shared the same fate with your shoes soaked like the floor mixed with once-stagnant water.

>Mei was seething at the damage to your body & your favorite wardrobe choices as they were gifts from her, gifts you had been maintaining near-religiously.

>You loved those threads, too. You even scrounged to buy her a matching set that was safe in her room at her family's home.

>"Who did this to you, bestie!?" "Gimme a name, a face, license plate, I'll teach 'em to mess with you!"

>Your low chuckle surprises her until she spots the dark markings on your knuckles & knees. You fought back, brutally from what she could tell, too.

>"Don't worry, Mei Mei, I handled them well enough. They won't be giving me any more trouble anytime soon. Mind helping me to the bathroom to patch up?"

>Your smile is crimson, gums ooze, but you move your tongue over your side-front teeth as if to free something from between them. Had you taken a bite out of one of your attackers? Probably.

>That's a question for later.

>As you asked, she aided you to the bathroom. All the moving & stretching caused by said movements began releasing more of your life's essence, staining the wood-themed vinyl as you both shuffled to the small bathroom where you had stashed a massive first aid kit in. The kind medics would pack with them.

>Your hand shuffled through the open kit once you were seated on the closed toilet's top as Mei fidgeted in the doorway a mere three feet from you.

>"Those are some deep wounds..." She mused aloud, cringing when you pulled a suture needle out, its curved sturdy form shining in the dim light overhead.

>"That's why I got this." You spy her flinch in your periphery.

>"It's okay if you don't want to be present for this part, Mei Mei. You can step out if you'd like." She frowns pitifully.

>She wants to be there for you to help with your injuries. Holding the kit open for your convenience at the very least, but she just felt so uncomfortable around needles of nearly any kind. She doesn't know why & you never pressed for a reason.

>Once you calm her down, she agrees to step out & close the door dejectedly behind her.

>She nearly slipped on some drops of red that pooled under your foot when she was fighting with the weirdly shaped door handle.

>That's dangerous! You could slip & reopen your freshly stitched wounds! Not on her watch!

>Your robe, a usually soft & comfortable garb, felt different from your hides as you carefully tied it. The soft fabric snagged on the fresh stitches & raw wounds that simply needed to be cleaned. You would have bandaged them to hasten the healing process, but you had forgotten to restock that aspect in your arsenal of medical aids.

>Honestly, you blame the treats you passed by & began ogling on an empty stomach on your way to the pharmacy.

>Aching & fatigued, you limp to the door but stop at the smell of cleaning products.

>She had cleaned the whole apartment in the time it took you to join your severed skins back together. She was walking out with an emptied bucket adorned with an old rag & other scrubbing tools.

>A soft tilt of your head was all the "Thank You" she needed.

>You helped put the supplies away & together you both eased into the mound to enjoy the setup Mei had made up for you.

>Soon enough, your eyes drifted down seemingly with gravity hauling your lids over your eyes.

>Slumber came swiftly.

>While you rested, Mei paused her half of the game your character would have nearly crashed in if she hadn't put her avatar between yours & the obstacle right as she paused.

>With as light of a touch as she could muster, she pulls the fluffiest blanket over you to tuck you in. Good & cozy.

>With that, she began her research.

>She had faith & trust in your brawling abilities, she promises she does & you believe her, but she just couldn't let this go without having some tabs on whoever hurt you. Just to be safe.

>As much as she hates to admit it, she was happy to be able to see the imprint of one jerk's insignia ring that was left on your forehead.

>Tracking that scumbag & his buddies shouldn't take much time at all...

🐷 Pigsy

>He sat patiently in your kitchen, watching the pot's lid rattle with trapped steam as the dumplings cooked.

>You had both agreed to watch the Chang'e Cooking marathon you had both been excited to watch for over three months now.

>It took a little time to convince him, but he agreed on the condition that you cooked together while watching the countdown to the marathon's start.

>You agreed.

>Unlike the others who set up mountains of fabrics & pillows galore, he set up something simple: a couple of blankets, some pillows, healthy little snacks to follow the meal you were both going to make, that's it.

>He had stood up to check the noodles & dumplings when you staggered in, once-bagged groceries cradled in a gifted/found basket under your less bandaged arm before noticing your friend standing in your open kitchen.

>You thought back quickly to that scene in the park half an hour ago leading to your home, when some punks were picking on some unfortunate granny & her friends.

>How could you just walk away & turn a blind eye to such an attrocious act of disrespect & inhumanity!?

>The battle was gruesome, to put it lightly, but the Granny Squad managed to ban together & help you.

>One of the ladies gifted you her recently emptied sweets basket & head scarf to hold everything together after helping you wash the goods off with a nearby hose. Once that was taken care of, they focused on you & on as much as they could help you with (which was quite a lot).

>With cleaned ingredients in your arms, you thank the ladies fervently & dash off to put the items into proper storage.

>"Aw, noodles! The marathon!" You grit through blood-stained teeth as Pigsy blinks.

>He looks like he's stuck between shocked, confused, worried & upset.

>The countdown showed that there were still a couple hours left before the show started, so you looked to the boar in your kitchen sheepishly before shifting the tucked container to holding the covered basket of goods.

"Sorry about the ingredients, I tried to clean them as best as I could..."

>You tried to explain before he shook his head.

>Carefully, without causing any extra discomfort for you, he took the ingrediants & set them onto the countertop.

>One thing you've learned about your friend in the past few years of knowing him is that he may act all big & menacing, but he's arguably the sweetest guy you've known (Right by Tang & MK, of course).

>You thank him & scurry to your bathroom to properly clean up & bandage yourself with the added maintanance of your teeth so you could properly enjoy the meal undoubtedly leading to a taste sensation.

>When you step out to the living room, you're treated to Pigsy setting the last tray of food onto the coffee/tea table with a low grunt.

>For the remaining hour you two sat on the sofa, he bandaged the spots you couldn't reach for one reason or another, shared the dumplings & snacks, & conversed over your favorite Chang'e recipes, all drizzled with him telling you to be more careful on your way home from now on.

>With the finished meals' plates & utenciles cleaned of food & settled into the deep kitchen sink, you all bandaged up, the pair of you slouch into the couch, watching the last few minutes of the countdown tick by in comfortable silence.

"Hey, Pigsy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"No problem, Y/N."

>With that, the marathon began & was theroughly enjoyed.

👨🏻‍🏫 Tang

>You wanted to understand JTTW in-depth, you truly did, but your brain wouldn't let you. Tang to the rescue... Sort of.

>Name the type of Monkey King media available to the public & then some & you've barely scratched the surface of what Tang packed to your appartment with a little help from MK who had to leave for FFM.

>He hadn't done anything to set up your living room in any sort of special way aside from the merchandise & historical items.

>Okay, he got some Pigsy's take out to nibble on throughout the session.

>He even remembered your favorites!

>He just set the last "historically acurate" figurine & its stand onto the coffee/tea table when you groaned through your front door.

>You had stopped by a local supply shop for an ample amount of note taking material, just knowing how Tang was going to get once he got really into his favorite work & figure.

>Simple, mundane, task.

>Notebooks of favored rule (college rule or Wide rule, dotted & gridded paper is also an option), colored pens/pencils of your choosing, Monkey King stickers for Tang ranging from plain to shiny to puffy as a 'thank you' coupled with a Mankey Cop cap to wear whenever he pleased, & some drinks to go with the food he most likely sweet-talked out of Pigsy.

>You were nearly half way home when some ruffians jumped you to snatch the selectively academic & fandom items from you.

>They were most likely trying to steal your large totebag (labeled with "bookworm" in cutesy stenciled characters you had done with MK not too long ago) for the items within it to price gouge the merchandise in person or online, chug the drinks, even misusing the writing materials.

>The fight took a lot out of you, tore your bag & clothes, even saw you getting cut by one of the broken drink bottles when you tripped.

>You still managed to save the rest of the drinks but they partially stained the cap & your notebooks.

>Serves you right (affectionatly) for picking a brand that didn't wrap their product in the same wrapping your pens/pencils & stickers were protectively cloaked in.

>You had to coddle the items in your cut up arms like a baby, your wounds seemingly throbbing into a dull ache when you spotted Tang kneeling next to the figurine of a midflight Monkey King on his Cloud, staff in hand/paw.

>Despite your carrying two or three reminders of your preagreed plans, your focus was rattled about until you turned to settle your tattered bag onto the sofa in your living space.

>He was just as frozen as you were, both standing a few feet from the other.

"Uhm... *clicks tongue awkwardly* Imma go bathe & patch myself up. If you still wanna do this, you can stay. If not, I'll help you pack up once I'm done. Okay?"

>Tang nods nervously, glancing over your battered form & tote before you lurch to your bathroom.

>You were so busy cleaning yourself & clothing your injuries in the stock of medical items that you didn't notice Tang busying himself in the living room: Stitching your bag's edges back together, touching up the character with a marker near the same color group as best as he could, drying the pages of your notebooks with a hairdryer you had forgotten in your nightbag you had left in your living room that you said you'd pick up & put away days ago.

>You stagger out with a sigh to see Tang trying his best to save your sullied materials, seemingly not noticing that the drinks, stickers, or the cap was for him & not for you.

>You quietly watch his back as he mumbled to himself about worrying over your safety, how he'd learn to bandage your wounds whenever you needed, how he'd never let you walk alone again as he would guide you down the safest streets & paths he takes daily, even learning basic self defence to at least grant you a little back up when you needed it.

>Your tired eyes drift about, over the messily stitched up bag, the pencils/pens sitting in their case on the table beside the rest of the items, all surrounding Tang who was a little too focused on not burning your book's pages with the blowdryer.

>Strange how the rainbow of writing items stood out so starkly against the reds & golds that seemingly engulfed his emediate space.

>Without holding it back, you give a soft giggle which startles him into turning your way.

>He accadentilly blasted the dryer's air straight under his face in turning to you causing his hair to tussle wildly over his fogged glasses, earning another giggle from you.

"I- your things were a little beaten up &- well, they neede dto be fixed so you could learn- &- &-."

>Stammering is all he can do at the moment until you boop him from his sitting position as you now stood languidly beside him.

"Tangy, breathe. It's all good."

>He smiles in relief before glancing over the table with a now calmed gaze.

"Is that a Monkey Cop cap!? With the real badge & everything!?"

>He procedes to ramble happily, occasionally looking to you to see if you were listening to him speak before continueing on.

>You peacfully watched his adorable rambling expressions, quitly taking mental notes on whatever you could snag from the 100 mph info dumping.

>Not long after you both finish your meals (A task that took a while as you needed to cease his fanboying longenough to actually eat), you both sat on the sofa watching a SWK action movie of some kind he had picked out for you.

>The movie was good despite the overly amped up sfx & horribly down played dialog audio, though that's most action movies that you're aware of.

>Snoring catches your drowzy attention as you peek down to your side where Tang had slumped over the opposite arm of the couch, fast asleep.

>Knowing he gets enough back pain hunching over a study desk, you stand & lay him onto thsofa in a more comfortable position while removing his glasses to set them on the side table.

>Good thing you had plenty of lap blankets around for him. Pillows, too.

>Kneeling beside the snoring man, you can't help but tuck the blanket in to create a cozy setting for him.

>You'll have to reschedule the study session for later.

>For now, a light snooze sitting up by Tang would do your eyes some good.

Here it is! I haven't picked who I'm writing for next but I'll try to think of someone later. I hope you enjoyed & have a lovely day/night!

#lmk x reader #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk mei #Pigsy #Tang #Mei Dragon

[clytemnaestraes]

Catelyn, Arya, and Alyssa Arryn: unshed tears + weeping statues symbolism

The half-mythic, half-ancestral figure of Alyssa Arryn furthers themes connecting Catelyn and her daughters (Arya in particular) and grief.

Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died. 

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Alyssa was cursed by the gods because she did not grieve/weep for her family. Catelyn wants the war to be over so that she can weep for her family and grieve her losses.

I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."

Catelyn XI, AGOT

She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all... a day... an hour...

Catelyn II, ACOK

However, she can't, because she's emotionally exhausted and burdened by her duties, and because she thinks she has to be strong for the sake of Robb.

Does he see Bran and Rickon as well? She might have wept, but there were no tears left in her.

Catelyn III, ASOS

Six Brave men had died to bring her this far, and yet she could not even find it in her to weep for them.

Catelyn VI, AGOT

The parallel between Catelyn and Alyssa is furthered when Bronn breaks the statue of Alyssa during the duel and subsequently uses it to pin his opponent to the ground and kill him, thus shattering Catelyn’s hopes of justice.

The Eyrie's plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Jon Arryn's beautifully engraved silver sword glanced off the marble of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the states back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser vardis Egen went down beneath her.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Catelyn dies in ASOS and is resurrected as a vengeful, inhuman fire wight, Lady Stoneheart. Lady Stoneheart demands vengeance, but that's not the true route to rest for Catelyn’s soul. In order for it to rest in peace, Catelyn needs to grieve her dead family members properly. She needs to let her tears fall. Mother Merciless needs Mercy. It has been theorised that her path will intersect with Arya's for this reason.

Art by Nejna on devianart

There are several passages in the books connecting Arya in Braavos to weeping statues of stone, unshed tears, and Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart.

Arya and Cat/Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart:

Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do.

Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought.

Mercy, TWOW

Arya thinks cats are grey, and cats do not weep, paralleling the symbolism surrounding Lady Stoneheart.

Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart.

Brienne VIII, AFFC

Arya and unshed tears:

Some nights she might have cried herself to sleep if she had still been Arry or Weasel or Cat, or even Arya of House Stark… but no one had no tears.

The Blind Girl, ADWD

Arya and Weeping statues:

I am carved of stone, she reminded herself. I am a statue.

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

The nearest was a marble woman twelve feet tall. Real tears were trickling from her eyes, to fill the bowl she cradled in her arms. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw.

Arya I, AFFC

The statue outside the shrine of the Weeping Lady of Lys was crying silver tears as the ugly girl walked by.  

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

It can be fairly reasoned that Arya and Lady Stoneheart's paths will intersect at some point. She is the Mercy to her Mother Merciless.

#arya stark #catelyn stark #asoiaf #alyssa arryn #lady stoneheart #cat of the canals #catelynisms #aryaisms #asoiaf character parallels #alyssa's tears

[amaretigris]

The Sea Witch's Curse

A/n: Sooo guess who started a new Prince Eric series despite already having several ongoing writing projects 😬👋 It's kind of a mix between The Little Mermaid and Pirates of the Caribbean vibe 😎 Enjoy! 💙

Taglist: @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @hopeisrising @justagirlthatlovedtoread @mylittlemermaid221

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Ch. 1 | 2.2k words | Angst

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The sun beat down on you. You felt its harsh rays whipping across your skin. Any longer out here and you'd be a fish filet. You swallowed, feeling a desperate dryness in your mouth. Was this what it was like to be thirsty? You'd never experienced the sensation before. It was awful, the constant clawing at your throat. Your tongue darted out, struggling to wet your cracked and peeling lips. The surface of the rock was starting to sear your skin, but you had no choice but to stay put. Dehydrated and delusional, you knew that you wouldn't make it far if you tried to swim.

Letting your head fall back face down on your forearm, you wondered if you would die here. Stranded on this godforsaken rock. You were a princess. One of King Triton's daughters. But look at you now, left to cook out in the blazing sun.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you waited to die. You waited to breathe your last breath. That was also new. You found it ironic that you wanted these new experiences to stop so soon.

A large, mahogany ship bow ripped through the water by your side, startling you so that you almost fell off the rock. Clinging to it for dear life, your feet scrambled away from the water. Looking up at the monstrous vessel before you, you saw several crewmen leaning over the side.

The men were hollering and whistling in your direction; completely incoherent words to your dazed mind. Soon, they threw a rope. When you didn't move to catch it, watching it slap the rock beside you, the men hollered more, and pulled the rope back in to give it another try.

This time, understanding what they expected of you, you weakly extended your arm to catch the lifeline. You hissed as it slapped your already tender skin. Nonetheless, you wrapped it around your wrist, gradually working it up your arm. It was a slow process. You were barely clinging to life as it was. The crewmen noticed your struggle, and turned from the side of the ship to yell behind them. Again, incoherent words to your ears rushing with blood.

You startled again when something large flew off the ship, diving in the water right beside you. A man surfaced, shaking the salt water from his hair. He briefly met your eyes before he swam up to you.

"M'lady, don't think me rude, but I'm going to hoist you up," he spoke gruffly.

You felt an arm slither around your waist beneath the water line. You only had a split second to look down before you were being lifted. The crewmen began pulling the two of you up the side of the ship.

Feeling yourself go almost completely limp from exhaustion, you let the stranger ease you up. You suddenly heard crewmen's voices so loud and close that it made your ears ring. Your vision was splotchy as you lost consciousness.

The crew had run to grab your arms, helping Eric ease you onto the vessel. Eric had barely stepped on board before he swooped up your slouched form from his men, carrying you to the Captain's Quarters. Your head lolled against his shoulder.

"But...Captain! Eric!" Grimsby shouted.

Eric didn't even glance back. He replied over his shoulder.

"I don't want to hear it. No one will touch her," he commanded.

Kicking open the door to his quarters, he ripped his sheets back before gingerly laying you down in his bed. He pulled the covers to your neck, hiding your naked form. He hadn't even peeked a glance at your body. Your life was in danger. Now was not the time for such barbaric things.

Eric stared at your face for a moment, reaching up to touch the backs of his fingers to your red cheek. Your skin was scorching to the touch. Walking over to his desk, Eric pulled out the jar of aloe he'd traded for on the islands. He then opened his personal canister of water, pouring it into a glass that was left on the side of his desk. He scribbled a quick note, set it with the water and aloe on the bedside table, and gave your sleeping figure one last once-over before he left his quarters, locking the doors behind him.

Only he had the key to his quarters, which he kept on him at all times. Sure, most of his men were trustworthy, but they were pirates, after all. He wouldn't risk anything happening to the maiden who'd washed up.

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Your body eased from side to side. The sensation was familiar and relaxing - like riding the current. Only when you began swaying faster, and got thrown to one side so hard that you almost toppled off the bed, did you finally jolt from your slumber. Sitting up, clutching the sheet to your chest, your eyes blinked into focus in the dim light of the cabin. There were a couple of lanterns in the space that gave off an ethereal glow. The rest of the light shown in from the bow window behind the four poster bed.

The modestly sized quarters held a small desk and chair to the side of the bed, and a table in the middle of the room. The table was also accompanied with a single chair. The only other furniture that you spotted in the corner was a bookshelf. It was at full capacity. No other books could possibly be squeezed on it, which is why, you surmised, that books had started to pile on the floor beside the desk. The room and furnishings looked regal, almost reminding you of a prince's chambers.

Settling your gaze on the bedside table, you saw the jar of aloe and the cup. There was a piece of paper beneath it. You held up the paper, but the markings on it made no sense to you. You had never been taught how to read human writing. Your father could read human writing, but he had strictly forbade anyone in his kingdom, including his daughters, from engaging in any remotely human activity after your mother. You had never questioned it.

Letting the paper fall to the floor, your eyes went back to the cup. Your throat was incredibly dry and sore. It felt as if razor blades had taken up residence in it. Frantically grabbing the cup, you hoped this water would help.

During your ascension to the surface, you'd immediately felt how dry your throat was. When you swallowed ocean water, however, you rose to the surface, coughing and sputtering. You didn't know why the ocean water couldn't quench your thirst, but as you chugged the whole glass of this water in one big swallow, you licked your lips, hoping to catch any remaining droplets. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand then, your eyes landed on a splash of blue in the room.

It was a dress or a slip, by the looks of it. You only knew this because you'd seen drawings of them on women from shipwrecks before, and your mother had talked about making you beautiful dresses when you grew up. Letters, drawings, and random belongings all sunk to the bottom of the ocean after the seas claimed more human lives. Your mother was a bit of a scavenger among the wrecks before everything happened.

Shaking that thought from your head, you looked down at your naked form, pulling the sheet away so that it was no longer impeding your view. You needed to cover yourself; you knew that much. Pushing the covers the rest of the way down your legs and kicking them off your feet, you stared at the new limbs.

"So these are legs," you thought to yourself.

"They can actually move independently of each other. Impressive," you felt a smirk form on your lips.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you shakily set your feet on the floor, and pushed yourself to stand. It took a minute for you to stabilize yourself, and you were very wobbly, but you managed to take three hurried steps to the desk. Breathing a sigh of relief when you latched onto the structure to steady yourself, you kept one hand on the edge, while the other reached out to grab the garment. Bringing it to your chest and slowly releasing your tight grip from the desk, you still leaned your bottom against it while you slid your arms in the article of clothing. Pulling it down as far as it would go on your front, you pulled your chest length, (h/c) hair out of the neckline.

Taking your time, you began working your way around the corner where you assumed the door was, steadying yourself on the wall once you reached it. It took a few minutes, but you managed to walk up to the door. Grabbing the handle, you twisted. When the door didn't budge, you tried pulling. Turning your head to the side, you examined it. This was a door. You were sure of it. And doors opened. You just had to figure out how. Your eyes landed on the lock, and as you reached to turn it, you heard a click.

Ahh, there we go.

You wrenched the door open and the bright sunlight immediately blinded you. Holding your arm up to block it, you cautiously stepped out to hold onto the railing that was two feet in front of you. Seeing moving bodies all over the deck, you took a moment to examine them.

Sailors. Men. All of them.

The realization sent a shiver down your spine. You'd heard plenty of stories about what sailors did to mermaids if they caught them or heard their siren song. You determined right then and there that you'd make no such mistake.

You stood there for what seemed like a lifetime, watching the men squabble with one another as they performed their duties, spitting off the side of the ship. What were they spitting?

You weren't sure how long you'd been standing there before a familiar face came into your view. You hadn't gotten a good look at your savior earlier, but you recognized the jet black curls. He was the only one on board with such beautiful hair. Bristling at that thought and watching him flit about the ship, speaking softly to the crew and breaking up a couple of squabbles, your skin erupted in goosebumps when his eyes landed on you. His eyes were a bright, calming blue. And though he had dirt on his face, you thought him quite handsome.

Setting his face to an impassive expression, the man approached you. Walking up the stairs with his hand on the wooden railing, he watched you carefully. You felt like you'd been caught in a trap, the way his eyes pierced yours.

The man came to stand just out of arm's reach before you. He broke the silence, speaking calmly.

"You're awake. How do you feel?"

His gaze raked up and down your form, waiting for your answer.

You shook your head. When he furrowed his brow, you shook your head again, and motioned to your throat.

"You don't speak?"

He cast a sideways glance at you.

You shook your head vehemently at that. You weren't sure you ever wanted these men to hear your voice. You were afraid of what they'd do to you if they did.

"Oh," he whispered.

The two of you examined each other for a moment.

"Well, no matter. Did you drink the water?"

You nodded. Yes, it was delicious. You wanted to ask for more, but you held yourself back from doing so.

"Did you use the aloe?"

You quirked a brow at him, not understanding this question. At your expression, the man chuckled.

"Aloe. It's what's in the jar on the bedside table. I left you a note to use it. You rub it on your skin. It helps soothe sunburn," the man motioned to your arms.

You looked down, piecing the puzzle together. Shit, that's what that was? You'd do anything to help ease your searing skin right about now.

When you looked back up at him, the man shrugged.

"I'll leave it in my quarters for you to use when you want."

He paused briefly.

"My name is Eric. I- I was going to ask you what your name is, but since you can't speak," Eric let his hand wave in the air.

"It's not important, I suppose. You've been through a lot, are you feeling well?"

The question caught you off guard.

Pursing your lips in thought for a second, you shrugged.

Eric chuckled again.

"Well, whatever you need, you only have to ask. I mean, communicate with me somehow. Point, maybe?"

Eric lifted his eyebrows quizzically.

His expression brought a hint of a smile to your lips.

"Welcome to our ship. This is the Cassiopeia. It's named after the constellation, if you didn't know. Most people don't," Eric sighed.

"I am sorry that unfortunate circumstances led you here, but we are stopping on an island today. It's Corsica, if you know of it. You may exit our vessel there, or continue on with us. The choice is yours, though I would recommend the island. This ship, as magnificent as she is, can feel a little crowded sometimes," he flattened his lips and lifted the corners of his mouth in a half smile.

You didn't read happiness from his expression though.

#jonah hauer king #the little mermaid 2023 #prince eric #prince eric imagine #prince eric x reader #prince eric fanfiction #prince eric smut #my stuff #prince eric x y/n #prince eric x fem!reader #prince eric x you

[trytofic]

I said I would write it and I did it gdi! @wr-n posted a few prompts that I reblogged here and I was dying to write it! Soooo I hope you enjoy Dust and his new Bitty friend. I didnt know which sans to make the Bitty so I kind of just went with my gut and I chose science sans? Weither or no its what they orginally thought of when Dust got a Bitty, I don't know cause I'm an anxious little bean, who was scared to ask...

With Magic sparking and his laughter getting louder, resident left in Snowden could see Dust LV was wreaking havoc on not only his mental state, but everything around him. Buildings were crumbling or caught on fire. The smell of dust and smoke filled the air and the trees also started to light. The wind blew his scarf, and he could feel his shoulders tremble with the cold and his excitement. With twitching fingers, he began to search for more. 

Killer and Horror were off in Waterfall, he could hear them telling jokes and laughing even at the distance he was at. He could hear faint cries for help, and he wanted to join them. His feet took him away from the town, until a familiar sound of a portal came from behind. Instead of Nightmare or Error, it was Dream, his head held high with a sense of morality that Dust no longer held.

“Of course it’s you, ya goodie two shoes.” Soon Ink and Blue came out of the portal, surveying the area with sadness and pity in their eyes. It wouldn’t do them any good here and now. Dust turned and they all grabbed their weapons, knowing a fight was to come. Of course, Dust’s fingers twitched in excitement and a foul grin crossed his face.

He flies forward with a bone construct in his hand and the three before him just away, Ink being the fastest to rebound and swung with his paintbrush. Swift movements between the two began to create even more destruction in the area, trees falling and one building roof began to fall apart. Even the ground under them was disrupted. 

“Stop all this chaos! Please, let us show you the good in the universe!” Dream began to try and convince Dust. He simply replied with a snap of his fingers and several Gaster-Blasters appeared.

“Let’s have some fun!”

The roar of the blasters drowns out his manic laughter and Dreams pleas to stop. Ink took the brunt of the damage, flying back several feet. Blue was lucky enough to dodge them, hammer in hand, charged at Dust. When Dust jumped back to dodge, Blue’s hammer had been quicker and connected with his ribs. It took the wind out of him and sent him flying into the nearest building.

Crashing through the wood, he landed into the counter of some building that he didn’t remember seeing in his universe. He could hear water bubbling and the sound of some kind of metal clanking. What was this place, a pet shop or something? Those were usually in Hotland. He groaned as he sat up and removed himself from in the counter. He felt something heavy on his neck and took in a deep breath. The weight was gone, and he slowly blinked his eyes, seeing wood and glass covering the floor and his lap. He brushed off the small stuff and attempted to stand. He was sure he had a fractured rib or two and he mentally cursed at that blue idiot.  Stumbling out of the building, a hand over his ribs, he hissed when he felt the bite of cold. 

“Took ya long enough!” He glanced up to see Killer hanging out of a tree, his hoodie nearly falling off his body and a few scuff marks on his face. “The big guy can only take so much! I already called Boss to get us out of here but Horror needs a break.”

“Right..” He let out a groan as he summoned some bones to separate Blue and Horror. He could feel the concern coming off of Killer when he jumped down from the tree. But that wasn’t important. What was important was getting H out of danger. Which thankfully he had when he caught Blue’s attention. 

Dust walked forward, attempting to ignore the pain in his chest, and called forward his blasters and a flurry of bones coming from the ground to try and make sure Blue was far away from Horror. But as the blasters shot, a golden barrier surrounded Blue. When his eyes met Dream’s he saw a strong glow coming from them and it pissed him off. He ran forward and knew he needed to throw Dream off to get that barrier down and he knew exactly how to do it.

“Getting power from the joy I feel when I cause chaos, huh Dream?” He shouted and summed a bone to his hand. His eyes wide and a grin widening. “I never thought you’d be a subscriber of schadenfreude! Welcome to the damn club!” The comments were enough for the barrier to flicker, and Dust took full advantage of it. He swung his attack, and the bone sent the guardian into a tree when it collided, leaving Blue open for another attack. When he swung down, Blue had blocked with his hammer and the two began to struggle for the upper hand. Dust breathing became labored, he felt as though there was a weight on the back of his neck and his magic was slowly draining. When he finally pulled back, he heard the cry of Dream and looked to find his Boss had finally made it.

Nightmare held dream by the throat with one of his tentacles, a large grin on his face. There stood some of the most powerful beings in the universe and they were beautiful to Dust. A strength of their own caliber and an elegance all Nightmares own. Blue ran towards Nightmare and Dream and Dust felt like he could barely stand anymore. His knees hitting the cold, snowy ground, and his vision blurring. He felt large warm hand on his shoulder, knowing it was Horror, he leaned into it and reveled in the safe feeling. Horror was sturdy as he lifted Dust into his arms.

He felt Horror’s breathing as he ran towards their escape route and could barely hear Killer and Nightmare speaking with one another. Dream must have been let go in order for them to get Dust back to the castle. His soul was aching at the weak display, but his chest was burning with pain. The last thing he heard before his vision went dark was Nightmare say, “We need to treat Dust immediately”.

When he woke up, he felt stiff. Everything hurt and his neck and chest hurt. Every move made Dust wish he were… well dust. He groaned as he opened his eyes. He could smell some food being made and he felt his weighted blanket on his legs, probably one of the most thoughtful gifts Killer has ever given him. He was propped up with pillows and he could feel the comfort of the castle’s aura and he knew he was safe. 

Looking around he saw his messy room, clothing on the floor, candy wrappers and chip bags, and books littered his floor. His room was never clean, but now it was an organized mess? Piles of everything rather than everything scattered around. That must have been H. He smiled to himself until he felt a weight on his neck. He went stiff when the weight began to move. It was around his neck, inside his scarf. Had someone snuck into the castle? Into his room? His hand quickly shot into the scarf and grabbed whatever the offending thing was.

Gripped in his hand was a small skeleton. He wore a white coat and red glasses that were taped to the side of his skull. Dusts hand began to shake. It was a Bitty. And it looked like Sci. His eyes began to flare as he stared at it. How long as it been on his scarf? How long was it in his home? How long had he and his lovers possibly been in danger? The questions made his magic boils, and it began to crackle in his hand, shocking the small creature in his grasp. He wasn’t happy with the little trespasser, and he was going to end him. 

His grip tightened and he could feel it shake. The Bitties eyes squeezed shut and it let out a gasp. It was so small and weak, easy to kill, EXP or no. It shook its head and the red glasses fell, trying to struggle their way out of Dust’s hand.

“You’re so helpless.” His voice came out scratchy and soft. But when he spoke the Bitties eyes glared up at Dust. Not only a look that had fear but bravery. Determination. It reminded Dust of his own struggle. The human. The anger he felt. The LV slowly growing in his mana lines. His grip began to loosen and the Bitty shook as it raised its glasses back to its eyes. He pressed down on the worn tape to make them to stick. When his magic began to calm down, he took a breath, burning ribs be damned.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a name?” The Bitty shook its head. “Can you even speak?” The Bitties eyes scrunched and he reached towards the collar of his turtleneck sweater and showed off a long scar that crossed from one side to the other. It was a pale pink color, old as if the Bitty had it for years.

“We both have scars then. They show that we’re survivors.” He lowered the Bitty onto his lap and rolled up his sleeve to show several deep gashes and pink faded scars, much like the Bitties. It covered their mouth as it stared at Dusts arm. “I’m sorry for scaring you… and almost dusting you. I was worried you were going to hurt us.”

The Bitty simply stared at Dust as it sat on his lap. It shivered and Dust placed his hand on his lap. 

“Can I give you a name?” The Bitty nodded his head as he crawled onto Dust’s hand. “I think I’ll name you Gwah. In my AU we spoke differently than everywhere else it feels… that’s the start to the word Science, which I think fits you, no?” The Bitty looked up at Dust and slowly nodded his head. “Do you prefer he/him?” The Bitty shook its head, letting out a loud huff. “Ah, they/them?” It nodded, this time with a smile.

“Good. Now, I’m still exhausted and I’m sure Horror will be done with food soon, so let’s sleep until then.” He lifted his hand up to his scarf and the Bitty quickly scrambled into the scarf, nuzzling his cheek against Dust’s neck. It tickled a little and he felt a little cold, but that might be because he tends to run warm. But as Gwah settled so did Dust and he was more than ready for a nap, even after doing so little.

#dust sans #implied bad sans poly #bitty au #gwahverse #undertale fanfiction

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Our apartment is through a management company. It's usually fine. The last several months, we've had issues with them 1) actually sending out maintenance, and 2) not fixing our fucking floor.

Our floor was put in during the Fall of 2022 after the fucking flood of June 2022. For the entire summer, we walked around on the original concrete floor of our renovated 100-year-old basement apartment.

Management company swore the problem was that the property owner was dragging his feet.

I'd met the property owner several times as he'd come to inspect the damage and understand what he needed to do as owner, since it would be his insurance covering things. I thought he was an asshole.

The new floor went in. We moved home. A few weeks later, I noticed a space between the boards in the kitchen. I debated calling the management company, then went, "I'm in no fucking mood" and threw a rug over it.

I'm not a professional, but I know bits and pieces of home shit. I figured, with the weather cooling, the vinyl boards were shifting a bit, and it'd either stay the same or just slip back together at some point.

And then the rest of the floor started buckling.

I put a maintenance request in. A guy came out, took one look at the floor, and went, "Oh, yeah, I know what's happening." He took photos. He pushed back together what boards he could, and he left.

Nothing for about a week, then a call. The owner wants to come out and look. I sighed and agreed. He came out and brought along his wife, the maintenance guy who'd come before, and our property management contact.

He was NOT PLEASED. His wife's job that day, very obviously to me, was to get my real impression of the management company while the owner asked some questions about why it was taking a week to even update me on next steps?

I told the wife, "We've never had a real problem with maintenance. Stuff's always gotten fixed."

"Have you needed it often?" she asked.

"Nope," I said because it was true.

When the whole apartment was getting torn up after the flood, the demo guy was 1) great and 2) informed me that all the finishes in the apartment were commonly used but also the high-end version. Yeah, they were all particle board and vinyl and what have you. But they were the top-notch versions of everything. I remembered thinking, "Wow, the dude who renovated this place gave a real shit."

We have not heard word one from anyone at the management company about our floor since around October. We have heard from the owner and his wife on a few occasions, calling to see if the next step of the plans had happened. Which is how I found out there were plans. Our contact at the management company (with 16 years experience, something she mentioned when she sent out her intro email at her hiring) had not given me any information.

A couple of weeks ago, our kitchen turned into a tiny swamp. There was water coming up through the fucked up floorboards. A pipe had frozen upstairs a couple of days before. There were four inches of glaze ice over everything.

We called the management company. We got an email back: "We are confirming with the owner how he wants to proceed."

I started cursing the owner's name up and down.

And then he showed up that night. In the ice and the snow. With it pouring sleet (literally pouring sleet). I thought he was being a control freak.

He looked at things, said, "I'll have to turn the water off." And then went upstairs to check on things there. He came back a few minutes later, needing to try and find the shut off. We couldn't locate it down here, either. He shut it off at the street, then took Sean out and showed him how to use the tool to turn it on and off.

"It's a very slow leak," he told us. "If you don't mind mopping up water when it comes up, you can turn the water on for short periods of time."

Two days with no water. The ice continued not to melt. I fell on the dog walk and slid into the side of a car (nothing serious). The owner showed up again when the roads were still barely passable. He had the leak fixed and the water back in by the end of the day. He apologized for the delay. He left the wall open so things could dry, and came back the next day to check things again.

He started to grow on me. He knows his shit. He works quietly. He tries to be as unobtrusive as possible. I sent my regards to his wife, for which he thanked me.

During these few days, I'm getting sporadic emails from the management company basically rehashing everything that had happened that day. Even though I'd heard him call them and explain things to them within half an hour of showing up each day.

So, they were in the loop.

And, yes, so were we.

But there's a way to do these things.

And acting like it's all brand new information to you when the email gets to me at six, after he's left again after apologizing for getting some mud on the floor because he's been in and out not only fixing the leak but also beating the shit out of the four inches of glaze ice with a shovel so he can clear the sidewalk for us. Which is one of those technical requirements that I don't expect of any owner or management company when it's below freezing multiple days in a row in a city where that does not happen regularly. Like, the official city policy during the weather was "please stay the fuck inside."

The contractors came to put the wall back together. The owner showed up to properly introduce them, then left them to it. They did good work as far as I could tell.

I've heard nothing from the management company for several days, and I continue to be very unimpressed by their current actions. Which is just additional unimpressed feelings since October when I got a call from the wife saying, "Did the contractor come out to measure?"

"Measure?"

"For the replacement floor."

"No, Ma'am," I said, not knowing until this phone call that a contractor had even been signed. "Last I heard anything was when the inspector came out."

"Did the company contact you about them?"

"Yes, but then the inspector didn't show the day he was supposed to, and we didn't hear why. He did show up a couple of days later."

The kind of pause you only get from a woman who knows how to use her powers for politeness, smoothing ruffled feathers, and fucking murdering someone. "I see. Okay. Thank you."

"I've worked on a lot of floors," the contractor told me yesterday as he wiped down all the places drywall dust and paste had gotten (everywhere; including the bottom of Bean's foot I discovered this morning). "You're definitely gonna need new floor where the leak was."

"Oh, yeah," I said, with a wave. "We need the whole thing replaced, actually. It's in work."

"Yeah, I noticed it was bubbling," the contractor says. "Not surprising. This is the cheapest vinyl floor you can get."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I've worked with the owner for years. I'm surprised he approved this."

About a week after the wife last called me, we got a letter in the mail from the owner. It read, in part:

...please copy us in all emails to the management company. We want to be fully aware when issues arise so they can be handled as quickly as possible...

Given all current evidence, I am beginning to suspect the problem was NOT the owner but the management company. As I have never worked in property management, I don't know who decides things like which flooring. However, having watched the owner over this last couple of weeks, I suspect the management company picked the flooring and the contractor to do it and the "dragging on" issue was the owner pushing for better quality.

I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that the owner was here today to paint the repaired wall and a strip of ceiling that has gone unfixed by the management company since before we told them the floor news.

I have been beyond happy with the speed of things with the owner in charge of repairs, and I've come to appreciate his dedication to keeping our place in good kit. He is proud of this place and wants it to show. He wants high-quality and good craftsmanship.

He also ended up not painting because the ceiling repair doesn't have the right texture when the lights are off. He is coming back tomorrow morning with the contractor so it gets done to his liking. "It can be difficult to match the texture of sheet rock," he told me. Having watched him work these past couple of weeks, I know he wants it done to a high standard that I appreciate as the tenant.

On the other hand. What an asshole.

#story time #long post #the repair saga

[saltydumplings]

Hi!! You wrote it ages ago but would you consider continuing snippet 2?? It was great, I loved it!!!

Snippet #2.1

Part 1

Oh my god, y'all remember Snippet Two?! HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME FEEL ALL FUZZY INSIDE-- I'M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE!!

If the hero would not look after themself willingly, then the villain would force them to.

Mind control was not a power they were overly fond of having. Indeed, sometimes even for them - a villain, whose morals were admittedly a little on the more questionable side of things - the idea of using it just seemed wrong. Invasive. For that reason, they only tended to use it in moments of desperation, and when they'd seen the hero approaching them looking every bit dead upon their feet, as though the whole weight of the world was pressing down upon their back, the villain had been more desperate than ever.

The first thing they did was force the hero to slip into a deep sleep, not moving until they were convinced the other was completely under their influence before picking them up and carrying them all the way back to their lair. There they laid them down upon their sofa, briefly waking them to ask if they were hungry. The hero said yes. The villain only kept them awake a while longer to take note of any allergies or dietary preferences before letting them rest once more, making them a simple sandwich with a side of fruit and setting it down upon the counter. With a mere thought, the hero was awake again and coming to sit down at the place they'd set - the villain hovering over them for a moment to ensure they weren't about to collapse until finally coming to sit opposite them.

"Eat as much of it as you feel you can manage," the villain directed. "You should also drink some of that water, but don't force yourself if you don't think you can stomach it."

The hero's gaze was vacant as they stared back at them for a second and then down at their food. First they took a small sip of water, hands shaking slightly but other than that they managed just fine. Then they started to eat.

It was a slow process - the hero's bites were small and they took a long time to chew and swallow. When they pushed the plate forward to indicate they were finished it was still half full, though they'd at least drank the entirety of the glass of water. It still troubled the villain though - they'd hoped the hero would have eaten far more than that but they really didn't want to force them: the hero couldn't lie when they were under their influence; if the hero was saying they didn't want to eat more then the villain would respect that.

Still, it prompted them to ask a few questions.

"How many meals would you say you eat on an average day?"

The hero stared down at the table, their face void of any expression or feeling.

"Two," they answered. "I tend to skip breakfast, sometimes lunch too."

"And how many hours a day would you say you spend working?"

"Fourteen."

The villain sucked in a breath, internally cursing themself for not having intervened sooner.

"How many days a week?" they asked.

"Every day," the hero responded.

"You have no days off?"

The hero simply shook their head. "Only if I've sustained major injuries."

"And what counts as a 'major injury'?"

"Broken bones. Severe internal bleeding. Severe head trauma. Third-Degree bur--"

The villain paused them there, getting enough of an idea to continue forwards.

"How many hours of sleep would you say you get per night?" was their next question.

A beat of silence passed, the hero considering it slowly.

"Anywhere between three to five hours," they settled on eventually.

It made the villain sick to their stomach - all of it: whoever had let this happen was a monster with no care for anything but the amount of money in their pockets. The hero should have put a stop to it themself a long time ago but the villain also knew that they wouldn't have had the heart to; that if they got the chance they would always choose the people over themself no matter what. Stubborn, selfless, idiot... The hero had been working themself towards the point of breaking.

But the villain was here now. They would look after them, and they would help them recover. And they would never let this happen to their hero again.

"Is there anything else you need?"

The hero blinked slowly and the villain felt the tiniest pull of resistance from them - a small tug at the back of their mind.

"I need to work," they said. "I should be working - I need to work."

"No," the villain said. "The last thing you need to do is work."

For a second the hero seemed confused, then their expression turned vacant once more. "I need to sleep. I'm tired."

Now that was something the villain could agree to. They stood and made their way over to the hero, carefully picking them up from their seat and taking them down a set of corridors to their bedroom. There the villain helped them out of their shoes and cape and convinced them to lie down. As soon as the hero's head hit the pillow their eyes drooped, slowly closing shut as the villain carded a hand through their hair, lulling them into a much needed sleep. After a while, the villain came to lie beside them. They did it slowly - eyes tracing the movement of the hero's chest rising up and down as they gradually retracted their hold upon the other's mind, their influence thinning out until it was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

It had been a while since the villain had held someone under their control for that long...

The weariness set in immediately, the toll of using their power in such a sudden, intense, burst left them feeling numb - arms as good as lead, they felt their entire body relax, no longer pulled taut over the tension that their own power caused. A little clumsily they reached out for the hero beside them and pulled them closer ever so slightly, letting their chin rest upon the other's head as they too shut their eyes.

When the hero eventually awoke, the villain would need every fibre of the power within them to convince the other to stay.

#writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain #hero x villain #hero #villain

[jayjaymorgan]

RexWalker Week - Day 1, Sith!au

Author’s Note : This fic is a part of a series me and @farkmagic came up with and are still working on. Please remember that English isn't my native language, so there might be some mistakes and stuff. I hope you all like it, have a great day/night!

Taglist : @rexwalker-week

TW : cursing, description of injuries

The bridge shook with yet another explosion, kicking up clouds of volcanic dust and smoke, that choked the sky and blinded them temporarily. Coughing and blinking the tears out of their eyes, the Bad Batch did their best not to breathe in the toxic fumes as they pressed on, cutting down the droids where they stood. Rex stopped to adjust his helmet, kicking the filters into overdrive, while doing his best to suppress his coughing as the ventilators whirred to life. “You okay?” Omega asked, voice strained, glancing at her older brother, her worry palatable through her visor. “...’m fine.” he nodded, before clearing his throat and glancing around at the hellish landscape of the planet Mustafar. “We need to keep going. Come on.” He gripped his blasters tightly and jogged after the rest of the team, with Omega following close behind him, her bow at the ready. The small crew of seven pressed on, pushing forward through the debris and smoke, with the distant sounds of volcanic eruptions following their every move. Wrecker grunted as he pushed the mangled remains of a Spider Dwarf Droid out of the way, tossing it aside with ease. He let out a cheer as the droid fell off the bridge and disappeared in the lava below, sinking like a stone in the water. “This is insane.” Crosshair muttered angrily, before flicking his toothpick after the unlucky robot. “Why are we even here? The intel isn’t worth all this hassle, is it now?” “It is.” Tech snapped back, visibly irritated. “Quit that, I can see you rolling your eyes under your bucket.” Crosshair huffed in annoyance, but didn’t argue further. As they rounded a corner, they were met with yet another wave of droids, swarming towards them like ants, with blasters at the ready. A dark, foreboding outpost loomed in the distance, overlooking the battlefield like a vulture sitting on a tree, waiting for its share of rotting meat. The sight sent a shiver down Rex’s spine. “I don’t like the look of that.” he muttered quietly, as he surveyed the sea of enemies that stood between them and the blast doors of the garrison. “Neither do I.” Echo agreed, furrowing his brows. Before any of them could come up with any plan of action, Wrecker charged at the droids with a blood-curdling war cry. He grabbed one by its leg and swung it like a club, sending several others tumbling over the edge of the narrow overpass. The giant made quick work of the droids, throwing his weight around like a bulldozer, leaving the battle field looking more like a salvage yard one would see on Ferrix. He cleared out a path to the outpost, laughing like a maniac while the terrified droids scrambled for cover and fell back to the garrison. Just as he turned to face his brothers and sister, with a proud smirk clearly visible beneath his helmet, the whole crew stopped in their tracks, as the reinforced metal doors were torn open from within, nearly flying off of its hinges. A wave of cold wind rushed out of the dark tunnel, a bone chilling contrast against the hot and suffocating atmosphere of Mustafar. The air around the Bad Batch became noticeably thicker, heavier, it felt like they were underwater. It was so sudden that it knocked the breath out of Rex’s lungs, leaving him dazed and confused. Before any of them could recover, Wrecker’s whole body tensed up and he reached up to his neck, sputtering, like he couldn’t breathe. His feet lifted off the ground, as he clawed at the invisible force that threatened to crush his windpipe, kicking and trashing wildly. “Wrecker!” Omega called out with fear as she broke into a run to help her brother, only to be knocked back by an unseen barrier. She tumbled to the ground, her energy bow slipping out of her grip. “What the...?”

The emergency lights started flickering violently, before exploding with a loud crackle and showering the bloody battlefield with sparks and broken glass. The remaining droids fell to the ground, one by one, some coughing up smoke as their hard drives melted and caught fire, other simply powering off. “...kriff?” the girl finished, as her eyes landed on her discarded weapon, fear gripping her heart. Her trusty bow, one that saved her life numerous times and has been at her side through thick and thin, was now flaring angrily, with its pinkish plasma eating through its limbs. She could feel her eyes tearing up, but she didn’t have the time to reminiscent over her fallen friend, as Crosshair’s rifle spat out a few stray bolts, one missing her by mere inches. Tech’s portable computer shut down without a warning, leaving him without his beloved gadget. A groan of surprise could be heard from Hunter, as his visor shortened out, leaving him momentarily blinded as he tried to rub away the sparks that danced in his eyes. Echo’s cybernetic legs gave out under his weight and if it wasn’t for Rex, he would’ve fallen to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

They looked at each other in fear and confusion, as their equipment continued to malfunction in strange and unexpected ways.

That’s when they heard something.

Footsteps. Slow and deliberate, echoing through the dark hallway, the sound distorting as it bounced off the steel walls. Faint whispers carried by the wind tickled their ears, the voices angry, hateful, hissing and spitting indistinguishably from one another. The metal screeched and groaned, like the whole building was about to fall over, the sound reverberating through their skulls.

And then, out of the darkness, stepped a man.

Tall, dressed in black, red and grey, with a black kama wrapped around his waist, its edges torn and damaged from past battles. His armor greatly detailed and complicated, light yet strong and durable, highlighting his body and posture, with numerous belts holding everything in place. Where the man’s face should be, a black steel mask greeted them, with red markings decorating it around the visor and down the cheeks, like bloody tears. It couldn’t be any more obvious that the person standing before them was a Sith Lord. Hunter reached for his knife, only for the Sith to flick his wrist and send Wrecker crashing into the sergeant, slamming the two against the metal railing of the bridge, teetering dangerously close to the molten lava below. Rex growled in anger and aimed his pistols, but the air grew thick with acrid scent of burning metal and the clone realized, with horror, that his twin blasters were melting in his hands. “H-how?” he stammered, dropping the now useless weapons to the ground. “Fall back!” Tech yelled, scrambling to his feet and helping Omega up. “Now!” He didn’t have to say it twice, as Wrecker jumped to his feet and grabbed Echo, throwing him over his shoulder like a rag doll. “Go, go, go!”

The whispers grew louder, like a choir of demons singing their praises to some unseen deity, as the Sith continued to saunter towards them, lightsaber in hand. “Fucking go!” Crosshair yelled, his cold and cool demeanor nowhere in sight as he pushed Hunter, prompting him to move. “What are you waiting for?!” The Bad Batch broke into a run, but they didn’t even make it past the bridge, as the Sith charged at them. Rex, who was closing their escape, yelped in surprise and dodged, the lightsaber’s blade nearly taking off his head. He stumbled back and found himself cut off from the rest, with the fallen Jedi blocking his path.

He gritted his teeth as the Sith went after him like a rabid dog, the red sword cutting through the air with a loud whooshing sound. He barely had the time to raise his arm and deflect it with his gauntlet, the impact so jarring that it sent a wave of pain through his forearm, all the way from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. With an angry yell, the Sith turned and hit the clone in the face with so much strength that it cracked the visor in Rex’s helmet, the glass shards cutting his face. The clone grunted in pain, stumbling back, as his opponent continued with his merciless attack, the lightsaber hissing at it once again made contact with the beskar armor. The clone tried to fight back, but it was like hitting a brick wall with a stick. The Sith moved with unnatural speed and strength, making it nearly impossible to keep up with the onslaught. The fallen Jedi’s hand shot out, the Force slamming into Rex and throwing him to the ground, forcing the air out of his lungs. He hit the metal of the bridge with a sickening crack, pain shooting through his body as his helmet slip off his head, sliding across the floor. Blood streamed down the right side of his face, mixing with the sweat and tears as he looked up to see the Sith standing over him, his saber raised, ready to strike. In a blind panic, Rex grabbed the last thing fixed to his belt - an old lightsaber. As the saber detached from his belt, Rex was greeted by a loud crackle and a burst of brilliant, blue light. He swung it recklessly, the blade connected with the lord’s face, cutting through the metal with a sickening screech. Pieces of flaming metal and tinted glass exploded in every direction, as the Sith stumbled away with an audible groan of pain, his hand pressed to the wound. Rex lifted himself up, not waiting for his opponent to regain his vision. Keeping his distance, he brandished the saber, trying to remember what his late lover taught him, all those years ago. His chest burned with pain, lungs screaming for air, eyes watering from the toxic fumes, yet, he did not have the time to get his bearings, as the Sith lord turned to face him.

The clone’s heart stopped.

Through the broken eyeshade of the man’s mask, he saw a glint of something... familiar. The cracked visor revealed just enough of the Sith’s face for Rex to recognize the person standing in front of him. It was as if he was looking at a ghost, a memory of his past that he thought was long buried.

“...Ani?” he choked out, lowering his weapon. The Sith seemed to falter slightly, his brow furrowing in surprise and confusion, only now taking the time to study his opponent’s face, a hint of recognition in his eyes. For just a split of a second, everything went quiet. The whispers died out, the winds slowed down, even the volcanic eruptions stopped mid explosion.

This couldn’t be true. Rex knew that it wasn’t possible.

Anakin was dead and has been for years. He died on Coruscant, at the hands of Sidious, nearly a decade ago.

The clone saw the destroyed Chancellor’s suite with his own eyes, the burn marks left by lightning and the shattered windows stained with blood. He was there, during the funeral and when the Council built a statue of the man, to honor Skywalker’s sacrifice.

The clone tried to convince himself that he was just seeing things. That he got a whiff of the fumes and was now hallucinating the man standing in front of him.

But the eyes staring back at him were the same as the ones that haunted his dreams, the same as the ones he saw when he closed his own. The person hidden behind the mask was the one he had loved and lost, the one he saw every time he was on Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple’s courtyard. He knew, deep down, that no hallucination could map out all the details of his lover’s face. The scar over his eye, the very one Rex would kiss as they woke up in bed. The curve of cheekbone, the same one Rex would trace over with his thumb during those quiet and short moments they had in between battles.

Both men were frozen in place and time, like the world around them ceased to exist, like they were the only two left in the entire universe. It was only them and the platform they were standing on. Rex could feel the heat of the lava below, the toxic air burning his lungs and eating through their membrane, but he didn’t move an inch. All he could do was look at the man he had loved, the man he thought he has lost forever.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, to beg and plead for it not to be true, for it all to be a cruel nightmare, a trick of his imagination...

The fallen Jedi shook his head, as if to clear his mind from a haze, before looking up at Rex with anger, fury even. He lunged at the clone and their sabers connected with a loud crack, showering the two men with sparks. The plasma blades screeched and groaned against each other, as they fought for dominance, trying to gain extra ground. The men traded blows, their lightsabers creating a blur of blue and red. The ground shook beneath their feet as the seismic activities grew stronger, more violent.

The clone was able to push his enemy back before hitting him in the face, cracking the mask clean off. The Sith took a shaky step back, blood trickling down his face, before swinging his weapon in a wide arc.

Rex parried the hit and, with, tears blurring his vision, he reached out, grabbing Anakin by the arm and trying to wrench the weapon out of his grasp. “Anakin, stop!” he yelled, his grip tightening on the black sleeve of the Sith’s robe as they continued to wrestle. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, what his next move could possibly be. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all.

Now, up close and without the mask, he could see the man’s face clearly : mangled and scarred. His hair was longer, eyes more sunken, making his face look nearly skeletal, but it was him, without a shadow of a doubt. “You left me to die, Rex!” the man yelled in response, his words ringing over the explosions and wind. “You all did!” Rex could feel the blood draining from his face and his heart breaking into a million little pieces at the sound of his lover’s voice. “Ani, I...!” he tried to deny it, to defend himself, but the Sith cut him off with a vicious kick to the chest, sending him tumbling backwards to the ground. The lightsaber slipped from his grasp, sliding across the floor and out of reach. He struggled to get back up, his body aching and vision spinning, coughing violently, the vapors scratching at his throat and forcing tears out of his eyes. He could hear footsteps approaching and the hum of the lightsaber, as the fallen Jedi raised his weapon, ready to deliver the final blow. Suddenly, with a deafening roar, the Marauder descended upon the battlefield, the ship’s laser cannons firing at the Sith, kicking up debris and forcing him back, creating a barrier of fire between him and the injured clone. Rex looked over his shoulder, to see Echo standing on the entry ramp of the ship, as it hovered a few feet off the ground. “Get in!” the cyborg yelled, reaching out for his brother. “C’mon!” But Rex hesitated. He turned to look at the Sith, his heart sinking. Anakin stood at the other end of the platform, his gaze wild and filled with hate, pain, animalistic fury. “You did this to me!” he roared, his voice distorting and warping to the point that it could no longer be recognized as human. The wind picked up, tearing at his clothes and hair, throwing ash and smoke up into the air. The disembodied voices were now wailing, cackling, howling. “Ani, please!” Rex could feel tears streaming down his face. “Come back to us!” “Oh, Rex...” he chuckled mockingly. It was a sad, nearly pitiful sound. And as their world continued to fall apart around them, with waves of scalding hot liquid crashing against the supports of the bridge, eating through the metal like it was nothing, with the pieces of the bridge breaking off and falling into the ocean of lava, their eyes locked. And as the ground split apart, molten lava spewing like a geyser, the heat and fumes threatening to suffocate them, Anakin... smirked.

“...you are the one who left.”

#rexwalker #the clone wars #my writing #rexwalkerweek23

[hallothere]

52 with Candaith?

52. Fake death/presumed dead

The Draig-lûth had started a rumor that Harndirion was haunted. It may as well be, after the outpouring of dead- all sorts, from shades to wights to things mortal eyes were never meant to gaze upon- and the upheaval at Ost Dunhoth. Even he had been aware of that change. The fortress- glowing, even under no moon- before going suddenly dark. Bird calls resumed shortly so all must be well in the wider world. But he could not go and check.

Candaith had been both prepared to die, and determined to live. Britou had not cut him so deeply as his Company believed. No, he was loath to remember that his planned fate was worse than that. The others had fled before he regained consciousness. It was equal parts the shock of the wound and the severity of it that drove him to the dirt, unmoving for so long. He could feel the shades gather 'round as he dragged himself hand over hand to the exit.

'Let him go' one had said 'the fun is just getting started'.

But what torments the shades of Oathbreakers devised for amusement Candaith shuddered to remember. He found Himeldir first, and thought he might well die there too.

Long, long after he had exhausted his tears and the sounds of the Dead had faded to whispers had Candaith picked up his head once more. He had not the strength to rescue Himeldir now, but he would return. There was nothing the Dead would do or think to do with one so like their own. It was the living they chose to torment.

Linnor had been hardest to bear. Candaith faltered again so soon in his worm's sojourn across the floor of the cavern and wailed where tears would not fall. He cursed the Dead once more over for this grievous harm, took up Linnor's star to bolster himself, and began the crawl again.

Calithil. Hodhon. He knew three more names were ready to greet him in the dark, the murky, bule-tinted gloom. At one point he was able to stop, to sob again as the picture came unbidden of a line sixty-long stretching from the mouth of the cave to their camp in the hills.

Candaith made it into grass and sunlight at mid-day of whichever day this was. He cared not for secrecy or safety. The Dead did not care if he perished under the sun, for they knew he would. Soon. He rolled himself behind the cover of one of the exterior stones and slept.

He awoke, at first, to the darkness of the cave and bunched between the bodies of his fallen kin. Then he saw the stars and the stone. Candaith needed more water if he wished to cry again. This time, out of the oppressive atmosphere cultivated by the Dead, he found he could stand. He nearly lost consciousness getting to his feet once more, but upright he found it was not as hard, and cursed the Dead again.

The grass on the hillside was tall, and he could drop into it easily enough if he needed to hide. Green-enough was his cloak even if it was stained with blood and dirt. Perhaps the irregularity of it would help shield him from prying eyes. It heartened him little that he did not see much of the crebain that had dogged their movements. Perhaps they had gone ahead. Perhaps there remained no movement for them to spy on.

He had haunted Harndirion ever since he found it empty. Empty, save one cache, and one note in Helchon's hand: For the journey home, may it serve you well and may your steps be lightened. He had his waterskin, and he had his cry. Precious little had been left, save for this, but enough for him to tell the numbers leaving were great. Great, and perhaps lighter only five than they had been in coming.

Candaith. Himeldir, Linnor, Calithil, Hodhon. Fallen in service of Aragorn on the Forsaken Road. Candaith set up a cairn with his feeble strength. He had found a hollow to hide in when cun annun came sniffing around. They knew his scent, surely, but he was up to high to be caught by them. He dressed his wound as best as he was able and slept heavily.

Without better treatment, his recovery was slow. But, Candaith had few options. He had seen the forces of the White Hand milling about the base of the hill, investigating the force that had gone through. He had been trapped up in his hollow for two days straight avoiding sight and capture. Then the half-orcs moved on. Then he was alone again.

He haunted Harndirion, and gazed ever at Lhanuch. A safety so near and yet so far. The open ground was too much to attempt alone and in such a condition. If he was not cut down by orcs or Draig-lûth, there were wargs to scent his injury and oxen to gore him. He stayed. He haunted Harndirion.

Until the day the dead poured out from the Forsaken Road. He had watched, helpless, petrified, as they surrounded a wagon. His shock increased when the wagon not only passed unharmed, but then stopped outside the very hole these shades had appeared from. He had a decent view from up here. There were figures going in. There were horses, and a wagon unattended.

This was his only chance.

Candaith had made the trip from that place of death in much poorer health than he was now, though he was still unsteady on his feet and his back pulled terribly. Sometimes it opened again and bled, and it was only the athelas in the cache that kept infection at bay. He felt the wound tear again, but this was his chance. He would either find help or death at the hands of these travelers.

He was close enough now. The riders were inside but oh- he knew that horse. He knew Erebrandir, and Glorengur. Candaith ran. He scurried up the path, tripped, and fell before the horses in an undignified heap. He'd startled them. Erebrandir reared back and gave his fiercest whinny.

And that was enough to pull Radanir from the cave.

He limped. He was covered in dirt, grime, and shed tears. He was alive. But his leg was weak, surely, for he fell into the road onto Candaith and hugged him soundly.

"Saeradan!" He cried, voice hoarse, "Saeradan I need you!"

Nothing ever brought Saeradan so quick as a kinsman in need and Radanir pulled the right string. Soon he was surrounded. The tears were joyful and grieving but fell without fear of interruption by the dead. Radanir apologized to his shoulder, over and over, lamenting ever leaving him in the hands of the Dead. Saeradan fetched the things his back truly needed.

"Never, brother, never." Candaith said, in response to the apology. "For had you stayed, and had I found a fifth body on that road, neither of us would be here in the daylight."

And they were not mended, but they were all much healed. And all the ghosts of Harndirion drove north.

#writing tag #fic tag #candaith #hey did you want forsaken road because i have forsaken road #did i.... misspell forsaken road 4 consecutive times #RIP