#look at him lying there like a sad limp fish

[sunlitmcgee]

For the prompt list: How abt “You’re a bad liar did you know?” for beeduo?

Prompt 27: You're a bad liar, did you know? This ended up being much bigger than I first expected. It is honestly important enough to be it's own AO3 one-shot, but for now I'm going to put it here, and for now I will only say that this is completely and 100% canon to HWHBH and is part of the current timeline. TWs include mentions of abuse/self-esteem issues, descriptions of burns/minor injury, themes of guilt/regret/self-blame, as well as general mental illness and trauma type things.

 “Did you remember to pick up those chips like I asked?”

 “Er, which chips?”

 “The plain potato Lay’s. The ones in the yellow bag over by the junkfood and right next to the wavy reds. Michael’s been eating them lately and I wanted to get some more before we ran out.”

 “I…I think I might’ve gotten those…?”

 “It’s alright if you forgot. I can go out and get some tomorrow before I head into town. It’s no trouble.”

 Ranboo gave a relieved sigh over by the cluttered kitchen table. A proper mound of plastic bags covered the wooden tabletop. Each one was a dull gray-white and was utterly stuffed with all manner of grocery store pilferings. Tubbo was in front of the fridge and was busy sorting out the greens and a few bags full of fresh vegetables.

 He tucked away a couple of deep green bell peppers before he turned to look back at his husband, who was frowning down at a half-ripened pear like it’d just sullied his mothers’ names along with his father’s taste in music.

 “Ranboo?” Tubbo said softly, concerned and fretting over his beloved’s sullen demeanor. “Is something wrong?”

 Ranboo shook his head and placed the pear into a large wooden bowl. “No.” He said while he slid it across the table to bring it closer to his current bag. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

 Tubbo closed the fridge quickly and moved to face him all the way.

 “You’re lying.” He said sharply.

 “I’m fine, Bee.” Ranboo ducked away from Tubbo’s eyes and tried to focus on another pear. His claws were long enough to wrap around the lumpy yellow fruit several times over, and as he picked it up to drop it into the bowl with the rest of the fruit, Tubbo saw a few of his sharpened nails puncture through the ripened flesh and draw out a thin trickle of juice.

 He saw Ranboo wince when it stung his scales a little.

 His chest began to warm as he furrowed his brow and crossed his scaly blue arms, tapped his foot a few times to get the other teen’s attention, then gave a smoky huff when he finally looked back.

 “You’re a terrible liar. Did you know that?”

 Ranboo’s face was sad as his ears drooped. Tubbo sighed, this time in a trail of rose-scented reddish mist that floated in thick ribbons behind him as he walked over around the table and came to his partner’s side. Ranboo blinked when he turned to look down at him, then yelped, high and frail and startled, as he was unceremoniously hoisted off of the tiled floor and into Tubbo’s iron-grip hold.

 Tubbo stood still while Ranboo struggled in his talons.

 He held him like you would a newborn baby, strong yet safe against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around the taller teen as Ranboo worried with where to put his arms while his long legs tensed and closed in around his crinkled undershirt.

 Eventually he decided to fling one arm over Tubbo’s shoulders and gripped the one on the opposite side of his head from where his was propped up into the air. His other hung loosely off to the side and was limp as a dead fish.

 A tired sigh left the ender hybrid while Tubbo regarded him patiently.

 “Bee?” Ranboo said eventually.

 “Boo?” Tubbo replied without changing his neutral expression.

 “Why?”

 Ranboo just gestured at their current position with a limp, lazy talon. He looked back down at Tubbo in time to see the shorter boy shrug.

 “I dunno. Why aren’t you telling me what exactly is the matter so I can try and set things straight?” His smoke turned faintly gray-green as his lashes fluttered in front of his eyes. Both shone a pale azure that was faded at the edges.

 “Don’t wanna.” Ranboo’s response was childish and irritably endearing. Tubbo cursed the day he discovered he loved men thanks to this idiot’s pretty eyes and aloof yet dapper charm.

 He rolled his eyes and focused them back on his husband’s.

 “Do you not want to talk about it because it’s something bad bad, or because it’s just a bit heavy and you feel stupid about being worried over it?”

 A hint of starlight caught in Ranboo’s eyes. It was night outside the mansion and the sky was visible through a nearby arched window. Specks of silver twinkled in Ranboo’s eyes, one with a rudied shine, and the other with a deep glow that reminded him of the forests he’d wandered through when he was still a young boy.

 I’m still young. Just like treasure. Just like my mate.

 Tubbo reminded himself of that important factoid while he waited for Ranboo to respond. Ranboo did so after a moment of deep thinking.

 “...I’m trying to get motivated to tell my parents about things…”

 There was a shift in the air as soon as the words left his lips. Tubbo felt it and shifted his weight to account for his husband’s gradually shrinking posture, bowed head and tensed shoulders certainly not withstanding.

 He kept his voice quiet. Ranboo never did like when they spoke on this subject too loudly. He didn’t want Michael to hear and get his hopes up.

 “Do you want to do it quite yet?” Tubbo asked while he swayed slowly to the side. “We’ve still got to get those extra bedrooms fixed in. Do you want to make a trip over to see Foolish and talk things out with him? I can clear my schedule if that’s what you want to do.”

 He saw Ranboo consider it while his bottom lip pouted. “...no. Not yet.”

 “Not yet to the rooms or not yet to the letter?” Tubbo knew he had to check to figure out what Ranboo meant. Ranboo sometimes struggled when it came to saying things clearly. And that was alright.

 “No to the letter.” Ranboo elaborated while nodding his head. “I don’t wanna bring them here yet. Not until we’ve got the rooms and tell Mikey so he doesn’t get freaked out when a bunch of people show up wanting to meet him. He doesn’t do surprises well, remember?”

 The brief, slightly painful memory of the time Fundy dropped in to say hello came to Tubbo. It made him frown from immense sadness(as well as a brief hint of instinct-induced fury) when he recalled how frightened his son had been of the fox hybrid. It wasn’t Fundy’s fault that his teeth were so pointy, but it didn’t mean that Tubbo wasn’t going to not put his child’s well-being first and not politely ask Fundy to leave before the boy got upset any further. He felt terrible while he watched the young man go.

 I’ve really got to check up on the guy. He’s been out of it since things went wrong with Wilbur.

 A faint bit of rage swelled up when he thought of that bastard’s filthy name.

 It shimmered down and dwindled once he took a second to breathe.

 The smoke from his lips was a deep bruised plum as he sighed in front of Ranboo’s chest, the taste that of purple raspberries mixed with honey and sour, rotten limes.

 “Yeah. I remember. I can tell him about it sometime, or we can do it together if he has any questions. He probably will. Do you think we should tell tre-pardon. Do you think that we should tell Tommy before we send any letters out?”

 This time when the air shifted, it was to something lighter and vaguely warmish. Ranboo’s ears twitched as if to perk, but his eyes remained transfixed onto his talons, which were busy with fiddling with his silver ring where it sat on his right ebony claw.

 He hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm…yeah. I think so.” 

 Tubbo nodded before Ranboo spoke again.

 “I’d kinda…” Then he didn’t.

 “Kind of?” Tubbo urged gently.

 “Nothing.” Ranboo’s eyes fled as he ducked his head once again. He was just so shy, even after everything. It still made Tubbo want to wrap him up in silk and hide him away from the world. Doubly so now that he had a head full of dragon brains that screamed out and demanded that he comfort his precious mate.

 Tubbo’s mouth stretched into a slight smile as he brought a hand up to cup Ranboo by the cheek. Ranboo flinched when his weight was shifted a little. He relaxed after a second and slowly settled, then glanced at Tubbo, saw him nod in unspoken reassurance, and then leaned into the touch and allowed himself to be treated kindly.

 They both stayed like that, just for a little while.

 Tubbo waited for Ranboo to speak and finish the thought wholly on his own terms.

 “I’d…I’d just hoped, sorta, maybe, just a teeny little bit…that Tommy would be here with us. With us and married to us…by the time you guys got to meet my parents.” His smile was a sad one, but his eyes were happy as he curled in and bowed his head until his chin was against his chest. “That’s all. That’s all I wanted to say.”

 Tubbo didn’t have wings yet, but if he did, he knew they’d be drooping in the way Tommy’s did whenever he was disappointed. He felt an affectionate coo warble inside of him as his shoulders slumped to hold Ranboo a bit more tightly.

 “Oh, I know.” He breathed while looking his love in the eyes. “I know sweetheart. And I’m sorry that hasn’t happened yet.”

 There was a moment when they just shared their pain.

 “He’s just so dang perfect.”

 “He is.”

 “He’s perfect and I just wanna have him here like this so darn badly.”

 “I know, I know. I do too. I really do. More than anything.”

 “It hurts that he doesn’t realize how much we love him.”

 “We tell him everyday.”

 “But he still doesn’t believe it.”

 “No. He’s just been taught he’s not allowed to. You know how he is. He’s been…what’s the word…conditioned? That right?”

 “Yeah. Conditioned. Conditioned to think that nobody cares and that nobody loves him. That sick ⎎⎍☊☍⟒⍀ made him feel that way when he was in exile. A-and I was there! A-a-and I didn’t do anything to…to…”

 They stopped when Ranboo’s cheeks started to quietly sizzle. 

 Tubbo carried him over to an empty chair so he could fetch some ointment and a dry washcloth. Ranboo sat there slumped and whimpering while he rushed to get the supplies, and while they waited for the tears to stop while he had the ointment pressed to either cheek, they carried on and spoke just as they had been.

 “Do you think he’s still angry at us?” Ranboo asked while his eyes both twitched.

 “No.” Tubbo answered, sad and guilt-ridden. “He isn’t. Not like he used to be. He’s probably pressed all that anger down or let it go. He’s done that so much since he got back from the prison. Since around Pogtopia, really, but exile was the worst for it.”

 Tubbo leaned back against the counter. Ranboo nodded and sniffled silently.

 “He’s too tired to be upset.” He said weakly.

 “He’s too scared and has never been allowed to be.”

 “He should be. He should be upset.”

 “I know. But he isn’t. He’s happy and he’s happy to be near us. We just need to accept that he’s never going to resent us like he damn well should and not look an angel in the halo.”

 Ranboo didn’t say anything, but it was clear he wanted to. Instead he only sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

 “Maybe we can propose after my family’s left?” He offered with a shrug.

 “Don’t you want them to be here for our wedding?” Tubbo kept his tone light so it didn’t come off as too aggressive. He watched Ranboo struggle and saw that he had failed.

 “I do!” Ranboo bleated while he looked back at his husband, eyes wide and voice higher pitched than usual. “I do, I really really do. I do want them to be here. I just don’t want them being here to make Tommy feel all stressed and like he has to marry us, or else they’ll all get upset and he’ll feel horrible about it forever. You know how he is! He’s sensitive!”

 Ranboo threw one claw in the air to demonstrate his distress. The cloth that was pressed there slid down a little and started to fall. Tubbo held it up for him until he could hold onto it again, then pulled back while nodding his head and agreeing in earnest.

 “I know! I know.” 

 He sighed.  

 “I know…”

 Tubbo wrapped his arms around the trembling enderian, instincts on high blast as Ranboo mewled and clung to him dearly. It was just so much. He was so tall yet so small; his mate, his beloved, his darling Boo. His Rannie. His sweetheart.

 Protect, protect, protect, his draconic brain hissed while the flames covered his brain. Protect mate, protect babies, protect your treasure and tear the accursed world to bloody bits if it ever even dares to come in too closely. 

 The smoke from his ears was a thick and ugly plum.

 It was deep black with a sickly greenish tinge.

 It smelled like cactus fruit mixed with some sharp with a little bit of twang. A bitter aftertaste crept on his tongue from the back of his boiling hot esophagus.

 Cold thoughts, Tubbo Underscore. Think about the sea. Think about the sky. Think about Tommy’s face and how cute he is when he smiles.

 The fire rose up and refused to back down. Tubbo had to physically swallow it before it could get up any higher. His throat burned where the hot liquid bubbled up, but he managed soon enough without too much more difficulties , and was soon cooled down enough to think and to be tired from this whole conversion.

 Puffy’s going to give us an earful if she hears about this.

 They sat in silence. The fridge hummed to fill the void. They really needed to get all this shit put away before it all began to spoil.

 “Do you want to talk more about this in the morning?” Tubbo finally offered as he moved to pull back slightly.

 “Please.” Ranboo begged in a quick, desperate sigh.

 “Alright dear. We’ll sleep on it ‘til morning.” Tubbo offered his hands to help the enderian to his feet. Ranboo kept both rags handy on the sink in case he needed them again. 

 “Let’s get these all put up and then head up for sleep, alright?”

 Tubbo blinked and saw Ranboo straighten up and gingerly nod his head.

"Okay. Let's get to it, dear beloved."

#HWHBH #drabbles #hwhbh!beeduo #hwhbh!tubbo #hwhbh!ranboo #tw abuse mention #tw violence mention #tw minor injury #tw ranboo's tear burns #idk how else to trigger for that lol :")

[mearchy]

mearchy’s tog as tweets pt 4/?

it has been so long since i’ve published one of these y’all it’s been a rough year but i’m BACK!

part 1, part 2, part 3, +b

#YES i DID use this booker picture before #but it is literally my FAVORITE shot from the ENTIRE MOVIE #look at him lying there like a sad limp fish #its literally so funny #hes free! hes free to move! #andy has unbuckled him! #but no. #he is lying there like That #Just Leave Me Here I'm Sad and I'm Limp #making these for booker is the easiest because his internal monologue is just #depressed millenial humor #the old guard #tog #marwan kenzari #andromache the scythian #nicolo di genova #josef al-kaysani #joe al kaysani #booker #luca marinelli #charlize theron #nile freeman #kiki layne #Matthias Schoenaerts #sebastien le livre #immortal husbands #kaysanova #tog incorrect quotes #incorrect tog #incorrect the old guard

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

shiver, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader mentions of jimin x reader, namjoon x reader

summary: Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin set you up after vain attempts to cure your, what they call, chronic high-strung workaholic tendencies. Bleh. As if a date with Min Yoongi is going to help the situation. You aren't going on this date and, even if you did, you wouldn't take him home and fuck him all night. Or admit he was giving you that shiver.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, slight crack (you tweezed a hair off Jimin's dick); mentions of previous partners and implied smut; smut (fem reader, mild bondage, f-receiving oral, lil bit of a praise kink, doggy); non-idol!AU - music producer!Yoongi x pansexual, softdom!reader, ft best friend and ex-bf!Namjoon, (maybe too) close friend!Jimin, friend!Taehyung

--

“Look, I like dick, okay? The gender attached to it doesn’t bother me. A dick’s a dick and if you want to put it in me, I’m down, and if you don’t and wanna do other stuff, that’s cool too, I’m just letting you know I like dick–”

“Who are you talking to?”

You exploded, rocketing your desk chair backwards, nearly dropping your phone, gawking at the tall, dark, handsome man with the baritone voice standing in your bedroom door, blinking at you slowly with his brown doe eyes and long lashes, black-brown curls framing his tanned cheekbones and strong brows.

“T-Taehyung?!”

Kim Taehyung raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Why were you practicing a speech about dick?”

You clutched your phone, flapping your jaw loosely, pointing to it, to him, to yourself, rambling nonsense.

“There’s this app and I was writing a message to someone and they were worried about – but I wasn’t sure if it sounded right – and what, why are you here…?”

He raised the other eyebrow. “I want to talk to Jimin about something. He said he was going to stop by later so he gave me your key.” He raised his hand and, there it was, your house key. “Said it was fine if I just walked in.”

Park Jimin… said it was fine… to walk into your apartment? Without asking you first.

Who raised this child?!

To be fair, it was fine. You weren’t upset at Taehyung specifically. You didn’t know him as well as Jimin, who was one of your closest friends, but he was Jimin’s best friend. You trusted Jimin’s choice in friends, but, jeez, he really was lackadaisical when it came down to your personal space. He acted like it didn’t exist.

“Ah… okay,” you said, clearing your throat and placing your phone, screen down, on your desk.

“Why is Jimin hanging out here? You guys dating?” Taehyung asked off-handedly.

You nearly choked on air.

“No, we are not,” you snorted, walking up to him. He looked nice. Taehyung always did. He was casually sexy in his green sweater and dark gray pants. He was the kind of guy who could wear anything and look great simply because he walked around with such calm confidence. “I don’t know exactly; he said we should hang out and watch movies because I’m, how did he put it, a chronic high-strung workaholic who needs divine intervention.”

Taehyung nodded, pursing his lips. “True.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped.

He ignored your outburst. “I suppose he considers himself the divine intervention?”

“Uh, well, yeah, I guess, I didn’t think of it like that–”

“You’ve never thought about his dick?”

You blinked rapidly. “What.”

Taehyung shrugged. “I mean, you guys hang out a lot. And you like dick,” he added, gesturing to your phone, to which you abruptly jerked to stand in front of it so it was no longer in his vision. “You might want to consider seeing his dick.”

“I’ve seen his dick.”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to blink rapidly. “What.”

You raised your hands in innocence. “He had a hair on his dick.”

“… What.”

You scratched the back of your head. “Well, he had a hair growing on the underside of his dick and he couldn’t get to it so he asked me to help, but you can’t exactly pluck a hair when the dick is limp so I helped him get hard and then I tweezed it off and he was very upset, even though he was the one who asked me to do it so I don’t know why he was so sobby about it, but I ended up putting it in my–”

Taehyung was staring at you, slack-jawed.

You stopped speaking, realizing what you were saying.

Your front door opened.

“Hey, Taehyung! Thanks for leaving the door open for me. Where are you guys? Oh, there you are. What are you guys doing?”

You both turned to look at the cheerful, oblivious face of Park Jimin, his previously blond hair freshly dyed black. He must have been at a hair appointment running late. He sent you both a big, beaming smile.

“Eh?”

-

"I need you to do something."

"What?"

Once again, someone needing you to do something. Who would have guessed? Just an endless cycle of people asking you to do things. When is someone ever going to ask you what you want to do? Hm?

Hmph.

He shoved another spoonful of red bean ice cream in your mouth and you continued listening because of it.

"I need you to sleep with Min Yoongi."

You choked and had a mild brainfreeze.

"Just kidding, I only need you to go on a date with him."

Not much better.

You gawked at Park Jimin, who continued calmly scooping out another spoonful of ice cream to feed you. As if this was normal behavior. You missed the blond hair on him. Blond-haired Jimin didn't suggest this kind of random bullshit. Black-haired Jimin was evil. His hair was full of secrets.

You know, that kind of person.

Jimin lifted the spoon and opened his plump lips as if he was instructing a child how to eat. You gave him an indignant scowl and he shoved the spoon in the crack of your open lips. That got him a disgruntled tut.

"Jimin, I'm not library book, you can’t let your friends borrow me when they need to look taken."

He rolled his eyes, all the sass and lacking in class. "That was one time, and you know Taehyungie's ex was a persistent bitch."

"Yeah, I had to slap her, remember?"

Jimin's hair has been black then too, when he asked you to help him. Mmmhmm. Help.

"She deserved that slap!"

"But why did I have to do it?" you grumbled. "You can slap a ho. You don't need me."

"I shouldn't hit a girl no matter how much of a lying, cheating scumbag she is," Jimin puffed, angrily jabbing at the ice cream and shoving it into your mouth. You glared at him. Why was he taking it out on you? He was lucky you loved this brand, otherwise he'd be getting slapped right now.

"Oh, but I should, okay, cool."

"You'd slap anything and call it your bitch."

You were about to retort but then you lowered your hand, frowning. "Okay, true, but that doesn't explain why you're pawning me off to Yoongi now."

"Because you need it."

And you snapped your head around to see Kim Namjoon, your ex-boyfriend, now best friend, waltz into your bedroom like he owned the damn place. You did, in fact, give him your key and you were expecting him, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but you complained anyway, because that’s what humans do. Complain.

"Is nothing sacred in my home?" you muttered as Namjoon grabbed your desk chair and rolled it over to the bed, sitting down in front of you and Jimin. You were wearing black pajamas with little cats on them and Jimin was wearing the yellow ones with little dogs on them. Button-up shirt and long pants. Same brand and style, different print. Namjoon, however, was wearing a white graphic t-shirt and loose brown trousers with thin tortoise-shell and gold framed glasses that didn't have any lenses in them.

You were very tempted to poke him in the eye but, alas, you had some self-restraint.

"I thought you were going to talk about this last night," Namjoon mused, raising an eyebrow at Jimin.

Jimin suddenly seemed incredibly interested in getting the perfect spoonful of ice cream. "I got distracted."

"Horny. He means he got horny."

A violently large chunk of red bean ice cream was shoved in your mouth.

Namjoon laughed at your near-death expression.

"Don't tell him," Jimin hissed. "That's fucking weird. He's your ex."

"Then why would you do it?" Namjoon chuckled. "For the record, the relationship is no longer romantic, so I would no longer have a say even if it did bother me."

"I... well..." The younger man sputtered awkwardly.

You coughed and beat your sternum, glaring at Jimin. "The hell was that for? I rode your dick!"

Namjoon seemed highly amused and suddenly invested. "Ah, yes, and then?"

"Well, maybe it would have helped the situation..." Jimin said shiftily, eyes darting about as he turned bright red.

"Helped what?" you grunted, rubbing your throat at the uncomfortable sensation of a half-frozen esophagus.

"Doesn't seem like it helped," Namjoon remarked, placing a hand on his chin, still smiling.

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you talking about? All Jimin was going on about last night was how he hadn't had a good fuck in years–"

Namjoon snorted. "Years? Huh, that's odd, I seem to recall you getting laid four months ago at that party."

"That was four months ago and it was terrible!" Jimin whined, shaking the spoon. "And why are you talking about this with her, ahhhh!"

You and Namjoon shared a confused look as Jimin freaked out and snarfed down the rest of the ice cream, completely forgetting that he was using it as leverage to convince you of his grand master plan.

"Was it nice?" Namjoon inquired, diverting his attention from Jimin’s panic.

"Yeah, it was nice to have a partner who wasn't a complete idiot for once."

"That's good. I'm surprised you didn't ask before, honestly. You two are always hanging out."

"Never thought about it. What about you?"

"Ah, I fucked that girl who works at that coffee shop."

"Oh, yeah, the one with the nice tits?"

"Mmm, unfortunately that's about as much good as you can say about that one."

"That's sad. I'm sorry."

"Heh, no big deal, it'll happen when it happens. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that."

"Can you guys stop doing that thing?" Jimin grumbled from his spot on the bed, clutching the ice cream container and surrounding himself with your copious amount of cat plushies, including your one-meter-long giant calico cat. His ears were still red.

"What thing?" Namjoon asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, what thing?" you echoed, raising your brows.

Jimin rolled his eyes. "I don't get why you guys broke up."

"Pretty simple reason, really."

"I think it's obvious," you agreed.

Jimin looked from you to Namjoon, frowning.

"Well?' he demanded.

You looked at Namjoon and he caught your eye, trying not to smile. "Oh, he wants us to tell him."

"Huh, kinda seems like it, yeah. A little invasive, don't you think?" Namjoon pretended to think, rubbing his chin.

"He is a little bit of a, how to say this, nosy little brat."

"Hello, I am right here?!"

"That's a little harsh. Perhaps more akin to the local neighborhood bird that's always flying around, intruding on conversations with their loud chirping."

"You are very kind."

Jimin looked livid. He chucked one of your cat plushies at your head and you cracked up, falling to the bed laughing. Namjoon shook his head, laughing with you in that rich, full tone with low depth, a little goofy and with a lot of dimple.

"It's a dumb reason, but basically we weren’t feeling that spark," you explained, sitting up and pushing your hair out of your face. "Sure, we could fuck just fine, but it was too obvious that something was missing. We're better as friends."

"You wanna get married if we're both eighty and single?" Namjoon joked.

"Yikes, if I'm eighty and single, fuck, might as well."

"Perfect, always wanted to know how much libido I would have at that age."

"Anyway," Jimin scowled. "Back to the matter at hand."

"Oh, right, what do you think about Yoongi-hyung? He's single and he’s nice."

You rubbed your nose. “Ah, I don’t know him very well. He’s quiet, isn’t he? I get the impression that he’s a chill and lazy guy. Doesn’t talk much.”

Namjoon nodded. “Maybe you need that.”

You made a face. “Why?”

“You are kind of a chronic high-strung workaholic,” Jimin cut in.

You twitched. “No, I’m not.”

Namjoon nodded sagely. “You kind of are. I would know.”

“Ah, don’t do me like that,” you sighed, admitting defeat.

“Did sleeping with Jimin help?” he prompted.

“Why would that help?”

“Wow, that’s really rude,” Jimin snapped.

“But why would that help me be less of a workaholic?” you retorted, frowning. “I’m not following your logic.”

Namjoon rubbed his chin. “Maybe just a date then. With a calm guy. It will be a change of pace and you can get to know Yoongi-hyung better at the same time.”

You twisted your lips. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I think you’ll like him if you knew him better.”

You frowned.

“I don’t want to be passed around your entire friend group like a hot potato, Namjoon. I’m not going on a date with him.”

-

“Wow, Namjoon, you look a lot like your ex-girlfriend. Is it that new diet?”

Why are you standing here? Why did you agree to this? Why is did people ask you to do things and you do them? Because you were nice, that’s why. Deep, deep down in that frozen glacier canyon you called a heart. Shit. Why couldn’t you just be a bitch? That would make life a whole that easier.

“New diet and a lot of plastic surgery, modelled after the hottest woman I know,” you said sarcastically, turning around to face the deep voice.

“Mmm, I agree.”

You froze a little, seeing Min Yoongi standing there nonchalantly. Black hat with two silver rings punched into it, black leather jacket over a white t-shirt, black jeans with rips at the knees. Nice black boots. Silver hoop earrings and an assortment of silver rings. Yoongi had always dressed well, but it felt strange knowing he still dressed like this even though it was to meet you.

Well, maybe it was just because he was out being seen by people and not you specifically.

“I didn’t know you liked rap,” Yoongi commented, holding up his ticket.

You held up yours. “I like all music. And who doesn’t like Epik High?” You laughed a little. “Funny that you also printed out the ticket. Does that make us old?”

Yoongi shrugged. “I like having a physical copy. For memories.”

“Mmm. Sentimental.”

He looked to the direction of the venue. Then he looked back to you. There was something different in his expression now. You tilted your head. Then you saw his dark brown orbs slide up and down. A strange shiver went up your spine.

Yoongi was checking you out.

And he wasn’t hiding it.

“You look nice.”

You didn’t miss the way the side of his lips curved upwards, giving his words little bit of a dangerous edge.

You looked down at yourself, at the black denim jacket layered over a long black-and-white striped shirtdress. Thick-soled knee-high black boots, because you were going to a concert and wanted to be comfortable. Your mesh silver choker cut into your neck a little from looking downwards. You wore a single ring on your left hand, middle finger.

A silver raven’s skull.

“Ah… should have put forth more effort. You look neater than I do,” you mused, starting to walk.

“Hm.”

You almost didn’t hear his next words.

“If you had put forth more effort, it might have been too risky for me.”

You ticked you head back and found Yoongi smirking at you under his hat, flashing a bit of his white teeth.

“You gonna drink?”

-

“I told you, I gotta drive.”

“I’m not pressuring you. I’m just confused why you would buy overpriced water.”

You clicked you tongue. “Well, they don’t exactly let you bring your own.”

Yoongi chuckled, taking a sip of his beer.

“And besides, you’re buying even more overpriced alcohol, so you’re worse.”

His eyes slid to yours. “I need it.”

You unscrewed the cap and drank the cold water, feeling it ice your veins. “And I need hydration.”

“You don’t drink because you lose control, huh? Control of what, exactly?”

You shifted on your heels. “I get too oppressive. It’s no good for anybody.”

You usually arrived early to these things, so there was time to kill. There were lots of people around, but for some reason it felt like the only person you could hear was Yoongi standing right next to you. The other people around you were only white noise.

“Namjoon and Jimin say you work too much.”

You clicked your tongue. “Namjoon and Jimin need to mind their own business.”

Yoongi chuckled. There was a dry rasp to it, low and sexy. “You still work at that hospital?”

“Yeah. I work on their software. There’s always something wrong with that outdated piece of shit,” you muttered. “Should really just tear it up and overhaul it, but the superiors won’t do it because it’s expensive. Like it isn’t expensive fixing it every five seconds, but okay.”

“Heh, that’s how that generation is. Outdated.”

You huffed. “Mmm, you can say that again.” You cocked your water bottle to him. “You work at the same music company as Namjoon, right? Producer?”

Yoongi nodded. “Mhm.”

You sensed a little bit of embarrassment for some reason. Then you noticed he was looking at your ring.

“You wondering about this?” You turned your wrist and held it up, water swishing behind it.

“You always wear it. Namjoon give it to you?” he asked, taking another sip of his beer.

You shook your head, laughing a little. “Nah. Different ex.” You looked down at it. “And they didn’t give it to me. They said something to me and it stuck with me. When I saw this ring, I decided to buy it.”

You recalled the quote like it was yesterday.

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door.”

Yoongi blinked at you.

You translated the English from Korean and he raised his eyebrows.

“Edgar Allan Poe?”

You dropped your hand, clicking your tongue. “Basically saying I was a lingering poison of a human being and they wanted to break up with me.”

Yoongi tutted. “Interesting. How creative.”

You rolled your eyes. “What I get for fucking literature majors during university, I guess.”

“But you brought the ring anyway.”

You paused, looking down at the silver raven skull.

“To remind myself to stop fucking literature majors.”

You looked up at Yoongi and his eyes searching your expression. It was suddenly a weird moment, his eyes so solidly on you, as if he could see everything, but that was impossible. Your skin tingled all over, even under your clothes.

“They were insecure, huh?” he murmured.

You shrugged. “Made me question every fucking interaction I've ever had, wondering if I left the wrong impression or could be misinterpreted or some shit. Everything was so messed up.” You frowned, adjusting your shoulder slightly, sighing out the thoughts of the past. “Ah, it was a long time ago anyway. I’ve already erased them.”

“Is that why you broke up with Namjoon?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why does everybody think there’s some big drama between Namjoon and I? Would we still be friends if there was something that serious?”

Yoongi took another sip. “I think I speak for everyone when I say it seemed like you suited each other.”

“Hah, it’s not that we don’t have similarities. Kind of the opposite, really.” You waved a hand. “You know, two people have certain preferences and one of us was always on the bottom and neither of us liked that. Maybe it was him or me, and I love the guy, but not like that. We could fuck and it would be great, but we both agreed there wasn’t that… feeling. That shiver you get with that person. Sometimes I think we only got together because everyone kept pressuring us, saying we should, and not because we actually wanted to.”

“Hmm.”

The lights dimmed and you turned to face the stage.

“What about Jimin?”

“What about him?”

“Heard you plucked a hair off his dick.”

You twitched. “Let me guess, Taehyung told you.”

“Taehyung told everyone. He was a bit drunk.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Jimin’s a great friend, but he’s a bit clingy with me. Always wants to be near someone. It can be good for some people, but I don’t think I could take it twenty-four-seven if we were actually dating. Not my type.”

“Do you have a type?”

You shot Yoongi a look as the crowd began to hum with excitement. “Do you?”

Those cat-like eyes gleamed in the impeding darkness, a flash of white from his open-mouthed smirk.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to this date if I didn’t.”

-

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, it was great. Never seen you excited like that, eh, Yoongi?” You smacked him lightly in the arm, smirking. “That’s the most energy I’ve ever seen you have.”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. His cheeks were lightly pink, although he didn’t seem drunk. “I have energy. I’m just not wasting it.”

“Hmm.”

A short silence as the crowd filtered out around you, but again, even though you were surrounded by people, the only one that seemed to be heard was the man in front of you, peering down at you from underneath his black cap, a small smirk on his lips, tiny flash of pink tongue as he moved it inside his mouth.

“You driving home, yes?”

“Yeah.” You stared into his brown eyes. “Want a ride?”

An eyebrow lifted. “Inviting me to fuck?”

Blunt.

You scoffed. “Nah. I already told Namjoon and Jimin I’m not gonna be passed around their friend group like a hot potato. This was nice though. I enjoyed it.”

He looked you up and down again. That strange shiver went up and down your spine again. He stared you down. You stared back, unrelenting. The world was loud, but this moment was your eyes and his eyes, electricity between them.

Yoongi’s smirk widened.

-

"I always wanted a beautiful woman to tie me up."

Men. Women. Nonbinary. Agender. Gender neutral. Gender fluid. Didn't fucking matter, people were people, and they always wanted shit from you. Always. It was always about what they could get from you and how they could pretend to be what you wanted to get what they wanted. Everyone always looking out for themselves.

You could respect that.

Just, for once, it would be nice if someone wanted to give you what you wanted.

You cracked your neck and looked down at his dark eyes covered in messy black hair, his pale cheeks less pink now, his head on your pillows and sandwiched in between your plethora of cat plushies, pink lower lip in his teeth.

Smirking.

Wasn't hiding a damn thing.

"Who knew you could be a bad boy, Min Yoongi?"

His smirk widened, tongue between his teeth.

"I'm good when I'm good. When I'm bad, I'm better."

His black cap with the two silver rings was somewhere on your bedroom floor and so was his leather jacket, his shirt, his jeans, and his socks. His pale wrists were tied together with red bondage rope. Yours. You were straddling his chest, missing only one article of clothing.

Alright, you were missing socks too.

No one fucked with socks on. If you did, maybe it was time to reevaluate your life.

“You don’t mind being tied up, hm?” you taunted, sliding out of your jacket, tossing it aside.

Everyone wanted something.

What did Min Yoongi want?

Yoongi let his tongue slide out, dancing in the air. Taunting you back before replying.

“Just because you’re tied up doesn’t mean you’re not in control.”

Your hand paused in front of the button placket of your shirtdress. You traced a button with your thumb, slowly, watching his face. Spread your legs more, lowering yourself, hovering over him. You could feel him breathe under you, patient, humming with energy. He flitted the wet pink muscle, skimming his lower lip, waiting. Dark brown orbs hazed with lust under strands of black.

“You wanna stop after sitting on my face, that’s fine, but you have to at least sit on my face.”

You chuckled. “Yeah?”

You sat down on his torso and he sucked in a breath, eyes flicking down to the darkness still covered by your shirt, then back up to your face. You shifted your hips slowly, smearing the hot, dripping softness on his skin.

“Could just… stop here.”

You scooted upward, drawing a fat line of your juices up his chest and to his neck. You knew how much pressure to apply. Didn’t seem to matter though, because Yoongi didn’t seem to give a fuck. He tipped his head back, pressing his Adam’s apple into your throbbing heat and shuddering in pleasure. His gaze found yours and you stopped, suddenly trapped, a moment of his eyes and your eyes, electricity flaring between them.

“I’m glad Namjoon asked me to take you on a date,” Yoongi drawled, deep voice vibrating your heated, wet core from his throat. “Made me feel less guilty about wanting to fuck you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Got some weird bro code rules or something?”

He smirked. “Oh, I respect him.” He swallowed and you felt a shiver slide up your spine, feeling the action from your throbbing pussy faster than you heard it. “I just want you more.” Exhale, and you felt the warmth against your shirt, making it flutter. You unbuttoned it slowly, one by one. “Want to see the satisfaction on your face when I make you cum.” Slowly, not parting the shirt yet, letting him see the line of exposed skin. His eyes travelled up and down shamelessly, not hiding anything. He noticed you observing him and grinned.

That open-mouthed smirk, teeth and hint of tongue.

“Come on. Give it to me.”

Voice so deep it seemed to be shimmering through you, dark eyes flashing in the darkness.

Teasing you.

“Gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll untie me and beg me to fuck you.”

You cocked a brow.

“Let’s see.”

You sat on his face.

You felt Yoongi’s smirk against your soaked folds for a second before his tongue slid in, instantly making your thighs tense at the sensation. Hot to hot, wet to wet, no, wetter, your hands on your headboard as his tongue curled inside you, thrusting upwards, drinking the wetness from you, low moan vibrating through your torso and you felt his eyes on you, on your shirt slowly opening, one shoulder gliding down, and you shrugged out of it, suddenly boiling, skin pricking from the heat of his gaze, tossing it aside, leaving you in your black bra.

He tipped his chin up and you gasped, feeling his tongue swipe upward, fuck, a smooth, deft motion, circling your clit. You clicked your tongue and rolled your hips into his face. Yoongi chuckled before latching onto it and sending a burning wave of pleasure through you.

Your nails dug into the headboard, making a loud scrape.

He purred your name against your packed nerves and you drenched his chin, glaring down at him.

Yoongi had the audacity to bounce his eyebrow in response.

Alright, you could admit it.

Going on a date with Min Yoongi was not a waste of time.

You grinded against his face and he sucked and licked your clit at the same time, fuck, moans in his throat, not unaffected by you humping his face, but resolute, focused on his task of pleasuring you, shivering as your hand fitted around his head, fingers tangling in his already messy black hair, roughly fucking his face as his tongue assaulted you, somehow the perfect mix of demanding and servitude, hot exhale on your skin, your juices covering his chin and cheeks, your soft thighs pressed against his face, teetering between suffocating and barely enough breath, closer, closer, the tightness rising within you, looking down as you felt your opening flexing against his chin and his eyes flickered up to you instantly, imprinting the memory of his dark brown orbs overtaken by black pupils staring into yours, lips wrapped around your clit, in the midst of pushing you to the edge.

“Fucking shit,” you hissed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Something flitted in his eyes and he looked back down immediately, increasing his pace and you moaned, closed fist against the headboard, but not missing his reaction. A slow smile grew on your lips, hand in his hair relaxing, massaging his scalp.

“You like being praised?” you purred, sweet octave to your voice.

The quickest flick of his gaze before licking your clit furiously as a reply.

Hot sparks igniting your veins, drawing in a tight breath, staring down, putting a little more weight on him, but Yoongi didn’t say anything, not even looking at you anymore, so close. You knew it would only take a little more. You could tell from the viscous slickness that was coating his skin that you had maybe seconds left.

“A handsome face and talented tongue,” you breathed. “No wonder I couldn’t resist you, Yoongi.”

His whimper made you tremble in delight, eyes to eyes, addicted to it, him to you and you to him, and you gasped his name, biting your lip and throwing your head back as your hips rocked into his mouth and spilled onto his face with a wet squelch, fuck, so much even you could smell it, hearing Yoongi groan as it filled his mouth, his tongue shoving into your folds and lapping up the rapid pulses, your throbbing clit on the back of his tongue, pressing into you, his nose in your crotch, one of your hands in his hair and one on the headboard, muscles flexing and quivering with the ecstasy, eyelids closing, immersed in it. Savoring the feeling coursing through your body, from your core to your limbs to your head, filling you with shivers that were unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You removed some pressure from his face, letting go of his head, but Yoongi followed, hungrily licking you all over, nipping at your inner thighs, flinches of pleasure extending your high before going back to your pussy, up, down, side to side, drenching you in his saliva and drinking your cum like it was his fucking life force.

Well, shit.

You opened your eyes, panting.

Damn.

You had a whole speech prepared for Namjoon and Jimin about how setting you up with their friends was a bad idea and how they should mind their own fucking business and now you had to prepare a speech about how you needed your house keys back because you were going to fuck Min Yoongi every second of every day and you hadn’t even had his dick yet.

You looked down at him.

Yoongi’s eyes were slightly unfocused, exhaling heavily against your crotch, staring at it.

“Fuck me, you have a pretty pussy,” he muttered under his breath. “Fuck.”

Half of your cat plushies were on the bed and the other half were on the floor.

“You have an excellent tongue,” you chuckled. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He blinked once and his gaze was on you, half-shyness, half-cockiness, wholly sexy as fuck.

“Didn’t want to make Namjoon feel bad,” he snickered, pink lips shiny with your juices. “You would have left him a lot sooner if you knew.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Something about his tone make you think Yoongi meant it on some level.

You wouldn’t have tried to find out, but now that you experienced it…

Maybe.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Yoongi gave you that smirk you were beginning to become addicted to seeing. “That all you want from me?”

You laughed, sly and full.

“No, Yoongi, I’m gonna need your dick.”

-

“I don’t beg, so I’m not untying you.”

“Damn, what a terrible result.”

Yoongi didn’t seem the least bit worried about it.

He sank his nails into your ass and pushed himself in, your hand snaked below to guide him. You weren’t unreasonable, after all. You helped him put on the condom and shoved your tits in his face, rubbing your nipples all over his cheeks, his pink tongue stretching from side to side, eyes on you the entire time, getting harder and harder with the way you manhandled him, moaning into your skin.

Not hiding anything.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hissed, gritting his teeth, gripping your ass, wrists still bound. He violently smacked his hips into your ass and you grinned, hands now on the bed.

“Mmm, what a nice…” You pulsed, making Yoongi groan. “Hard.” Again, hearing his ecstasy. “Cock.” He scraped your ass and up your back, gasping for breath, desperation in his touch. You turned your head, giving him the reflection of his own smirk. He gazed back, eyes glazed over, torso shuddering from the repeated massaging of his length buried in you, all from your muscle control.

“Hold on, Yoongi.”

Something between teasing and adoration, and you visibly saw Yoongi tremble in excitement.

“You got it.”

You turned back and sank your hands into your pillows, sliding on his stiffness and ramming yourself back onto it, making both him and you groan in unison, rough, deep strokes of visceral fucking, you commanding the pace. Didn’t matter if you were the one on your hands and knees, you used him and he wanted to be used, barely able to grip your waist, moaning your name and fucking you back, loud, sloppy smacks of ass to crotch, flexing your shoulder blades akin to a lioness on the prowl chasing their prey, and you heard Yoongi chuckle, breathing swallow and euphoric.

“Look at this back view, fuck, you are the sexiest woman alive.”

Breathless with desire, smug at having you, in awe of your prowess, all at once, clutching the small of your waist as you clenched around him, the shudders of your walls closing in, painting his crotch and balls with you, his quivering moan trapped in his chest because he could barely get it out. You caught your lower lip between your teeth, feeling him fill you as you pushed back, the rush immeasurable, unfathomable, anchoring your palms into your mattress and growling his name, the smacking of hips to hips, desperation to desperation, a brief reprieve as you snatched a cat plush and jammed it under your chest before you reached back and felt for the end of the rope, unlacing the knot with ease, and Yoongi yanked his wrists free with a swift hiss of satisfaction, grabbing your ass and fiercely fucking you, harder, rougher, just as much for him as it was for you, your name falling from his lips, unable to hide his lust, chasing it, chasing you, and you didn’t let up.

“Yoongi, fuck, yes, your cock feels so fucking good, fuck!”

Deep, intense, powerful, everything you were and everything he was, and it all crashed down, stealing your breath, pleasure clawing up your spine and taking over, lungs suddenly emptied with the force of each hard pulse of pleasure snaking upwards to fill the void, squeezing him so hard that you weren’t sure if that was voluntary or not, your joined inner thighs trembling and dripping, sweet slickness sliding down, drenching you and Yoongi, his groan piercing the air and cutting through your thoughts. His cock twitched and jerked, pumping thick gushes of cum and swelling the condom inside you.

Fucking shit, did you hold your breath? Everything lightheaded and hazy, reaching up and slapping your hand against the headboard, sucking in a lungful of air and rocking your hips back, riding the wave. Your felt Yoongi’s grip on your waist tighten, his pants so heavy you could feel the weight of his exhale on your back, heating your skin.

Snarl in your throat, definitive.

“I need this cock, Yoongi, need you and this perfect cock and I’m going to use it until I’m done.”

Rolling your hips, listening to his wanton moan at your words and the sensation, the messy squish of your movement, clenching around the sensitive head, slow, tight, your fingers curling to a fist, his name on your lips, low and seductive, and he responded in kind, your name in the same tone, drunk on the moment, the feeling, the power you had over him.

His nails in your back, creating long lines down your spine, and the shiver you got with that person, dancing up and down your vertebrate, unmistakable.

Yoongi gave it to you.

-

“Hey, so how’d it go–whoa!”

You popped your head out of your mountain of cat plushies and glared at the offender who burst into your bedroom. Who the fuck was that?

Guess.

“Jimin, do you know what personal space is?” Yoongi muttered from beside you, lifting himself on his elbows to peer disapprovingly over your naked shoulder.

“He doesn’t,” you mumbled, flopping back down.

“So… went well?” came Jimin’s cheerful and teasing voice from the doorframe.

You heard a cat plush get thrown like a cannonball.

“Ow, fuck, okay, I get it, hyung!” Jimin cackled, stumbling down your hallway. “I’ll come back later!”

“Don’t,” Yoongi snapped back, grumbling as he slid back down on the bed.

“You better pick him back up later,” you warned, referring to the plush.

“You dumped half of them on the ground so we could sleep.”

“No, they fell because we were fucking.”

You opened your eyes to see Yoongi smirking at you. There was a cat plush next to his head. One of your favorites. You picked it up and bonked him in the head with it. He made a disgruntled grunt and flinched away from it, ending up closer to your face. Eyes to eyes, electricity between them. You smirked, matching him, leaning in, arm curving around his head.

Tapping the tuxedo cat plush on his shoulder.

His breath against your lips, lust and fondness, not hiding anything.

“Hey, Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

Playing along, a willing participant in your games, one eye open, as if he was winking at you.

“I like you. You’re mine.”

He chuckled, a little raspy, a little embarrassed, and a lot amused.

“Sit on my shoulder, my raven. I’ll never ask you to leave.”

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[madhyanas]

a strumming of nerves

“Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Boba Fett

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Ratings: Post-S2. Boba Fett POV. Haunted Darksaber/Din’s Haunted AU. Sleepwalking. Implied possession. Not horror, but creepy vibes for sure.

Notes: this au was originally created by @keldabekush, @kyberpistol and others! i’m just messing around with it. good luck trying to parse through this one lads idk how it’ll go

masterlist

———

There’s a noise keeping Boba awake.

It’s a thrumming. Quiet enough to settle into the background, seep into the rocky palace walls, it’s almost innocent. He could almost mistake it for the whine of some desert gnat that snuck in underground.

Almost.

But in the months since he and his companions have settled here, lying awake and staring at the ceiling of his palace quarters has never invited such a sick feeling to his stomach. It’s not nausea — he’s well acquainted with that. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant, Tatooine. Nausea has followed him like a diseased shadow.

This is different. He calls it anticipation, for to hear a noise and feel fear is foolishness he’s long outgrown.

The noise doesn’t get louder. The snaked, coiled thing growing in the pit of his stomach gets heavier, and heavier.

Just as he feels he may be crushed into the soft sheets by whatever waking night-terror has decided to sit on his chest, Boba sits up. In fact, he gets out of bed, swings his legs over the edge to touch the chilly stone floor, and steps outside. He’s always preferred doing things, anyway.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary as Boba stares out into the empty throne room. Thin, slivered shadows and hollow caverns. There’s nothing besides that kriffing noise, he thinks sourly, tiredly, before he turns his head.

Someone is standing in the hallway.

Danger.

At first he doesn’t believe it. A simple silhouette that Boba can barely make out in the dark. Something about it doesn’t quite seem real, as if that same waking night-terror hasn’t yet been rubbed from his eyes. Boba blinks. Its outline is blurry, encircled by a slim ring of darkness and seeming to shift in and out of focus. Moonlight doesn’t touch the shape, doesn’t even creep near.

Boba doesn’t approach either. Not even when he recognises the figure. The shoulders, the stance. He can feel in his bones that in the inky blackness hides a scruffy jaw and sad, weathered eyes. “Djarin?”

Din does not respond. He continues to stand there, staring silently down at the floor, which throws the figure’s identity into question because Din is polite to a fault. Fennec had laughed about it when they’d first met the man; a bounty hunter with manners.

What’s wrong with the figure, Boba realises, is that it’s still. Too still. He squints. His eyes aren’t what they used to be, and it’s dark, but he doesn’t think ‘Din’ is… breathing.

The very wrongness of the situation has his fingers twitching for a weapon that isn’t there.

Boba is beginning to think he should have carried a blaster.

“Din,” he calls, more urgently. “What are you doing?”

Silence, again. A sudden gust of wind whistles outside the window, churning sand against rocky architecture. It scrapes.

Boba’s frown deepens. This isn’t right.

The figure then turns — though that isn’t the right word for the movement. It’s a kind of swaying, as if the body can’t quite settle its centre of gravity and settles for a light, weightless bobbing around a fixed point. Almost like dangling. There is no rustling of cloth, no scrape of foot against sandstone floor.

Against his better judgement, Boba glances down. Both of the figure’s feet are flat on the ground.

Of course, his rational mind whispers. What were you expecting?

This ‘Din’, still standing at the other end of the hallway, now faces him directly. And gripped tightly in his left hand is the source of that infernal thrumming.

The Darksaber. Ignited and ready for battle, as it always has been.

Now, technically, pointed at Boba. The figure doesn’t turn away. The light it gives off is sickly, splattering Din’s shirt with the same strange, inverse not-glow the blade itself emanates.

It reminds him of a fish, of all things. One he’d read about, so many years ago. The type that suckers in prey with a shining, blinding light.

A throb in his temple makes itself known, winding the tension in his spine even tighter. When did the thrumming get so loud? It’s everywhere; it bites up his legs and punctures the soft spots between his ribs. A clawed hand crushing a spoilt fruit in its grasp.

Boba clenches his fists to stop himself from covering his ears, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The sound is more piercing this time, with purpose and deadly aim.

Thick, oozing cold settles in his gut. There is only one possible target in this room.

It gets louder. And louder. It ebbs and flows like the tide but so much more vicious. It doesn’t stop; the noise simmers and bubbles and rings in his ears, resounding through the hallway so strongly it shakes his teeth to the tender, aching nerves and pounds at the insides of his skull. It’s swarming out from behind his eyes and it doesn’t stop, why can’t it stop — the Darksaber swings upwards, ready to strike the final blow — why is this happening he should take it—

“Din!”

The figure flinches. Boba’s shout is as good as a bullet. His shoulders heave with staggering breaths. His heartbeat pulses jaggedly at his throat and he’s panting; a cold, thin sheen of sweat is draped over the back of his neck.

The Darksaber is held high above Boba’s head. The crest of a wave, frozen. Then the blade retreats with a quiet whoosh before the hilt clatters to the ground. That’s the only reason Boba realises the thrumming has stopped.

It still doesn’t feel fixed. Nothing does.

The figure stumbles forward and Din’s haggard face is suddenly awash in a sliver of moonlight. He’s a puppet cut down from his strings, crumpling to the ground.

Boba is there to catch him. As it will be.

“Easy. What happened?” he questions gruffly, too preoccupied with checking the other man over for injuries to hear just how hoarse his voice is.

But whatever state he’s in, Din is worse. He stares at some point on Boba’s shoulder with glazed, unfocused eyes. The man is sweating buckets. “I... I don’t know.”

Din’s voice is soft, as Boba has come to expect, though not reassuring. It crackles and bursts to suggest there’s mucus sitting in his airways, spitting and popping like rotting fat thrown out to sizzle on Tatooine street corners.

Perhaps it is reassuring, then, to be holding his friend so limp in his arms like this. Because Boba knows what blood in the lungs sounds like, and the distinct lack of it anywhere in the musty hallway finally brings his racing pulse something close to calm.

Boba makes a slow, calculated move to rise from the floor and lift the other man with him, but Din flinches when he feels Boba’s shoulders tense. A flinch that dissolves into faint tremors wracking his body, which Boba is loath to ignore, but it also clears the fog from his gaze somewhat.

“I’m—” Din clears his throat and forces out a hard, sharp breath. “I’m fine.” He looks Boba in the eye. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“No, you’re not,” Boba returns dryly, though he can’t deny the weight that slips from his chest. Breathing, talking. Even with the tremors leaching from Din’s bones into his own, they’re good signs.

Din cracks a weak smile, which comes out more as a grimace. In any case, it doesn’t matter when it’s wiped away almost immediately as Din glances to the side.

Boba looks too. Next to the wall, the discarded hilt of the Darksaber stares back.

“Fett,” Din says gravely, keeping his eyes trained on the weapon. So gravely in fact, that Boba’s hackles rise. He’s speaking as if— as if his life depends on it.

“What?”

The fingers on Boba’s shoulder dig in tightly. “Take it,” Din whispers, hissing between his teeth. He’s pleading. “Take it, destroy it. Anything. Just don’t leave me alone with it.”

Boba is not a man easily surprised. But there is something inherently sickening in the crease of Din’s brow, anxious and abandoned. So much about all this is wrong.

He’s pallid, Boba realises. Din is shivering and sickly and sweaty like he’s in the slump of a fever. He’s still staring at that damned saber.

In the dark, they’re both kneeling on the ground. They are kneeling, technically, before the Darksaber itself.

And with a stubborn set of his jaw, Boba makes a decision.

He swings Din up from the ground, maintaining a stable hold on both arms and looping one round his own neck before either of them can topple back down.

“Right,” Boba barks, and Din’s head snaps up. “You’re going to get some sleep. And you’re leaving that blasted thing here.” His voice leaves no room for discussion.

As he marches them back to Din’s quarters, taking careful stock of any acute weaknesses in the other man’s posture and satisfied to find none for now, Din’s gaze remains forward. It latches onto the door with sharp, quiet focus, and the sight could make Boba grin.

The haunted look in his eyes is new territory. But determination; that, Boba can work with.

Walls of granite and sandstone are taller at night, it seems. Boba gets the fleeting sense that they’re boxed in on either side, in such narrow walkways, then shuns the thought. The palace is his territory. He has nothing to fear, here.

Still, he makes his way around the corners a touch quicker than before.

By the time they’ve gotten to Din’s door, neither of them have looked back once. It’s illogical, he knows. But they both look straight ahead without fail. As if that would keep the thrumming at bay. As if they feel the silence is any better.

Din takes a moment to push himself upright, testing his balance. “Thank you,” he says quietly. It’s sincere, which Boba can respect. He just doesn’t know what it’s for.

Settling on a nod, Boba suggests, “I’ll keep it in my quarters.” The empty sword still lies in the other corridor. “We’ll… figure things out in the morning.”

Din’s mouth flattens into a pained line, and a muscle jumps uncomfortably at his temple. Here, with a little more light, Boba can see the bags etched under the man’s eyes. He’s struck with the impression that this… sleepwalking, for lack of a better term, is not a recent development.

“Yeah,” Din mumbles. “In the morning.”

He eyes his cot as a starving man would a feast, but lingers at the boundary.

When Din speaks, Boba almost regrets waiting to hear it.

“I don’t know what it’s doing to me.”

The words are uttered with a familiar, resigned shame that drips to the floor. It puddles around Din in viscous trails, drooping his shoulders and shutting his eyes. Weighing him down for longer than a night, clearly.

“I don’t know anymore, Fett. Sometimes I can hear it talking to me. Talking. I think I might—” He wheezes out a sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as if to purge whatever he sees there.

A moment to collect himself, drag all the pieces together with string and a loose knot. Then, in a quiet, ragged voice, Din confesses, “I think I’m going insane.”

False platitudes have never come easily to Boba, and they don’t start now. His jaw is slack as he searches for the words, anything to fill that chasm, until he realises there aren’t any.

So he doesn’t say anything at all, save for a slow, sympathetic hand on Din’s shoulder. He stands with his friend.

And in the dark of the palace, Boba wonders if Din might be right.

———

#din djarin #boba fett #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #haunted darksaber #din's haunted #dins haunted #haunted darksaber au #au #star wars #star wars fic #gen fic #my writing #teaofpeach #a strumming of nerves #i wrote this as a genfic but now im realising that i made this a tad fruitier than i expected. do w that what you will #fun! v different to what i usually do i think #not sure if it's great but ah #got more haunted darksaber stuff to work on but this was ok ish #aaaaaaa

[austajunk]

Game of Despair (fic)

Chapter One: Despair Gamer

Summary: Surviving through her massive injuries following the ending of the Despair Arc, Chiaki Nanami has fallen after her fellow classmates have become Remnants of Despair. However, when altercations with a certain Servant brings up the chance to find a special person that she lost once again, Chiaki and the aforementioned problematic Servant have no choice but to traverse the apocalypse to bring Izuru Kamukura back to the light of Hope…maybe!

Rating: Mature (because duh)

Warnings: Gore, death, general manipulation and Remnants of Despair Shenanigans

A/N: Hey there. Originally this was a fan comic on tumblr that I did, but due to the scale of the project, I decided it would work better as a fic. The introduction to this fic is different from the fan comic just so I could keep things fresh to write. Please enjoy! You can also find this fic on AO3 if you prefer to read there. I’ll link later.

Games were supposed to be fun. Anyone could play them and they could be played together. It didn’t matter if it was a bad game or if the person you were playing with had any talent whatsoever. It wasn’t the point. The point was to get closer to another person.

At least, that was the philosophy Chiaki Nanami once went by. Games were something that made her happy, but another thing that chained her down at the same time. By being the Super High School Level Gamer, she was locked to her beloved talent and didn’t see any way to open herself to others. That was until she met Hajime Hinata and her teacher, Chisa Yukizome, had showed the strawberry-haired gamer that it was possible to form all the connections she wanted in her life through her talent. For the first time in her life, she had started to feel complete at Hope’s Peak Academy. She was the Class Representative of a band of Ultimate students who were anything but normal... but she loved them with all her heart.

Until the claws of Despair ripped everything away from her, that was. Chiaki Nanami was now a shell of her former self, but that was okay. With her mind filled with nothing but an urge to induce chaos, she couldn’t feel anything for the person she once was. If she couldn’t remember that person, what were they really worth?

—

The fiery skies poured overhead and mixed with the blackness of the night. There was no possible way to see the stars anymore at this point so deep into the end of the world. The only light that could be seen was from a small Nantendo game screen flickering. A girl with pink hair and discolored pink and red eyes leaned against some wreckage, watching as several people ran from demolished buildings and screamed in anguish for their loved ones. Children, women, and even grown men sobbed as a waterfall of bullets cascaded down on their bodies from above.

“You’re losing, you know?” The gamer sighed, twirling a small finger around some of her peach-tinted hair.

On her game screen, a hoard of bullets were raining down on a mass of zombies, massacring them on her side of the screen. The zombie side was fading pitifully fast, their organs squishing from the onslaught of shots.

Beside Chiaki, a man was trembling with the Nantendo in his hand. Sweat was pouring down the front of his head and his breathing was heavy. It looked as though the pale-faced man was going to pass out at any moment. His eyes were blood shot. He had been at this for hours, all to keep the game going and going and going... but it felt like one big, mad, never-ending spiral. He just wanted to drop the game, but all his hostages and prizes were dying all around him the moment he showed any weakness. A large black collar around his neck was tightening every time a point fell from his score. His throat was so constricted that his lips were starting to get purple.

Oh well, Chiaki thought. She was starting to get bored of this anyways. It was really sad though. For a few sweet moments, she had felt an exhilaration like no other. Her entire body had tensed, heat caking her cheeks. She wanted to drop the game and throw herself at the poor man beside her, to rub her curvaceous body against him until she got off on human contact alone when his score had gotten ahead. But alas, that sort of contact had started to wane on his score... and Chiaki’s interests.

“This is disappointing,” said Chiaki, obliterating the rest of the man’s score. Her side of the screen flashed WINNER in big bright red letters and the man beside her squealed in terror. He started convulsing and screaming, the air in his lungs dissipating fast until he seized over and fell over. His eyes bulged from his skull and his neck was bruised and purple until a satisfying crack sounded from his neck. Well... as satisfying as Chiaki could imagine it anyways.

Watching the man’s corpse go limp, she dropped her handheld game console beside him and simply fished another one from her black and white bear-shaped bag. She tapped the screen to life and began to jab at the buttons as though she wasn’t lying beside someone's corpse on top of a bunch of debris underneath a smoke-encrusted sky of darkness. But that was just the world.

Shrieks and screams of agony littered the sky, joining together to create a chaos-induced despair. It was probably the biggest death count Chiaki had earned so far. Her victim, to his credit, had lasted a total of thirteen hours before his score declined and Chiaki’s interest dropped. It was pleasurable until he waned. Now Chiaki was content to just let the cries in the night be silenced as the conclusion of their game (with real human casualties) and to just get up and leave. She did so, leaving her purple game console with the man’s corpse as memento and something of her personal signature. All the world would know where to find the person who could bring the greatest challenge of a killing game to them and that was what she wanted.

The gamer longed to find someone who could beat her and make her feel alive again. Or to feel anything at all. Even if Chiaki knew that she was nowhere close to feeling anything anymore. “My purpose... is Despair,” she uttered to no one in particular, merely touching her forehead as though to remind herself of that fact. It was foolish to stray, foolish to want or desire anything in such a world. Something like that almost seemed like a spec of Hope was left in her heart... which was impossible once the legendary Junko Enoshima snuffed it out.

Thanks to Junko, all the games in the world would not suffice to bring Chiaki Nanami back. One by one, she had been forced to watch her classmates fall into Despair, to watch them torture, massacre and rape others in Junko’s image. Chained to a wall, she watched for over a year as blood sprayed across a dingy massive screen that Junko had left her to view the carnage. She had been tormented and stuck in Hope’s Peak Academy until the last inch of Hope was executed from her body, until she finally wavered and gave into Despair. With the last specs of good will drained from her, the chains around her neck slipped off and she was allowed to walk free in this ruined world... where it felt entirely purposeless to live. But that was the point.

Everything was ruined. Her life was only good for making everyone else experience her own personal Despair. And Chiaki had set to it.

And as far as she was concerned, games were meant to be shared with everyone. Even the bad ones…

—

On the eastern side of a Towa city, a dingy and caved-in subway had been remodeled into a small chamber for the Despair Gamer. She always returned there to rest or to just recollect herself whenever she was bored or wanted to avoid the other Despairs. A bunch of pillows were tucked together for a makeshift gaming chair that she was slumped over, absorbed in one of her prized Nantendo titles.

Only the soft clinking of chains from behind roused her attention ever so slightly.

“Ah… that guy from before didn’t keep you occupied for long, did he?” Said a carefree voice behind Chiaki as she played. “For a moment, it looked like he was really doing it for you.”

Chiaki tilted her head, sinking back into her cushioned gaming chair. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the other presence in this fortress of death was, so she didn’t bother to look at him as he went to work on disposing of the body. What she didn’t notice however was that her Servant wasn’t empty-handed. He had entered the chamber with a large burlap sack… one that was squirming eerily.

Nagito Komaeda. To say he gave into Despair wasn’t quite so accurate. Hope would always win in the end… but it had to be challenged, cultivated… yes, becoming Despair was only meant to encourage Hope. And that was why he belonged to the other Remnants of Despair. He was theirs to use as they saw fit, but he just could not help returning to her again and again. Chiaki Nanami was like a serial killer by now… one complete with a soft, pudgy face and wide, innocent eyes. Utterly fascinating that one so lovely and gentle could rip apart so many people. Despair really had power over others… an alluring, undeniable, sick and twisted power… all Servant wanted to do was be there to witness Hope shatter the monster before him that Despair had created.

But until that happened… oh, how thoughts of Junko Enoshima made the heat swell through every inch of his body…

As if craving her attention, Servant spoke to her again. She could practically feel the grin etched on his face. “Have you gotten so used to the stench of death, Chiaki? You’re actually letting the corpses decompose around you now…” He nodded his head to rotting cadavers left at the back of the room. Perhaps Chiaki had forgotten they were there?

Chiaki’s lips twitched into a small frown, more so from being interrupted. Servant was a strange one. He had something familiar about him, like someone she should remember but it simply did not occur to her to try and do so. If he caused no reaction in her, then that was all there was to it whether she recalled him or not. The pale-haired boy seemed to follow her about like a puppy-dog, sometimes aiding her in procuring or disposing of victims whenever they met up. Chiaki had considered simply killing him, but something in her intuition told her that playing a Killing Game with the likes of him simply wasn’t a wise choice. And straight up slaughtering him was too kind, too merciful. How was she to invoke Despair in the name of Junko Enoshima if she simply hacked up his body?

And so, Chiaki found herself lifting her head at the jostling of chains behind her, watching the metal links swing side to side from around the Servant’s neck. He had a large grin painted on his face as he always did, taking a seat across from her in her little chair. “I guess the smell of death caught me off guard last time,” she mused thoughtfully to him, uncaring if he was really here for conversation or not. He did as he pleased and proved to be quite the clingy individual. But so long as he did the dirty work, Chiaki didn’t mind occasionally indulging him.

“It made me sick... but... now I don’t smell anything. I wonder if I’ve destroyed my sense of smell. Or my brain simply cares less and less each time...” Chiaki said with sigh, curling up in her chair and reaching for her games again. “Why did you come back?” It was really annoying when Chiaki was content to be left alone with her games for the rest of eternity. Alas victims were hard to come by in the apocalypse. Something about people wanting to salvage their lives. She couldn’t understand that. People were going to be slaughtered en masse either way, so shouldn’t they be trying to find the best way to have fun?

That was what Ultimate Despair Gamer was for. To teach others that life was just one big game and if they weren’t having fun, well... their lives didn’t amount to much, did they?

Servant tilted his head at her, his green eyes holding her emotionless gaze for a moment. “Oh, yes! I actually brought you another gift. I don’t want to be too optimistic, but…” He gestured to the struggling brown sack beside him. “I think this may really be the one. If he can’t satisfy you a little more than your usual prey, then I’ll take full responsibility…”

“Hm?” Chiaki stood up and slowly drifted over to the squirming sack that the Servant had left in the middle of the room. A gift? For her? A light blush crept onto her cheeks as she approached the bag and knelt down to pull it back. As soon as she saw the victim awaiting her, a jolt of electric joy shot through her. She gasped lightly and watched as the person’s light chestnut hair spiked up into her view. This was... No... why was the sight of the person’s hair inspiring such a range of emotions on her face? Her eyes lit up and a shudder ran through her body. She wanted to pull the captive close to her already.

Lightly, she pulled the gag from his lips and let him cough and sputter. He wanted to scramble away from the bizarre Gamer, but she quickly grabbed ahold of his shoulders and urged him closer to her. Her breasts rested against his front and she nuzzled him almost affectionately. Startled by the cute girl’s sudden comforting presence, the man didn’t want to feel at ease, especially with her twisted smile flashing down upon him. But at the same time... she seemed harmless. Perhaps a little deranged? But soft and pretty enough... He shakily steadied her against him, wondering if she was the prisoner of this strange, messed up death chamber just like he was. He barely took notice of the boy behind her with the manic grin and kept his eyes trained on her.

“Wh-Where am I...?” The chestnut-haired student asked her. At least, he appeared to be a student with his plain white uniform and dark trousers. A pair of glasses rested askew on his nose. “Are you a prisoner too?! Did that guy kidnap you?”

Chiaki couldn’t help but to tense at the guy’s caring voice, the way he put concern for her before anything else. Even himself. It felt so familiar and she was melting on the inside. Her face became more twisted, more heated and aroused. This was the one! He had to be the one! He was going to play with her until she could finally lie down and let the cold grip of death eclipse her. A final game where she could be happy, fulfilled, complete—

“What’s your name?” Chiaki asked him lightly, trying to hide the frantic blush on her cheeks. This was so embarrassing. Her heart was fluttering for him.

“Ahhh? Oh... Um, Yusuke?” The man responded, looking around. “Look, why don’t we try to find a way out of here before that guy shows up again? That mastermind!”

“Hm?” Chiaki crossed her legs. “Oh... him. He doesn’t matter. What matters is... well... do you like games, Yusuke?” Her soft voice almost held a low purr to it.

Suddenly, there was a sense of unease in the air. Yusuke blinked and pushed up his glasses. “Um...games?”

—

A small tear trickled over the pale, dead face of her latest victim. After hours and hours and hours of gaming, Yusuke had simply crumpled over. All throughout the week, he had kept Chiaki occupied. Even when he sobbed to her and begged her to let him go, Chiaki was completely enthralled with him. Not a single one of her victims had been so satisfying. He must have truly adored her to keep up such a unique concentration to whatever game she picked out for them to play. He cared for her... he must have loved her to play with her all this time. But then... it was as though his body simply gave out.

Now Yusuke’s corpse decorated the floor of her room, his body still warm from how hard it had worked to bring her even an ounce of joy. Chiaki lingered beside him, her face twisted with what could truly be called Despair. It wasn’t fair. He loved her. Why did he break under all the gaming? She could go forever...

Servant watched her from the corner of the chambers, a small sigh leaving his lips. Something about her actions had slightly disturbed him. For close to a week, he had watched Chiaki become truly elated. It was like she was a different person. And now the young man he had offered up to her was nothing more than a body getting colder by the moment. She drained every last agonizing bit of life from him. It was so thoughtless, so empty…

“I wonder why you don’t just let them rest…” He said, stepping forward as if to pull Chiaki away from the body. “Oh well. I’ll find you a new toy. That will satisfy you!” What hollow words. There was nothing out there that could satisfy the monster before him. That was probably the most horrifying thing about her… but it made him utterly enthralled with her.

“...It’s never going to be enough...” Chiaki said solemnly as she heard the rustling of chains clinking in the background. She knew Servant was behind her, waiting for the body to be disposed of, but Chiaki didn’t want to let it go.

“This was the... the best one... and he wasn’t even enough. Nowhere close... He was like a barrel of love... and I need an ocean... I...I...” She trembled, stifling a sob. Even as a Remnant of Despair, it wasn’t like she lacked feelings... even if they were only centered on herself and self-preservation.

She sighed a hollow bitter sigh and stood up, giving Yusuke’s body a savage kick with her boots. After watching the dirt from her shoes smear his cheek, she turned around and walked past Servant.

“The person you’re searching for… he doesn’t exist anymore…”

Chiaki suddenly clutched her chest tightly as though she were in pain. There was an unbearable pounding in her head. Make it stop… it had to stop… why couldn’t she ignore it?

“I’m not staying here. I’m... I’m going to leave. I want to find something else...something I lost.” The words left her lips before she even realized it. She could almost envision that person with the same chestnut hair and soft, sincere smile. But she didn’t remember his name... not a bit…

Just as she headed to the entrance of the chamber that Servant was leaning against, a foot suddenly kicked up to block her exit. She stepped back and looked at Servant, a frown working onto her gentle features.

“Ah… I thought we may hit this little snag,” Servant said, his smile fading slightly. “You’ve lost a lot of things. It won’t help you to search for all of them! More than likely, you’ll never find anything!” He put his hands together, pleading. “Let me find you another toy! The next one will satisfy you for sure.”

“What..? I…” Chiaki blinked and rubbed her eyes. Those words were making her feel just a tad woozy.

“There, there,” Servant cooed, entwining his arm with hers to lead her away from the door. “Won’t you stay here with me, Chiaki? Just for today… don’t look for what you can’t find. Just stay here today.” Forever. He intended to keep her as long as he could. Hope had to be protected.

And the person she wanted… that same person lit up his entire world as well. The thoughts of that person…

“Chiaki, just stay here… ah, I know,” said Servant behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, “let’s play a game together. You and me. If you win—“

“Then I leave,” muttered Chiaki. Then she blinked again in realization.

The smell of this chamber was starting to get to her. Perhaps it was because the last toy truly was something she did like. She couldn’t stop playing with him until he broke. But Chiaki wasn’t looking at the remnants of her beloved toy anymore. Instead, she peered at the filthy walls and floors of her game chamber. Decayed bits of body parts were strewn about across the floor and the stench was starting to become invasive again.

How long had she been in these chambers? She couldn’t remember when she had first entered, only that soon after, the Servant had appeared. He would scavenge for food and toys for her, to keep her occupied and “satisfied” with any new playthings he happened to procure. Chiaki groaned, her head feeling a bit heavy. “Ungh...” She clutched her face, trying to ignore the stench of death wafting in the air. Something about the charming spell of this place was starting to wear off fast and she quite despised it.

Chiaki shook her head, trying to brush off the sickening realization that she just didn’t know how long she had been in a chamber like this, playing games with toy after toy after toy. How many had she killed? Well... they existed to please her, so it didn’t matter. But... when had she last stepped outside? When had she tried to leave? Every time she had risen from her chair to peer out into the world, the Servant would give her a friendly wave and insist that he would go out to bring her food or more toys. It was all just too irksome.

She turned back to Servant. “I want to leave.”

“Of course. If you’re ready, you’ll win,” said Servant cheerfully, waving his obscured hand. “But if I win… hmm… how about this? For every game you lose against me, I’ll alter your appearance just a little…”

“Alter my appearance…?”

Servant nodded, motioning for her to take a seat back in her Gamer chair.

“That’s right. For every game you fail,” he said, letting his voice trail off just a bit, “I’ll remodel you to look a bit more like Lady Junko Enoshima each time.”

“Of course, are you really sure you want to play?”

[alpacinosimp69]

Daddy (Charlie Swan x Reader)

A/N: Guys I just watched twilight 😩 it was so scary :((((( but anyway i thought charlie swan was kind of a dilf so i wrote this little thing :))))))) please be nice this is my first fanfic ever!!!!!

Jacob sits on the windowsill, legs dangling over the edge, the moonlight painting him into a jet black silhouette. I’m lying on the bed in a sensual unicorn onesie, holding back tears.

“It’s not right,” Jacob growls softly into the night. “This man’s no good for you. Does he even know what your true form is, Tentacles?”

“Why does he have to know?” you shoot back angrily. “It’s just a casual thing. I’ll forget about him in no time.” Under your breath, you add, “And don’t call me Tentacles. You know I hate that name. You know Dad was still a coke addict when he chose it.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Tenny.”

“That’s so fucking ugly. I will not call you that.”

“Don’t make me angry,” you growl. “You know what happens when I’m angry, Jacob.”

He punches the wall out of anger. The whole house caves in. Distantly, I can hear the screams of all our brothers as they are crushed to death beneath the debris, but I don’t give a shit. I hate them all anyway.

“You need to hear this, Tentacles!” Jacob yells sexily. “I don’t want you seeing that man anymore! It’s only gonna end badly, for the both of you!”

“Shut the hell up, Jacob! How do you know what’s good for me?”

His eyes soften, and he slumps back against the bed. He stares at his own hairy hands as though he can’t recognize them. “Because I’m your older brother and I care about you, Tentacles. I don’t want to see you hurt. I’m only doing this to protect you.”

I’m so angry i can feel my skin harden into magic rainbow scales that glimmer in the moonlight. Oh 𝓝𝓸... Jacob made me angry. Im transforming. This isn’t good. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him or drag him into the river and hold his head underwater until he drowns and his body gets washed upstream into Portland again (it’s one of my silly little quirks)... 𝓝𝓸. I have to get out. For his own good. Quickly, i leap out the window and flop on the ground until I reach the banks of the river. I have to get into the water soon, or I’ll run out of oxygen and die.

Before I jump into the ice cold water, I yell out of spite, “You can’t tell me what to do, Jacob! You’re not my daddy!”

Suddenly, at the mention of ‘daddy,’ Charlie Swan is summoned from the police station in his policeman uniform with his porn actor mustache and manifests through the cold autumn air. He stares at you, shocked, as you flop madly around and asphyxiate.

“Did someone say daddy?” he asks breathlessly.

“I-I-I-I-I-I did,” you gasp. “Quick, Charlie, dunk me into the river before I asphyxiate and die!”

There’s a panicked look into his eyes as he picks you up roughly and carries you in his arms. You’re a little shy sitting naked in his arms like that (every time you transform into your true mermaid form, you rip out of your clothes... another silly little quirk xD), but his coarse thick dilfy dark dominant arm hairs feel so nice and gentle and warm and sweet and rough... but not too rough, just the perfect amount of roughness... on your bare skin. You blush. He dunks you headfirst into the river.

“Is that better, baby girl?” He asks.

You bring your head out of the water, dripping wet, and say, “y-y-6ay-y-y3s daddy”

He stares somberly into the moonlight and shimmers. “Good. If you died... I-I wouldn’t know what to do. I can’t imagine living without you, baby girl.”

“Even though you’ve only known me three days and we managed to have sex fifty-three times in that brief timespan?”

“*precisely* because I’ve only known you three days and we managed to have sex fifty-three times in that brief timespan.”

You blush. “C-c-c-c-c-can we do it right now daddy?”

“Anything for you, baby girl,” he smirks sexily. You blink and suddenly all of his clothes have been torn off and he’s wading into the water after you. God he’s so fucking sexy. You give him a sexy stare as your papilla widens and you sexily release dozens of your eggs into the water, just ready to be fertilized. He smirks sexily as he sexily releases his sperm, which floats all the way down to the bank of the river and fertilizes all your eggs.

“Oh yeah daddy,” you moan.

Suddenly he sobers up and stares at the moon through the surface of the cool blue water. “We can’t do this anymore, Tentacles.”

You immediately start sobbing and searching for a cliff to launch yourself off of. “BUT WHY DADDY”

“Because.......” he sighs. “I’m a man. You’re a fish. It just won’t work.”

“I’m not a fish!” you scream. “Okay, I’m only part fish! But I’m part salmon! That’s the sexiest fish!”

“I know that’s the sexiest fish,” he confesses. “But babygirl... it’s just not right. I need to protect you. Listen... what if I’m... not the hero? What if I’m the bad guy?”

You sigh and stare somberly up at the moon. “Then... I guess I’m in love with the bad guy, aren’t I?”

He stares at you somberly, eyes shining. “Do you mean it, babyiglr?”

“Of course.” You bite your lip, afraid to go on. “What if I... turned you? What if I turned you into a mermaid? So we could be together forever? Mermaids don’t die, you know. I know we’ve only known each other three days now and we’ve managed to have sex fifty-four times in that timespan, but I... I just know you’re the one, daddy. I want to be with you forever.”

He starts sobbing. “That’s beautiful.”

You’re about to mark him into a sexy shirtless dilfy merman by tearing off your scales and forcing him to consume them one by one when suddenly the water above you ripples and Jacob crashes into the water in his wolf form. He barks at Charlie until Charlie starts crying.

“How dare you touch my sister?” he growls.

“I’m sorry, Jacob!” Charlie begs as Jacob begins to mercilessly maul him to death.

“𝓝𝓸 JACOB STOP!” you scream, trying to pull him off of your lover and soon-to-be father of your seven thousand children.

Jacob turns to stare at you, his eyes softening. You can see a hint of his humanity in those dark brown orbs.

“This isn’t like you, Jacob,” you say quietly. “Look at me, Jacob. This isn’t the real you. You’re letting all the demons inside of you out. I know it’s hard, but you have to hold them in. For your own good.”

“Tentacles...” he says softly, as all of his hair starts to fall out and his skin stretches and disfigures into the shape of an extremely buff human male.

You hug him and sob into his shoulder. “I thought I was gonna lose you, Jacob...”

“Don’t you understand, Tentacles?” he says, staring somberly at the moon. “I would never give you up. I would never let you down, run around, or desert you.”

You smile at him when suddenly you hear the sounds of Charlie desperately gasping for air as he drowns in the river. You immediately start sobbing. “don’t DIE DADDY!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save him” Jacob growls, immediately grabbing Charlie by the stomach and throwing him onto the bank with his superhuman strength. He immediately starts gasping for breath.

“Is he gonna die?” you sob.

“𝓝𝓸,” Jacob says, staring off into the distance. “Not if you give him mouth to mouth. That’s the only way to save him now.”

“Why can’t you give him mouth to mouth?”

“Because that’s gay.”

You sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. You lean your head down, about to give Charlie mouth to mouth and revive him, when suddenly Edward Cullen bursts through the trees, carrying Bella in his arms. She’s limp, and hopefully dead, but when you get a closer look at her you realize that unfortunately she’s still breathing.

“Jacob, I need your help,” Edward screams, sparkling even though it’s moonlight and for some reason he’s shirtless. “It’s Bella... she almost died again.”

Jacob stares somberly at the moon. “What happened this time?”

“She fell down the stairs and immediately fell into a coma,” Edward screams. “And then she somehow flew out through a window, where she sustained numerous lacerations to the skin. And then she fell off a cliff, where she broke all 206 of her bones. And then the smell of her blood attracted all the nearby vampires, who immediately began to feast on her blood. I had to suck all the poison out of her body for an hour and twenty seven minutes while at the same time resuscitating her and fighting off all seventeen vampires while simultaneously ripping my clothes off.”

“I don’t understand,” Jacob says. “What do you need me for?”

“Guys, Charlie’s dyin—“

“Shut the fuck up!” Edward screams, turning to you. “Nobody cares! Can’t you see someone’s dying over here?” He sets Bella down in the grass and begins sobbing and staring somberly at the moon. “Jacob I need you to give her mouth to mouth.”

“Why me?” Jacob growls. You begin to perform the Heimlich maneuver on Charlie, but you’re too distracted by the sight of edward’s sparkling six-pack to focus.

“Because....” Edward screams, staring sexily I mean somberly at the moon. “If I do it.......... I won’t be able to control myself.”

“From doing what?”

“Just shut up and do it, Jacob!”

Jacob immediately rips off his shirt in order to perform mouth to mouth more efficiently and brings his lips to Bella’s. Edward gets so jealous watching them, he leaps three inches through the air and punches Jacob across the face.

“What did you do that for?”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Edward screams. “She’s mine and mine alone!”

“You abandoned her!” Jacob growls. “She’s mine now!”

“Guys Charlie’s dying what do I—“

Jacob immediately unleashes his wolf form and begins to maul Edward, but Edward continuously punches him, sparkling in the moonlight all the while. The fight lasts for thirty-two seconds, before Jacob rips Edward’s face off and begins cannibalizing that ugly mf’s body. You watch in horror, and then you realize that Charlie’s still dying. You can’t save him in time and he eventually dies. You get so sad that you start sobbing and fling yourself off a cliff where you hit the stone bed beneath the river and die on impact.

#twilight #charlieswan #daddy #fishkink #breedingkink #jacob sartorius #edward sheeran #bellaswan #sexy #alpha #newauthor #pulitzerprizewinner #alpacino

[jaskiersvalley]

@i-am-a-blob-fish You absolutely had a galaxy brain idea here! This is absolutely a wonderful idea and I wholeheartedly agree with you. A continuation of this story.

The tour bus was one of the few times the wolves could be in whatever form they preferred. Somehow Jaskier had managed to find them the most oblivious driver on earth. Or maybe he was just too used to the weird things celebrities tended to get up to when bored. So he didn’t seem too fazed when he had an odd mix of sometimes wolves and sometimes humans on the bus while Jaskier talked to them all like they were interchangeable entities.

That was how Jaskier found himself with a reputation. It became a bit of a trademark of his to be seen with at least one wolf by his side. People complained quite a lot, asking about permits and safety but Jaskier never acknowledged them. After all, the wolves weren’t on leashes, nor did they have collars. Nobody could probe they were his. If anything, Jaskier told his management that he was theirs, the wolves’ human. A few outlets pondered about the link between the scarred wolves and the scarred bodyguards Jaskier was seen with quite often. However, nobody dared say it outright for fear of ridicule. Even if the scars looked eerily identical on humans and wolves. Even if the humans seemed to have a weird penchant for wearing yellow contact-lenses that were rather wolf like.

As Jaskier’s fan base grew, the wolves got their own fans. It became a challenge amongst fans to see all four wolves. Somehow, things got to the point that there was always a wolf on stage with Jaskier. Rumour had it, it was after a fan with less than pleasant intent had tried to clamber on and only a white haired, gruff bodyguard had been able to stop him. After that, a wolf was always on stage and there were fan arguments about which wolf was the favourite. Some people were a fan of the white wolf, probably the most distinctive of the lot. He was a habit of falling asleep and twitching as though running in a dream while on stage. Yet if there was even a single stumble or flat note from Jaskier he was up. Little did people know that Geralt had a knack for sleeping anywhere on the tour bus as long as Jaskier was within hearing distance.

Others had a marked preference for the smallest wolf. He seemed to love Jaskier with shameless honesty, always under his feet and pressing against his leg or lying on his feet. Most of the time, when Jaskier took a break between songs for a drink, he ended up having to give Lambert a tummy tickle which had him thumping his tail enthusiastically. It was Eskel who suggested doing it near the drums so Lambert’s tail got its own drum solo which turned into a real crowd-pleaser. This was no different in human form. Lambert was almost constantly on the lookout for cuddles, sitting down next to someone and slipping closer and closer until he was shamelessly sprawled over his victim. It was usually Eskel or Jaskier, only because they gave the best head pats.

Another popular one was when Eskel sat with Jaskier at gigs. He was one that the crowds took a little while to warm up to until someone pointed out he always sat with his scars facing away from the crowd. Things really turned in his favour when a microphone picked up his soft whines. And then Jaskier was taking a break from singing and shoving his microphone at Eskel and encouraging him to ‘sing’. The howl had the crowd joining in and, from then on, whenever Eskel was guarding Jaskier on stage, it could be expected that for at least one song Jaskier would trade his lines for Eskel’s howls. Even better, when they were cooped up on the tour bus and travelling, Jaskier was bored, he could grab a guitar and shove it at Eskel, teaching him how to move progressively less clumsy fingers over the frets. While not a quick student, Eskel was diligent and persistent. After a few months, he could just about strum out simple chord progressions while singing along with Jaskier.

Vesemir was the one who divided the fans the most. He didn’t do anything on stage except stare. But his eyes were constantly on Jaskier, unwavering and guarding. Some people dismissed him as the oldest of the wolves, grizzled and old looking. Boring. But his devotion was something nobody could question. He even watched Jaskier when they were out and about. While the younger bodyguards deflected crowds, Vesemir would be the one with eyes on Jaskier at all times. Nobody could snatch him from under his watchful stare.

In a way, it was inevitable that some idiot would try and ruin everyone’s fun. Jaskier was making his way to a venue when someone charged, knife in hand and screaming obscenities. The crowd screamed as Vesemir yanked Jaskier behind him while Lambert jumped at the attacker, Eskel and Geralt ready to step in while also protecting Jaskier.

“It’s your turn tonight,” Geralt snapped at Eskel. “Get them in.”

There were murmurs of someone getting hurt in the altercation and Jaskier fretted with his two wolves when neither Lambert or Geralt appeared before he was due on stage. Not willing to leave Jaskier alone, both Eskel and Vesemir followed him onto stage. The crowd went wild at the sight of not one but two wolves. They settled on either side of Jaskier, the old one staring at him while the scarred one stared out at the crowd, obviously in no mood to sing.

Three songs in, the two wolves’ attention snapped to the side of the stage and even Jaskier looked over, face softening into something sad but tender. The entire crowd fell silent as two more wolves padded in, the youngest leaning against the white one while limping, a crude, bloody bandage running over his front leg.

“Oh Lambert,” Jaskier breathed, forgetting the microphone and everything else. He approached the injured wolf who whined at him softly. Nobody dared breathe as the scarred wolf got up and moved next to Lambert, nudging him to lie down and protectively curled around him. Coos rippled through the crowd at that, it only got louder when the white wolf flopped down and the oldest joined the pile.

“Alright pups,” Jaskier rumbled softly. He stood up and turned back to the crowd with a grin. “Looks like a full house tonight!”

Attention was very much torn between Jaskier’s performance and the pile of wolves. Especially when Lambert sat up with a yawn and limped off stage. Three minutes later a human with a bandage wandered back towards the side stage, looking a little rumpled and tired. Those who could see were pointing him out, especially when the scarred wolf looked at him agitated. The first step onto the stage and the wolf covered his eyes in a very human gesture. Realising his mistake, Lambert stepped back into the shadows and a moment later a wolf limped out to join the pile again to three very judgemental looks from the other wolves.

“That’s Lambert for you,” Jaskier shrugged with a laugh. The ruse was up. “If any of you others want to introduce yourselves, you might as well.”

Walking over, Jaskier watched as Lambert shifted, a little sheepish and the crowd cheered wildly. He turned and reached for the scarred wolf who visibly rolled his eyes but a moment later a hand was grabbing Lambert’s as Eskel pulled himself up.

“Idiot,” he muttered but stayed pressed close to Lambert.

“Eskel, our wonderful singing wolf!” Jaskier introduced with a grin and squealed when someone all but tackled him, Geralt, human as could be, was rubbing against him like a wolf.

“My white wolf, Geralt.” Jaskier was purring as he gave Geralt a look that was impossible to misread as anything but love.

Grumbling, the final wolf shifted and Vesemir shook his head at the others.

“Papa wolf, where would we be without you, Vesemir?” The sweet words were met with a snort and Vesemir shifted back, settling back down into a comfortable but alert sprawl. It was an obvious suggestion and Jaskier shooed the other three to go relax in the changing rooms or stretch their legs in a run around building while he finished up.

After that, while the wolves still made appearances on the stage, the crowd now screamed their names, eager for their attention as much as Jaskier’s. And nobody ever dared try anything against Jaskier again. Especially not when he had Lambert and Eskel snuggled on stage, Lambert happily shameless in demanding attention from both of them. Only once did Eskel pounce on him playfully and they tumbled off the stage amidst growls and nips. They slunk back to Jaskier a moment later, looking sheepish and he had to stop singing to laugh at them. Videos of the incident circulated in fan groups for months on end after, admiring how the wolves both seemed to realise they were falling at the same time and seemed intent on protecting the other from the worst of the fall.

#geraskier #minor eskel/lambert #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #shifters #modern au #long post #tldr: jaskier gets famous and has wolf shifter bodyguards #cw: minor injury

[ameliidarling]

Alone

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and a bit of a Happy Ending. Contains Descriptions of Loneliness, Torture, and Arson

Notes: This is my first work so please be nice <3 I'm open to criticism as long as it's polite :)

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“Hoowee, Logan~ Now you’re speaking my language~ But who do you really want to scream that at?”

Remus rose up into the Dark Sides’ Mindscape. The smirk on his face slowly fell as he looked at the messy room around him. It looked like a tornado had swept through the living room.

The glass coffee table was shattered and lay in a pile on the floor. The couch cushions were ripped apart and the sides were singed and charred black. The curtains were torn to shreds and were in a crumpled pile on the floor.

In the kitchen, Remus could hear the sounds of gushing water.

He walked into the kitchen, stepping over a broken picture frame and a half-burned photo of the Dark Sides, shattered glass crunching beneath his black boots with each step. He stepped in to see that he had left the faucet on. Oops.

He looked around.

The kitchen was almost as bad as the living room. The shattered remains of coffee mugs and porcelain plates and bowls covered the tiled floor. In front of the refrigerator lay a pile of torn, yellow post-its that Dece--... Janus always left on the fridge door with reminders for the others to hydrate, eat, and take breaks.

Remus glared at them with resentment, almost hoping that they would spontaneously combust if he stared long enough. And they did.

The pieces erupted into flames right before Remus’s eyes. The fire licked at the front of the fridge, blackening the grey metallic surface. He watched with a melancholic expression as the fire slowly died down and the post-its were reduced to a pile of ashes. Remus took a slow step towards the charred remains and raised his foot over the pile of ashes before bringing it down just as the last orange embers faded away. He crushed it beneath his boot, as if trying to stomp it out of existence.

He stepped away from the fridge and huffed in anger.

He still wasn’t satisfied.

He continued to stare at the ashes for a few seconds, in silence, before turning around towards the sink.

If Thomas’s sink was gross, then Remus’s was probably downright horrifying to even look at. It was filled to the brim with murky dishwater, scattered pieces of leftover food-- if you could even call it that-- drifted along the surface, a few bubbles coming up from the drain.

It smelled like the rotten insides of a dead fish.

Remus was tempted to slurp it all up with a straw, or eat it like soup. But he actually stopped himself from it this time. He wasn’t in the mood for dishwater soup. That was his happy food. He was most definitely not happy at the moment. Remus felt like how you feel when you burn popcorn.

Annoyed.

Frustrated.

And… A little bit sad.

He felt like committing arson. Watch a building burn down right before him, sirens blaring in the distance accompanied by a beautiful display of blue and red flashing lights against his surroundings.

He wanted to kidnap someone and chain them up in his makeshift medieval dungeon. Carve his name into their skin and memorize the sounds of their screams as he dug the knife into their skin and blood dripped down to the dirty, concrete floor. He could watch as the life slowly left their eyes and their body going limp, their final breath escaping them in a small puff of fog in the cold air of the dungeon.

He just needed to do something, anything to fill the deafening silence of his loneliness.

A distraction.

Remus didn’t usually mind being alone, but that’s because he was never actually alone, alone. There was always someone, or something, somewhere in the background that didn’t make being by himself so bad.

When he was “alone” in the Imagination, it was never quiet. There was always the distant sound of creatures rustling through the bushes or the tall grass. There was the sound of gushing water from the long river of an unnamed black liquid a little ways away from the forest path, and Remus was a little bit proud of that creation. When he was in the Imagination he was never actually alone. There was always some eldritch horror hiding in the eternal darkness, watching him. And the sound of wind brushing against his face and back kept him distracted from the eerie silence.

When Remus was “alone” in the Dark Sides’ living room, there was often the faint sound of emo pop songs coming from Virgil’s room. Then, when he left, there was always some light jazz playing in the background. Remus suspected that Janus had something to do with it. As if he too needed something to fill the empty, and silent void that Virgil’s absence had left. Of course, Janus would deny hearing it, but Remus spent his whole life living with the embodiment of deceit, and he could tell when Janus was lying. Still, he didn’t ask anymore,nor did he thank him for it.

Now that Janus was gone, there was no more jazz music. No more reminders of self-care written on yellow sticky-notes stuck to the fridge door. No more late-night scheming. No more clear kitchen sinks and freshly washed dishes. Nothing.

Remus was always alone before, but he’s never felt lonely.

He hated it more than anything in the world. More than he hated being ignored. More than he hated Virgil for leaving. More than he hated soap.

God, he hated soap.

He despised it with every fiber of his being. But he couldn’t do anything about it. All he could do was look around at the broken dishes, dirty walls, and flooded sink, and hope that the floor beneath him would open and swallow him whole.

Remus walked back into the living room and sat down in front of the couch. He brought his knees up closer to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He rested his head on his knees just as his eyes began to burn with tears.

‘Maybe if I sit here long enough, without moving, I’ll turn into stone.’ Remus thought to himself.

It was a nice dream. Maybe Remus could even cause someone to stub their toe, or trip and break their neck. Remus chuckled a little at the thought of someone tripping over his curled up statue, and then breaking their neck and their tongue would hang out of their mouths as their body lay motionless on the floor.

Remus wiped a few tears from his cheeks and threw his head back against the sofa.

Maybe Remus could get used to the silence.

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could enjoy being alone. Being free.

‘Yeah… I could get used to this…’ he thought.

Maybe, he could stop feeling so lonely, all on his own.

#dear.darling #sanderssides #sanders sides #sanders side fic #sanders sides fanfiction #remus sanders #ts remus #remus sanders fanfiction #ts remus fanfiction #ts remus angst #sanders sides angst #ts remus-centric

[capri-ramblings]

Octo boi coming your way (✯ᴗ✯) Took a different portrayal of yandere for Azul here cause I stumbled on a lot of fanart of him when he *coughs* over blots *coughs* and aside from him going crazy, there were some who made it seem like he was in a very painful situation, so I thought why not some sad boi yandere infatuated Azul,right? Hope you like it! The dialogue starter for this also came from @yandere-daydreams (*´ω｀*)

|| Drowning ||

[Twisted Wonderland Shorts]

Yandere!Azul X Reader/MC (Gender neutral)

Warning: Mentions of physical abuse and non-con relationship.

"Don't touch me!" Pushing back from Azul's embrace, you swatted the hand he'd extended to touch your cheek with great distaste. The look in your eyes boring into his soul.

The silver haired male ceased his movements, although he didn't really move to give you any space. Then again, ever since you broke the terms of your contract and Azul had you be near him as often as possible, you couldn't remember the last time you had any time to be by yourself.

It was suffocating but he didn't seem to take notice of your discomfort, or maybe he did and he just didn't care.

"Oh? What's wrong,little prefect? You have such an ugly look on your face", Azul's lips were stretched upwards yet it was far from a smile. The blandness in his tone giving you an irksome feeling twisting in your stomach.

You attempted to look haughty, to not let him see how small he made you feel, so you jerked your chin up and furrowed your brows,lips pursed.

"Don't call me that,Azul. You know I hate it when you do"

"And why not?" He laughed, tilting his head to the side. "Isn't that what everyone calls you?"

"Deuce and the others are different." You said coldly. "They're my friends and they'd never put me in a situation where I always feel at a disadvantage"

Azul arched his brows then. Something in the glistening of his eyes making you up your guard.

"Oh? I see. " Then he laughed, an almost tyrannical look on his face. "That's interesting, when you say 'They would never put me in a situation where I always feel at a disadvantage', what are you actually refering to? All they do is make you run errands for that crow masked eccentric, errands you never wanted to be involved in the first place"

"That's not the same!" You were almost screaming, your temper simmering on edge. You knew he was just patronising you so he could catch you off guard, but the words that came from his mouth were hard to not listen to.

"You're a manipulator,Azul. My friends aren't."

"You're right" He said, nodding his head, "They're idiots"

You gritted your teeth, irritation prickling your senses.

"So,you agree that you're a manipulator then?"

"Me? Oh, of course not. After all, I never forced anyone into making a contract with me. I'll admit my hand in persuasion but at the end of the day, the choice was theirs" He paused, smiling almost too sweetly at you before he continued with an airy gesture of his hands.

"It was yours too. I never pushed you into signing anything you didn't want to"

"And now I'm your slave." You shot back to which Azul, the ever so sly creature he was, responded with a swift movement of his limbs and caged you in an embrace. Pulling you by your waist and closing the gap between you both.

"Slave? Don't sell yourself too short,my small, unfortunate seashell. You're far above all the rest. I see you more of a lover than a slave," his lips pouted, hands tracing your form as you struggled against him.

"Maybe you'd be happier if you accepted that fact"

"Never!"

His grip on you tightened to a frightening degree and the way his eyes seemed to beam at your helplessness at the moment made you shrink back.

"Let go of me" You demanded, suddenly out of breath, but Azul only smiled in response.

"Hm, what about, no?"

"Azul—"

His hands found your neck faster than the your words found its spite. Constricting the air in your throat as he pushed you up against the wall. His eyes glimmered like something underneath the deep sea waiting to leap out from its depth.

You let out an awkward squawk, hands grabbing at him desperately which earned a laugh from the silver haired male.

"Is that your attempt at fighting back? Come now," He placed more pressure on your neck, his thumb pressing the nub of your throat. "I know you can do better."

"...A-Azu..l" Your fingernails bit into his skin but all he did was watch as your attempt proved to be futile, until your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you began to feel limp in his grasp.

You felt the relief of being released rushing through your blood. As you fell to your knees, taking in air to fight the light-headedness plaguing you, Azul chuckled as he too got on his knees to have you stare at him at the same eye level.

"Like a fish out of water." He cooed,one hand cupping your chin. You wanted to snap at him but your throat felt sore and words weighed heavy on your lips, so you simply averted your gaze from him, jaws clenched.

"Say you love me" He said softly. Too soft it made your ears ring and stomach wrenched. You knew where he was getting at. Ever since you first met him, you admitted that Azul was someone who took your attention the most. He was smart, both in theory and practicality. Someone who took effort in what he did even when it was scheming up a horrible deed, and someone skillful enough to go against a system without having to face consequences.

He had pride in his contracts and he knew the value of people.

One day, you simply told him. You didn't think much of it. Never really crossed your thought that he had been interested in you at all. Especially when you were the reason he had to let go of 200 over students he'd managed to enslave.

Thus you said, "You're a fine one,like a pearl in an ocean. I think that's why I like you"

And, thus, he fell.

Unfortunately,you didn't quite break his fall. Not on time, at least.

"My crafty seashell,would that be so hard to say?" Azul's words so close to you his breath brushed against your skin brought you back to your senses, but when you tried to push away again, he held both your wrists. Clamping on them as hard as before.

"All of this would be very different if you did"

"You know I'd be lying to you and myself if I did that,Azul" You said through gritted teeth. Your body trembled against his and Azul felt your fear of him as if it pumped through his own veins.

His heart seemed to tightened like it was caught and constricted by fishing nets, and he wanted to scream.

He pushed you against the wall again, bringing your wrists up over your head. When your eyes locked with his, you saw something you didn't think him of all people would actually show.

Longing. Then, frustration, and finally, anger.

"If you don't say it, seashell, then I'll make you. I'll string you up with a wire cord and let you bleed out if I have to"

You flinched at his words,eyes closing.

"Azul,stop!"

"Stop? You want me to stop? I can and I will" He shifted his grip, allowing him to lean into you until your foreheads touched. The look in his eyes were wild, a whirlpool of madness.

"So say it won't you? I just need you to say you love me"

#twisted wonderland yandere #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #twst azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #twst mc

[monstersandmaw]

Mute male siren x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a tier reward for a lovely patron who wanted a siren who's never been able to use his voice, and is thus treated poorly by his own kind for being 'useless' in their eyes. Hope you enjoy!

It’s been up on my Patreon for a while now, so if you want to have access to stories before they go up on Tumblr, plus a number of exclusive rewards, access to our Discord server, polls, artwork, character concepts, etc. then head on over and check it out!

___

It was the eerie melody - almost more of a feeling in your chest than a sound in your ears - that drew you out onto the jetty from the beach where you’d been walking barefoot, flip-flops dangling from the fingers of one hand. You knew about the shoal of sirens who lived and hunted off the reef that guarded Starfall Bay, but you’d never seen them; they didn’t come too close to shore very often after all, preferring the vast open waters of the channel beyond.

Something about their song that afternoon seemed harsh, cruel, despite the plainchant beauty of it and a tear spilled from your eye before you’d even noticed it forming. The song faded as the sirens clearly dived back down again, and it left you strangely hollow. Humans were far from immune to the hunting calls and songs of those hauntingly strange creatures, and in the silent wake of their absence, you found yourself humming softly. The tune was a cheerful one as you tried to rally your spirits a little.

Squinting against the reflections of the strong summer sun against the rippling water, you clambered down to sit on the edge of the dock so that you could dangle your feet in the cool, clear water. A little crab scuttled around in the rocks beneath the jetty’s pilings, minding its own business, and you watched him for a bit. As the hairs on your arms prickled suddenly, you looked up and found that you were not alone.

Lying half slumped over a nearby rock which had been smoothed by the constant caress of the sea was a creature that was unmistakably a siren. You frowned, wondering what they could be doing just metres from the shoreline, and half-hauled out of the water. Something about their size and shape suggested that they were male, and you stared openly at the stunning colours of his tail and upper body. The thick muscle was covered with inky blue scales which were in turn dotted here and there with pearlescent scales. It brought to mind the clearest of night skies. The fan of his tail was feathered and spread out in the water behind him, while his upper body was smooth and free of scales. His skin there, however, was a dark blue-grey, and he had little fins of iridescent blue at his elbows. Plastered to his head and hanging halfway down his back, his hair was black as an oil slick, and he stared at you with huge, dolorous, sapphire eyes, blinking slowly.

“Hi,” you called, waving. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a siren up here before. Do you come here a lot?”

He waved back, somewhat hesitantly, and then gestured with a clawed hand at his throat, opening his mouth silently.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t speak…? Is that right?”

In answer, he gave a slow, sad nod, those bright, completely blue eyes turning down to stare at a spot of vivid green seaweed on the rock.

Something about his dejected posture made you keep talking, so you asked, “Do you know Sign?”

His head jerked back up at that and he tilted it curiously to one side in a silent question.

“You know, Sign Language?” you asked. “It’s what people who can’t hear or talk - or sometimes both - use to communicate. They use their hands.”

The siren froze but his lips parted in soft astonishment, eyes wide with wonder. He clearly hadn’t known that there were other ways of expressing himself, and your heart twisted at the anguish in his storm-blue eyes.

“My friend teaches it,” you went on, thinking on your feet. “I don’t know it myself, but if you’d like to learn, I’m sure I can ask him for you.”

He nodded emphatically but then went still again.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He made an empty kind of cough, mouth opening in an unvoiced hiss of frustration - more of a choke, really - flashing razor sharp teeth. Then he looked back at you and rubbed his thumb against his fingertips in the gesture that said ‘money’ almost the world over. He’d clearly been around landfolk often enough to have picked that one up.

Waggling your legs slowly through the water as you thought, you pouted and then said, “I can ask if he’d be willing to help out anyway… He’s the kind of guy that would do that.”

The hope that kindled in those sad eyes nearly tore your chest in two.

“I’ll ask him right now. Hang on.”

One quick text later and Jera was agreeing to come down to the beach in ten minutes to meet the siren. The bright green of the lizardfolk’s tail seemed to fascinate your siren, and the two of them seemed to hit it off almost immediately. You couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched away though whenever either of you made a sudden gesture or raised your voices - even to laugh - and as you and Jera made your way back up the beach after promising to return the next morning, your friend voiced his concerns.

“For a siren to have no voice…” he muttered darkly. “He must be the lowest of the low… he…”

“He seems to desperate to communicate,” you commented.

Jera shook his head and made a soft growl like an alligator. “It’s more than that. They use their voices for everything: hunting, mating, socialising… Without that, he… he has no role, no function.”

Your heart ached for him and you said, “You mind if I sit in on the lessons too? That way he’s got me to talk to as well…”

“I kind of assumed you’d want that anyway,” Jera grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Over the next three weeks, you and Jera spent hours down at the shore with the siren. He was literate as it turned out, and at the start of your first lesson he wrote his name with a talon in the hard, wet sand.

“Ilta,” Jera repeated, looking up at him. “That means ‘evening’,” he added, and both of you eyed the starry night sky of Ilta’s tail.

“Appropriate,” you grinned and Ilta blushed darker. His face was so sharply defined, his features so intense and clearly belonging to a predator, that to see him turn a little softer sent a thrill through you.

When he saw the way you smiled, he signed, “Thank you,” with a hesitant and bashful hand.

One morning perhaps a month into your daily lessons, as you hurried through the town, with your heart fluttering and your chest light with excitement to see him again, your phone buzzed and you paused at the harbour to read the text.

Jera: Hey, I can’t make it today - something’s come up and they need me to cover for another member of staff at school. Sorry! x

You replied that it was fine, and that you and Ilta could practise together anyway. However, he wasn’t there when you got to your usual meeting spot in the cove, and a stab of worry hit you like a hammer blow. Eventually, after thirty long minutes of pacing the sand and staring at the water, the surface of the sea rippled in a rush of bubbles, and you saw Ilta’s dark tail propelling him towards you.

“Hey,” you called, waving to him, but when you saw how dejected he looked, how broken down, you knelt in the water, heedless of the splashing waves, and held out your arms to him. “Come here,” you murmured.

He lay in your lap, his chest heaving silently, and he flung his lean, muscular arms around your waist. Stroking his wet hair seemed to calm him and after a moment you felt him shiver. “Ilta, what happened?” you asked softly, but he only tightened his grip on you and buried his face from sight. “Ok, it’s ok,” you crooned. “I’m here.”

After a while, you recalled something that Jera had said about song being so important to the everyday life of a siren, and you began to hum quietly. It was the tune you’d sung on the day you’d first met him; a variation of a folk melody that had always cheered you up when your grandmother had sung it to you. Within seconds, his body went limp beneath your touch and he let his hands fall to the sand on either side of your thighs. He listened to you sing it through twice before he took a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed himself upright.

His strange gaze met yours and he reached a lethally-clawed hand for your throat, his fingertips just brushing against your skin as you continued to sing. The urge to stop was overwhelming, but something made you keep humming. He blinked slowly, dark lips slightly parted, and he continued to touch you. Eventually he withdrew his hand and signed an embarrassed, “Thank you… I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” you asked, using your hands instead of your voice now.

He shuffled slightly, splashing you as he got comfortable enough that he could sit half-coiled up on himself, balanced and able to use both hands to speak. “Sorry,” he grinned as you wiped the droplets off your face with a quiet laugh. “I… I had a bad day with my shoal.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes in frustration, though it wasn’t directed at you. “They use their voices on me,” he admitted.

“I don’t understand…” you said gently, movements of your hands small, quiet, faltering.

He turned his gaze back to meet yours and said, “You know how we hunt, right? We lure our prey in and then we use our voices to stun them. The sounds are…” he paused, frowning, searching for a way to explain it to you. “You know how some whales hunt by blasting sound at fish, making the air inside them expand or leaving them twitching and immobile…”

Horror slid into your stomach and you stared at him. “They did that to you?”

Ilta nodded. “They’ve always done it,” he went on. “But since I’ve been coming here and learning to talk another way, they’ve been doing it more and more. I… I can’t defend myself from that.”

“Can you leave?” you blurted aloud.

He shrugged. “Probably, but only if I stayed in and around the harbour. I learned to hunt in the shallows the way other merfolk do, with a spear of sharpened shell, but they think that’s hilarious of course.”

You made a disgusted noise in the back of your throat and he smiled broadly.

“What?”

“I love the noises you make,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just really cute and other times it’s beautiful. You have a lovely voice you know?”

You snorted softly, flushing. “You should have heard my grandmother. She was a real singer.”

“What’s a real singer?” he asked.

“You know, someone who sings for audiences… People pay to come and hear her…”

“Oh,” he said. “You sang for me though,” he added, his movements suddenly shrinking down to barely-there twitches of his hands. He’d picked it up much more quickly than you had, and you almost missed what he said.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to make you feel better,” you said shyly. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” It was obvious that there was more to it though, but he didn’t go on immediately.

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” you asked, trying to catch his eye but he was too busy looking at a patch of bare sand just beside you.

He shook his head.

“Then what is it…?”

He swallowed and looked up at you at last. “It’s something a mate might do,” he said with trembling fingers. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. I thought they never would… you know… because of…” he finished by gesturing weakly at his voiceless throat.

Feeling brave, you reached for his face and traced your thumb across his cheekbone. “Ilta,” you said and he brought his hand up to your throat again before dropping it so that he could speak.

“I love your voice,” he said. “I wish I could sing for you. I wish… I…” His hands fell limply into the water beside his tail and he sighed. Slowly he brought the fingers of his right hand up to his own throat, claws digging into the muscle of his neck. For a horrible moment you thought he might hurt himself, but he relaxed a second later and opened his mouth. As he exhaled, gills flaring briefly in his neck, he let out a wet choking sound. It was just air in his throat, with no vocalisation at all. “I can’t,” he signed. “I’ve never been able to…”

You took his hands in yours briefly once he’d stopped talking and kissed his knuckles gently. “I know it’s… it’s been awful for you,” you said as you continued to kiss his cold skin, “But… I think that not having a voice has made you partly who you are. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love you if you could sing, but… I love who you are, Ilta. I love spending time with you and listening to your stories about what it’s like underwater… I would never have known any of that if I hadn’t met you.”

Ilta listened to your words and stared at you, stunned, barely breathing. Eventually he slid his hands free of yours and asked, “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you reassured him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked immediately, and when you nodded, he grinned again.

He knocked you back into the sand, pressing his whole body against yours, and it was as if his touch became his song. Silently, he sculpted his feelings for you against your skin, running his hands up your legs, his gills working as he became more and more aroused by the feel of you. He lifted your top and raked his teeth over your warm skin, making you gasp and cry out. The cove was mercifully pretty empty, with only a few people about, but they were a long way off.

His fluke flailed in the surf as he dragged himself up towards your shoulders, his body still pressed along yours. His long hair fell to one side and you looked up into his eyes. “You were going to kiss me,” you grinned.

Ilta’s answering smile was sharp and wicked but full of fondness, and he kissed you hard enough that you let out a low moan. One of his cold hands wrapped lightly around your throat as you continued to mewl and groan under his touch, and you knew that his touch was his answering song for you. Together, the two of you made a song of your own. When you said as much, he tipped his head back, almost in victory, and rutted up against your thigh, his scales suddenly slick where they touched you.

Ilta continued to touch you with reverence and wonder until you could no longer stop the sounds from falling from you. He took every single one of them and returned them with his body until the two of you were gasping together, sharing a breath as he spilled his release across your thighs, his forehead pressed to your collarbones and his fingers tangled in your hair.

With one final, soft, decadent moan, you kissed the top of his head and he signed something vague that might have been ‘thank you’ but you weren’t quite sure. To be fair though, you weren’t in a much better position to be articulating anything either.

—

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#merman #siren #exophilia #monster boyfriend #merman boyfriend #siren boyfriend #sign language #mute character #patreon reward #commission

[transhoverfish]

What are everyone's "abilities" in Survivors? Ryley has good hearing and Milo glows but what do the others have?

!!! YOU HAVE ASKED ME ABOUT MY AU !!! THE FLOODGATES OF YELLING HAVE OPENED!!

OK SO. as u mentioned ryley has good hearing and milo glows. basically,

ryley = good hearing

milo = glowy boy

emily = electric detection (cooler than i describe rn my vocabulary is small)

danby = like emily's but reverse. controls electromagnetic things

roman = night vision

jochi = the most superpower like one, he got quick regeneration.

avery = telepathy!

bart = also kind of telepathy but more like future telepathy. he has future vision.

and i. never thought of one for ozzy actually and at this point i have no idea what to give them that wouldn't have been brought up prior so. u know genetics are weird! they just dont have anything ig. nobody look at me LABDKABDLABD

AND ALSO paul and marg have powers! paul got that peeper enzyme carrier thing, and marg got the very funny power of feeling others emotions. yes that includes the fish. yes this is one of the primary reasons she didnt kill paul over a decade of dealing w him. yes she hates it.

and the vesper haven't been sick long enough to develop anything! or at least thats what im going with bc i havent thought of anything for them yet 😔

AND NOW: LONGER EXPLANATIONS. IM GONNA GET CARRIED AWAY SO ITS UNDER A READ-MORE.

first off on the list: bart! so bart.. kinda has futuristic visions?? but the things he sees are not set in the stone,, as in if he dreams about smth (a lot like ryley can!) it is possible to change those events! most of these visions/telepathy type stuff were bc of the emperor and warpers, and also al-an! once the sea emp died and the warpers all calmed down his powers kind of go away a bit. i think i wrote al-an sort of mentioning it in one chap of awa?? but its only kind of implied. so he has rlly similar powers to avery except he can't tell what others are thinking and he can only kind of tell how his closest friends r feeling. so right now bart pretty much doesn't have powers! he can communicate w the warpers and sea emps much easier than the others tho (he's the only one that can talk to warpers! im not sure he'd get along w them after being hunted down by them for like 12 years though KABDLSBRLSHD)

avery has telepathy! this is because when he first shows up he jokes about having telepathy and i was like "haha. WAIT." and then he got telepathy! i realize its a bad idea to not come up with their powers until as im writing but uhhh well. i never said i was a fantastic writer who's smart. KANROSHROSBF.

he also kind of had marg's empathy ability but wayyy dialed back. he can only tell how other humans are feeling and he can only vaguely understand it as opposed to feeling the emotions himself like marg does. so he can kind of tell how others are feeling and he can tell what theyre thinking about! unless of course for plot convince he can't. strong emotions, especially strong negative emotions (ie. fear) can overwhelm him and makes his powers stop working. and if someone is convinced they're right then he wont b able to tell they're lying/hiding something! yay plot convenience!!

roman has night vision. i have no way of making this sound cool he just straight up can see really well in the dark. like a cat. most of the powers were based off where they originally landed and what would help them in that area! and roman landed in the sparse reef, which is so dark all the time i cry thinking about it. so he has night vision! his poor eyesight is probably all kinds of fucked up now tho.

jochi has regeneration abilities! now i know this might sound a bit much but he just heals from cuts and stuff faster and like. he bones heal fast. and he's more likely to survive smth that might usually kill someone, but its like a 10% higher chance of living nothing too much. he doesn't rlly get scars as much as the others, and its healed his old ones a bit more! this is by far the most unrealistic power of them all, but ya know its alien fish planet game who cares. basically bc his life support systems failed his spine got all fucked up and he got infected faster bc he was barely alive for the first few days and spent a lot of time w bart who was looking after him. power helped fix his back, but he still has a rlly bad limp and pretty much constant pain. big mood there khasar 😔✊

emily can detect electromagnetic waves! works best underwater. kind of like ryley's, but instead of hearing noises she can only hear anything electric, like vehicles or ampeels or heartbeats. gets all fucked up during thunderstorms though sadly. she's the only other one that can kind of hear warpers and can tell when ones about to warp around but she cant actually talk back to them. pretty sick if u ask me tho.

danby has p similar powers to her bc ampeels also spawn in the bulb zone. except he can sense them at a much smaller distance, cant hear warpers, and can control the waves around him! mostly just his own tho. so like, he can quiet his heartbeat or make it stop all together. scary power that he does not know how to control. uh oh. but he can also control other creatures a bit! he's very good at hiding bc of this, which is nice bc he loves to hide from scary things. very big mood once again.

milo is glowing powers! looks a lot like the transparency of a ghost levi or a crabsquid, although he isn't as see through as them. you can def make out like veins but not bones or organs. his powers are activated by touch, the more force behind will create more glow and more transparency! a poke = goes away within a few seconds, a slap = stays for a minute or so. instead of bruises, he just glows until the bruise would normally go away. he's basically a living glowstick. i have another joke for this but i cannot physically convince myself to type it bc its some shit emily would say to him and i cannot embarrass him like that LABDLABDKABAKD

andd ryley's super hearing! can hear basically everything within a mile radius at all times. im bad at math and i don't know the metric system but i think that's like around 1k meters. wait does the metric system use mile already. no. ONCE AGAIN NEVER SAID I WAS SMART.

OK ANYWAYS back on track! this means he can hear about half of the crater at all times. he's gotten p good at blocking out background noise and anything far away. typically only hears everything within like 300 meters of himself. so when he does get back to just hearing everything its like. u ever take out headphones in a busy place and everything kinda hurts for a few seconds bc its so much noise. yeah like that but 500x worse. he's able to concentrate on specific areas within this 1 mile field but if its far away it fucks him up good for a lil while. sorry ryley :(

and then the other two degasi! as mentioned before, paul can carry enzyme like the peepers, but he also can kind of make some himself! only small amounts and it works a bit less than the peeper enzyme does. he does not have to cough it up though thankfully it just like. idk how to describe this idea it can just kind of leave through his skin?? he has like no control over his power at all it just kind does its own thing and he deals w it. this is primarily how he and marg survive for so long w/o dying to kharra!

and finally marguerit! highly empathetic abilities that allow her to feel the emotions of anything around her! i thought it would be funny as hell to give MARGUERIT of all ppl Big Emotion Disease. this is a big reason why she has had yet to murder paul and why she's a lot less murderer like in the au. its hard to kill someone if you. you know. can feel exactly what they are. probably the reason she adopted Dog Bart/Legally Preston Emotionally Not. saw sad puppy and felt too bad to leave him. like paul, she has basically no control over it and is one of the reasons she does NOT want to go back to the survivors base and be around so many other ppl, she'd be feeling like, 13 ppl's emotions at one time. all these powers have fucked up drawbacks dont they??

once again sam, robin, jeff, maxim, and ozzy are (for now at least) not gonna have any powers! mutations are weird and ozzy just didn't get anything, and the vesper haven't been sick long enough for any yet!

OK THATS ALL. HOLY SHIT SORRY FOR YELLING FOR 15 MINUTES. GOT CARRIED AWAY. hopefully that explains everything tho OABEOABROANRJS OK BYE MY PHONE IS ALMOST DEAD

#wrote a whole ass chapter to the fanfic right here AKSJSKWBEOAN #so um. ENJOY ME YELLING ABOUT THESE CHARACTERS?? #subnautica: survivors #ryley robinson #avery quinn #bart torgal #paul torgal #marguerit maida #berkeley #cto yu #danby #ozzy #keen #jochi khasar #sam ayou #robin ayou #serik jevov #maxim #I TAGGED EVERYONE RIGHT?? #THERES TOO MANY OF THESE BASTARDS #ask #subnautica: a world alone

[moon-rabbit-music]

Y’all know that horrifically angsty fic that I’ve been talking about and preemptively apologizing for the last few days? I finished it 

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965787/chapters/63401863

Content warnings: major character death, grieving, brief but somewhat graphic description of violence, blood.

___

At the end of the day, it’s just...bad luck.

Bad luck that Teba’s still unsteady on his horse, and the focus he has to devote to staying upright in the saddle takes away from the careful eye he’d typically have on their surroundings. Bad luck that the skies open up and send down upon them a light mist, urging their little party into a canter in a futile attempt to reach the nearest stable before they’re all soaked through. Bad luck that Revali and Link insist on bantering the whole time, because of course they do. Bad luck that thanks to this precise combination of factors, none of them hear the low thrum of galloping horses, off to the left side of the road, far away but approaching fast.

Bad luck that Link turns to face Teba at exactly the wrong moment, and the arrow that had been about to hit him in the shoulder instead lands square in the middle of his throat.

It’s over in less than a minute. Revali immediately leaps off of his horse, summons an updraft, soars into the air, and in one fluid movement takes his bow off his back, nocks an arrow, and shoots down the bokoblin as it waves its bow in the air in triumph. Teba is half a second behind him, taking a moment to assess the situation— two more bokoblin on horseback, one wielding a club and the other a spear— before springing into action, unslinging his own bow and knocking the club-wielder off its horse with an arrow to the chest. He turns his aim to the other just as Revali dives down upon it, talons digging into its shoulders, pulling it off of its horse and dragging it viciously across the ground until it goes still. Teba lands and does a quick once-over. As soon as he’s certain that they aren’t in any more immediate danger, he sprints back over to the horses, panic building rapidly in his chest. 

Link lies sprawled out on the side of the road, eyes closed, and for one long, hysterical, hopeful second, Teba thinks he might sit up and cough and wipe the blood from his tunic and give him that ridiculous little grin he puts on every time Teba frets over one of his wounds. But he doesn’t move, and his face is so white, and there’s a ragged hole straight through the middle of his throat and so much blood and a horrible weight starts to settle itself in Teba’s stomach.

This can’t be his Link. His Link is always moving, fidgeting, full of nervous energy. His Link is rosy cheeks and a smile like the sun and only ever just enough blood to make him worry. His Link is alive, and this limp, pale thing lying in front of him is...not.

Behind him, Revali screams.

Teba knows he should feel...something. Shock. Anger. Grief. Guilt. But they don’t come. All he feels is the weight. In a daze, he stands and walks over to Link’s horse, which is tossing its head and shuffling about, clearly spooked. She quiets as he approaches, and he rifles through her saddlebag until he finds bandages and Link’s cloak. 

He starts by dressing the wound, wiping away the blood as best he can and carefully wrapping bandages around Link’s neck. As he works, Revali collapses next to him, laying his head on Link’s chest as he weeps. Once Teba finishes and the ugly gash is hidden but for a small red spot in the front of the bandages, he takes Revali by the shoulders and pulls gently. 

“Revali,” he says quietly, and his lover looks up at him, eyes desperate and deeply, impossibly sad. Teba tugs at him again, and this time he comes, wrapping his wings so tightly around Teba’s chest that it nearly knocks the wind out of him and letting out a ragged wail. Teba holds him close, awkwardly patting his back in some vague, wholly inadequate attempt at comfort, and Revali buries his head in the crook of Teba’s neck, breaking off into quiet, choked sobs.

They sit there, on the side of the road. Time passes. The rain passes. Travelers pass, too, but they pay them no mind, and the few that dare to approach wither rapidly under Teba’s glare. Revali clings to him, head tucked underneath Teba’s beak and eyes tightly shut, as if he could fight off the crushing reality simply by refusing to acknowledge it. Teba just stares. He stares for so long that he very nearly convinces himself that he’s used to it. As if he could ever accept this image of Link, pale as death and motionless in a puddle of his own blood.

Eventually, Revali opens his eyes and disentangles himself from Teba. He draws in a deep, rattling breath, leaning into Teba’s side for support. 

“We should bury him,” he mutters, and Teba furrows his brow in confusion.

“What?”

Revali gestures toward Link. Towards Link’s body. “We should bury him,” he says again, louder this time, and he sounds as empty as Teba feels. “That’s what...that’s what Hylians do with their—” 

He cuts himself off before the last word, and Teba puts a wing around his shoulder. With their dead, he thinks. Link is dead. 

He doesn’t say that. Instead, he says “we don’t have a shovel,” because maybe focusing on these kinds of petty material concerns will help the both of them turn their minds away from the horrible pit of darkness rapidly opening up beneath their feet. Another thought occurs to him, and he grabs onto it with all the desperation of a drowning man to a rope. “Shouldn’t we bring him to the castle? We’re nearly at Tabantha Bridge, and it’s only a couple days’ travel from the stable there.”

Revali shakes his head, and Teba notes with relief that he seems grateful for the distraction. “He wouldn’t— I don’t think he’d want all the ceremony. I suppose we could bring him back to the village, but…” He trails off, sagging a little, and Teba tightens his grip on his shoulder. “I can’t bear it, Teba, the thought of...of fucking carting him around for a whole day, I just can’t.”

“Yeah.” The telltale sting of tears pricks hard behind Teba’s eyes all of a sudden, but some ridiculous urge to hold himself together, for Revali’s sake if nothing else, has him blinking them back. “I...I could fly over to the stable, see if I can get us a shovel.” He sees Revali’s eyes widen in alarm, and he quickly amends the statement. “Or you could, and I’ll wait here. You’re faster than me anyway.”

“OK.” Revali exhales shakily and bows his head. “OK. OK, I can do that,” he says quietly, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anything. Teba squeezes his shoulder once more before letting go, and he reluctantly pulls himself away from Teba’s side and to his feet. He takes in a deep breath, crouches, summons another updraft, and spirals off into the sky.

Teba watches him glide away, until he’s nothing but a small speck on the horizon. Then he turns his attention back to Link. He carefully slides one wing underneath his neck and the other behind his knees, ignoring the sickening feeling of blood soaking into his feathers, and lifts him up, cradling the limp body to his chest. Leaning down, he presses his forehead to Link’s, gently rubbing his beak against Link’s nose as he had used to do every night as they settled into bed. The thought hits him like a ton of bricks. Had used to. He would never say goodnight to Link again.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers into Link’s ear, and the last of his composure crumbles. He dissolves into tears, clamping his beak shut and rocking back and forth, trying desperately to swallow his sobs until it’s too much and they burst out in short, painful gasps. The weight in his stomach vanishes, replaced by the awful, vertiginous feeling of free-fall, spiraling down and out and his wings are slick and wet and saturated with red and bile starts to rise in his throat and—

“Oh, Teba,” is all he hears Revali say, before the shovel clatters to the ground and the dead weight in his arms is carefully lifted away and placed gingerly on the ground. He collapses forward, into Revali’s wings, feels his lover rest his head on his shoulder and feels his tears fall softly onto his neck. Revali says something else, inaudible over the blood pounding in Teba’s ears. He just shakes his head, pressing his face into Revali’s chest and wills himself to find his composure again, to ground himself, to save this debilitating grief for nights back home.

They fall into autopilot, eventually. They take turns with the shovel to dig a shallow grave, and Teba wraps Link in his cloak before lowering him into the fresh, damp dirt. He watches numbly as Revali slowly covers him, staring at his face, trying to affix every last detail of it in his mind before it’s covered up as well. Gone forever. No sign left of him but a pathetic little mound of overturned earth.

At Tabantha Bridge Stable, Revali returns the shovel and turns in their horses. They rent a single bed, a good foot and a half too short for Teba, but he spends the night curled around Revali anyway because letting him out of his sight for even a moment is utterly unthinkable.

In the morning, there are no words, just despairing glances and blinked-back tears. They fly back to the village, and by some unspoken agreement land not there but at the Flight Range, which is mercifully empty. It’s saturated with Link’s absence, more than anywhere in the village proper, but it is their sanctuary and nothing, not even this calamitous emptiness, can take that away from them.

Teba cooks dinner. He burns the fish to hell, and neither of them have any appetite anyway, so he just throws it away. They sit and stare at the fire, Revali’s head in Teba’s lap. Link sits across from them, a ghost neither of them thinks the other can see, and his smile is worth all of the words he can no longer say.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Teba says quietly, and Revali sits up. He wraps a single wing around the back of Teba’s neck and pulls him in close, pressing their foreheads together, and gently rubs their beaks together.

“I know,” he responds. “Me neither.”

#breath of the wild #teba #revali #link #teba x link x revali #tevalink #teba x revali #tebali #my writing #i. yeah #idk what possessed me to write this but i'm honestly super fucking proud of it #probably my favorite oneshot i've done so far #it was originally gonna be way longer #but then i decided that all of the other plot points i had in mind could wait for a followup #and yes there will probably be a followup 😳 #i pledge to finish the four remaining requests i have first though #four...so many #i'm sorry i'm so slow

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.10

...and Drink It with Gusto

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3400

Summary: Steve’s a bit difficult (poor baby), not that anyone blames him. Sam Wilson makes a confession – sort of.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, alcohol, unhealthy coping mechanism, sad sad Steeb

A/N: dropping the chapter early, because I won’t have time to post for a bit

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The mission hadn’t been a shitshow, surprisingly enough, but the reports to Fury had been. Natasha had spent the rest of the day, whole night and a better portion of the next day at the SHIELD HQ, having to deal with everything, because Stark had quite literally fled. To be fair, he had at least taken care of Steve’s still unconscious and very much muscular (read ‘really fucking heavy’) form.

Tired and annoyed, Natasha finally landed with small jet at the Tower, making her way to her room, wishing nothing more but to shower and get some fucking sleep.

Of course, walking through the common room, she should have known she wouldn’t be that lucky.

She heard his icy yet somewhat cheery voice before she even saw him and it made her stop in her tracks, dreading facing him. She was too tired for his reproaches now.

“AH! There she is!”

Natasha took a deep breath, closing her eyes and mentally counting to three.

“Here’s ‘ur soulmate ex-pert!” Steve howled again, making her heart clench.

Black Widow was not a coward, but neither her nor Natasha liked dealing with feelings too directly – the jet was enough to get her fill for several years prior. She scanned the room before she would settle on him – and sure enough, she and Steve weren’t alone.

Bruce was standing indecisively by the door, torn and helpless expression on his face, his eyes one big question mark, asking Natasha how the hell he was supposed to deal with that.

Good question, Bruce, good question.

The smell of booze and Steve’s demeanour were unmistakable, but she silently asked anyway.

“Is he…?”

“Yeah. He… uhm… he found Thor’s stash,” the scientist answered her in equally hushed voice, inconspicuously pointing towards the counter where three flasks lay, emptied. Jesus.

Steve apparently heard and saw them anyway, because his voice bellowed again in reaction to their conversation. His words were slurred.

“Goooood friend Thor. Thou’ he t’ied to take my g’l. Nooot a g’d friend. Baaaad, bad friend.”

“Oh bozhe moy…” Natasha whispered under her breath and Steve turned to her, looking almost excited to see her.

Which didn’t mean he didn’t look like absolute shit. He had a t-shirt stained with the alcohol, his eyes red-rimmed, bruise-like dark circles under them as if he hadn’t slept for a year.

She hadn’t thought he could get worse than in the quinjet. Clearly, she was wrong.

“’tasha! Greeeeat ‘dvice you gave me,” he exclaimed, trying to rise from his spot on the couch where he had been half-lying like a dead fish casted ashore.

Natasha resisted the urge to massage her temples as the headache started to build. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach at the audible edge to his voice, the accusation glaring at her from his eyes.

“Steve…”

He finally stumbled to his feet and she noticed another flask secured in his right hand. He held it out as if he was pointing at her.

“Tried wat’ you s-said. Hurts,” he hiccupped, the sound blending with a sob. He cleaned his nose with the back of his hand hastily. “S-saw her grave. Fuck it hurts…  ‘dis thing’s good ‘ough.”

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, her mind racing. She didn’t need to call anyone for advice now. Her friend was shitfaced. The only thing she could do was to get him to bed and try not to antagonize him or trigger something worse than… whatever this was. She wasn’t sure if moving on from being snowed under work – voluntarily – was more or less healthy than drinking himself into oblivion. But she counted any change that wasn’t a step towards a suicide (possibly assisted by the last of Hydra goons) like a progress.

“Is he drunk?” Tony’s incredulous voice ringed from the doorway and Natasha didn’t even bother spinning on her heels to him, hearing him enter and close the distance between them as he stopped at her side. “Cap?”

Blood froze in Natasha’s veins and she was swift to call out, but it was too late. “No- don’t call-!”

So much for not triggering him and making it worse. She could see how he suddenly stood straighter as if he swallowed a wooden ruler, and an indefinable expression appeared on his face.

She gulped in anticipation of a storm.

“Cap!” he called out, mimicking Tony and the billionaire realized his mistake, judging by the silent dammit that left his lips. Steve raised the flask in a mock toast, turning around and nearly tipping over his feet. “Captain ‘merica! What a heeero! Cheers to him!” He took a long sip before continuing, his gestures animated. “Swin’ in, safe th’m all! Kill his g’l, why ‘ven care… hero, murd’r, potato, tomatho…” his voice slurred into a murmur, until he spotted a newcomer and came to life again. “Ah! Hey, Clint!”

Clint was quick to understand the situation and it took one glance at Natasha for them to agree what needed to be done. He approached Steve cautiously with his features emotionless.

“We should get you to bed-“

“Nope! No!” Steve howled instantly, taking several steps backwards to get out of Clint’s reach. His expression was dark, tears welling in his eyes. “Smell like h’r. Not ‘nymore. Hurts!” he sobbed, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, his figure swaying dangerously as he closed his eyes and lost the visual control of his balance. “Hurts!”

“Come on, Steve…” Clint coaxed him gently, attempting to close the distance between them again. His gaze flickered to Bruce and Tony and they took few steps towards Steve as well.

“Nope! Gotta-ta sssay sm’thin’!” Christ, Natasha had never seen him like this and she wanted to bleach both her eyes and ears. He pointed the flask at Clint resolutely. “You knew. You warn h’r. Fuck-fuck up. Shouldva told- I ain’t gettin’ killed. I kill h’r.”

“Steve…” Natasha approached him as well, grimacing when she saw the flash of emotion on Clint’s face.

Steve spun to her immediately, this time accusing her. “And you! Gooood job. Pushin’ us togthe’. You kill h’r too.”

“Hey! Watch it!” Tony snapped at him, running out of patience, but Natasha knew Steve didn’t quite mean it. Pushing them together wasn’t her fault – the fact she had tranquilized him was her sin and she was aware he had the right to be mad at her.

“Your friggin’ ‘stem! You too- n’t fly fast ’nough!“

“Steve, you’re wasted. You’re going to bed before you say more things you regret,” Bruce said calmly after Steve managed to finish his roll and blame another person.

Bruce speaking up gave the captain a pause and he looked like his brain froze. His brows knitted together and he nodded, another sob erupting from his throat, his inhale shaking his whole being as he crossed the distance to Bruce, murmuring.

“Regert. Her. My folt, no yours. Kill h’r. Miss her. Shouldva s-s-saved her. Pick h’r… love h’r. Hurts. Hurts s’much…”

Steve’s large frame enveloped Bruce, resting his whole impressive weight on him. The scientist was nearly tripped over – except a hint of green flushed his neck, Hulk coming to rescue before the other men and Natasha rushed to help. Steve went completely limp, the flask falling to the ground, the little liquid remaining in it spilling and staining the carpet. No one cared as they tried to support the supersoldier’s goo-like body, exchanging desperate glances.

“Well, that was… enlightening,” Tony summarized, his poor attempt at joke that not even he apparently believed in barely gaining any reaction.

Clint sighed. “Please, this is hardly any news. We knew he blamed himself.” He readjusted Steve’s arm he had slung around his shoulders and Tony’s right side of suit came to the rescue, taking most of the weight off from the billionaire. “I hate this, but I think he needs this.”

Natasha wasn’t so sure about that, but yeah, Steve definitely needed to start accepting the reality. It was probably a natural reaction to want to dull the pain with something else when work was off limits. She pressed her lips together as their whole grouped slowly made their way to Steve’s room.

“Let’s just get him to bed.”  

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Not many people could probably brag they had Black Widow’s number. Well, probably no one could, because if they told a living soul, they’d meet their end. So Sam Wilson didn’t brag. And he sure as hell didn’t call her first.

That said, he did not hesitate when she called him with location and time to meet, no greeting, no goodbye. Rude, but he’d take it. He had more than one reason, not that he would advertise it.

So there he was, sipping coffee from a take-away cup as he sat in Central Park with Black Widow, both of them having the best super-spy disguise; sunglasses and baseball caps.

The silence between them was getting awkward and Sam couldn’t take the tension anymore.

“Well, this is much more… civil than our last meeting,” he noted casually, hating to admit he was… nervous.

“I’m not gonna say sorry,” Ms.Romanoff hummed back, sipping her latté.

“Guess I wouldn’t expect that…”

He didn’t expect her to face him either but she did, a reminiscence of a sad smile gracing her lips. The warmth around his heart was familiar and not entirely unwelcomed. He found himself longing after seeing her whole face.

“I’m saying thank you, though.”

Huh.

“Didn’t expect that either,” he admitted and one corner of her lips rose higher in a smirk. Sam had a hunch she loved surprising people – or rather shocking them.  “How did it go?”

She huffed out a sound that could only mean frustration and Sam grimaced. Confrontation usually didn’t go very good, but this sounded awful.

“That well, huh?”

“No, no…” she shook her head, red curls swaying around her head elegantly. “He’s… an asshole. He fell asleep on a mission. In a cockpit. When he was piloting. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but God bless Stark’s inventions and auto-piloting,” she grunted and removed the cap of her cup before taking a long sip of her coffee.

She seemed to be gathering thoughts. Sam might not be able to see her eyes, but he did learn to read people. She didn’t like talking about feelings, but she was making an exception. Whether it was because of him, because of his job or because she wished to help her friend so badly, that remained a mystery. Either was pleasing though, the action itself intriguing Sam.

He had given her a lot of thought after their first unconventional meeting. He could not get her out of his head and for a good reason, of course.

He came to a conclusion that… despite her manners, she probably wasn’t a bad person. There were rumours about her past, but everyone had one. She was with the Avengers now, getting clean and the present and willingness to fix mistakes often mattered more than what had been done – especially when it came to a past like her own. Sam had made living by helping people dealing with their past actions and failures; judging her would be a hypocrisy and as far as he knew, he was a killer too. And if it came to it, he would punch, sliced or shot his way out again.

“It’s just… he’s… he’s really at the bottom,” she Natasha spoke softly, emotions lacing her voice. Regret. Compassion. Helplessness. Sam knew all those too well. “Seeing him going from one mission to another just to pass out in exhaustion was bad enough, because I knew it was wrong, but… seeing him drink himself into oblivion? One time only, but it was a nightmare. And seeing Steve doing nothing? Struggling to find a purpose, himself… that’s just…”

“It sucks. But he has a good friend in you. He needs time.”

“I know that, it’s… I wish there was someone hurting him so I could just punch them in their face and call it a day. But that one guy blew himself to hell and the others just… don’t really matter, getting them doesn’t do much help to Steve.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile softly as she said Captain’s name. It held a meaning – he was clearly dear to her and it went way beyond professional relationship. Not that the fact alone that she had shown up at Sam’s apartment the way she had wasn’t enough of an evidence. Not to mention her surprising openness.

“It’s a long way to recovery, Natasha.”

Her first name just slipped past his lips unwittingly, but he didn’t feel like apologizing. The informal space they found themselves in, the honest open conversation… first names suited it better. He was aware he sounded like he was speaking from experience on top of that, but it wasn’t like she didn’t know. She had done a thorough research on him.

As if she agreed with him feeling his surroundings and the atmosphere, she put away her glasses, her green eyes burning with honesty when she met his – he automatically lost the barrier too, because it felt unjust for her to be left… vulnerable like that.

“I’m truly sorry about poking at your past, Sam,”

Sam felt the last remains of hostility towards her resolve. That apology meant more than he had realized it would.

“Thanks. I get it, you know. Being worried for someone so much… he’s gonna be okay, eventually. Scarred, but okay.”

“He could be better than that…” she sighed, leaning onto the backrest of the bench tiredly.

“What was that?”

“When I confronted him on the plane… he told me he had another words,” she revealed hesitantly as if she wasn’t sure if it was her secret to tell.

Sam’s heart positively stopped. Was she telling the truth or was this a game? Did she know about his own too? He swallowed the panic when he saw her resigned gaze.

She wasn’t playing no game.

“Two soulmates. That’s rare,” he remarked, a lump growing in his throat. His palms started sweating and he hated it. Fortunately, Natasha didn’t seem to notice – or she politely ignored it, her voice dry and laced with a bit of irritation.

“He never wants to meet her.”

“That’s not rare.”

Sam would know. He had struggled with the same feeling, after all. He wanted to forget the world existed. He wanted to live peacefully and alone. It was probably no coincidence fate sent him Black freaking Widow as the one – if she was willing, Sam would not be alone. And definitely wouldn’t get ‘peace’.

If he was being truly honest with himself, he wouldn’t be able to say he minded.

“He thinks… he thinks he doesn’t deserve her or something.”

Sam sighed, mentally chuckling at the irony of fate once more. The Universe did have a messed up sense of humour, didn’t it?

“Because he thinks he blew his chance. Because he thinks that he will mess it up again and fail her. And it feels like being unfaithful,” he offered, venting his own feelings for the first time.

He had never told that to anyone, ashamed of the set of words sitting on his other collarbone, appearing shortly after Riley’s death. Why did he tell her of all people? He wanted to question his own actions, he barely knew the woman, but… there was a significant but, wasn’t there?

Her emerald eyes were searching on his face, recognition lighting them up. She fidgeted, something he hadn’t seen her do before and he was sure not many people had either. It was a privilege and while his heart started racing, seeing her nervous eased his own nerves the tinniest bit.

“…yeah. I guess. You… uhm, you dealt with someone like that too?” she asked, looking away, seemingly intrigued by something in the distance.

Sam didn’t buy it and swallowed loudly.

“Just one case in my whole carrier.”

“What did you tell them?” she queried gently, her shoulders tense.

Sam shrugged. He told himself a lot of things, but he wasn’t certain they were all presentable.

“Never figured it out. First, the meeting with his other soulmate was a bit unconventional. He kinda hated her,” he admitted, glancing at her with the corner of his eye. She gave almost an inconspicuous nod, her gaze casted down. She took it as a rejection, he realized. “Then he started thinking and realized she wasn’t too bad. He’s still struggling to make up his mind – whether he should try. Whether she would want to. She would be a catch though, no doubt,” he lighted it up, biting the inside of his cheek right after.

Was he really trying to flirt now?  

One corner of her lips rose in a smirk. “Somehow I doubt that. Sounds like a bitch.”

Sam wanted to chuckle at the joke, but then her eyes lifted to him and his heart just… stopped, the amused sound stuck in his throat. He had to clear it to be able to speak up, but it did nothing under the intensity of her gaze.

“Not to me. Not anymore.”

Natasha licked her lips – and Sam would lie if he claimed he did not mirror the motion instinctively – and finished her drink.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, huh? That must have been a pleasant surprise when it appeared,” she stated, a hint of amusement along with relief that the secret, the whatever that had been hanging between them, was finally addressed.

Sam snorted, not necessarily because he found his next statement funny.  

“Yeah and I bet growing up in Russia and have an English soulmark must have been walk in a park.”

Good, there was so much sarcasm in his voice he might even feel ashamed. But the redhead – his second soulmate, holy shit, it really happened – didn’t seem to be offended.

“Wow, this almost beats the way Steve met his and that was some story….”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Silence fell on them then, both of them unsure how to continue and where to go from here. They found each other – their other half, supposedly, but no one could tell the outcome.

She was an Avenger. Sam was a therapist, a veteran at ridiculously young age, because he had lost his partner. They had a perfect example of how wrong it could go, served on silver plate – it was how they had met for God’s sake. But once again – Sam would lie when saying he didn’t miss some of the adrenalin. He did. A lot, actually.

The reason he had left the field was his soulmate. Was there any better reason to get back in when the need would rise, than another soulmate?

“Do you want to explore this?” Sam broke the uncomfortable silence, lacking the courage to look at her expression. The tension in her shoulders he could almost feel told him enough. He didn’t want to see her rejection. Did he want to see her agreement though?

“Do you?” she hummed back, staring ahead just like him.

“That’s the million dollar question.”

Riley had been… his everything. But could he ignore something like this? Could he ignore the opportunity, a woman who was no doubt fabulous and he was already finding interesting and that apparently was matching his sense of humour? Did he believe in fate? Did he have the right to try again?

Deep down, Sam knew he had already made his mind about it. Now it only depended on her.

“But I keep telling everyone to move on,” he mused out loud, catching her gaze. “Try to live. Some do. Neither of them had the… advantage of having another soulmate if we can call it that.”

Small smile appeared on Natasha’s lips, new twinkle lighting up her eyes and Sam knew he had made the right decision, no matter the outcome.

He didn’t complain when she rose to her feet to clearly leave though – they had enough to deal with today, they needed more time to think of how to approach this.

“Okay. Okay then… You have my number. Call me,” she offered simply, saying goodbye only with a nod and spun on her heels.

“Oh, I will!”

She casted a flirty grin over her shoulder and Sam found himself smiling.

“Hey, you bowl?” he blurted out the first idea that came to his mind and this time she stopped in her tracks, her smile turning almost wolfish. It might have done a thing to his crotch.

“I do, but you can’t run crying when I beat you!” she smirked and gave him a wink, hips swaying as she left him behind.

His laughter sounded like a soundtrack to her catwalk.

Cheeky lady. Sam kinda liked her.  

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Part 11

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Thank you for reading! 

We’ll be leaving Stevie next time, coming back to our wayward sons and daughter (...that’s a spn reference, if any non-fan is confused). We’re getting closer, y’all!

#marvel #fanfiction #supernatural #steve rogers x reader #soulmate au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america x reader #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester imagine #team free will #marvel x spn #mcu #avengers aou #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers soulmate #spn x marvel #steve rogers fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn crossover #supernatural x marvel #marvel x supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #soulmates #errare humanum est #anika ann

[vannahfanfics]

A Smile Like the Sun

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Natsu Dragneel, Lucy Heartfilia

Hey, everyone! :) This here is my submission for Day 7 of NaLu Week, for the prompt “Smile.” Unfortunately, with so many requests and events happening right now, I’m not able to do all the prompts, but I wanted to show just a little love for this adorable couple! Hopefully, I can go back and do the rest. Regardless, enjoy! :D

If Natsu had to choose the thing he loved most about Lucy, it would be her smile.

Natsu had never seen a smile as radiant as hers. It illuminated rooms like a beacon, filling the space to every corner with a warm, gentle light that no darkness could taint. Her smile seemed to be a sun in itself; not only was it bright and radiating, it possessed its own gravity. Natsu would find himself lured in by its magnetic pull. Lucy’s smile embodied everything about the luminous girl that Natsu adored- her kindness, her optimism, her friendliness, her beauty. Yes, Natsu Dragneel loved Lucy Heartfilia’s smile.

That’s why he immediately noticed its absence when he slipped into Lucy’s house to find her morosely lounging on her living room couch. A handful of crumpled tissues were scattered on and around the coffee table. Lucy lay on her back, sniffling despondently as she stared at a tear-stained piece of paper in her hand. Eyebrows knitted together in concern, Natsu walked into the living room and timidly asked, “Lucy? Are you okay?”

The celestial mage jolted into the sitting position and stuffed the paper behind the throw pillows. Laughing amiably, Lucy hastily wiped her tears away with her wrist and smiled at Natsu.

“Of course I am! What’s up?” Natsu hunched down, like a wary cat inspecting a new room. Her smile wasn’t right. The light was dimmed, like a lightbulb flickering in its last moments of life, and rather than a summery bright yellow, its aura was more of a sickly off-white. His green eyes bored intently into her form, taking note of the slouch in her shoulders and the unkempt crimps of her normally brushed and shampooed hair. “N-Natsu? What’s that look on your face for?” she chuckled nervously. She pressed her body into the disarrayed throw pillow where she had hidden the paper, obviously trying to shield it with her body. “I’m okay! Really! It’s just my allergies.”

Natsu’s nose wrinkled as he smelled the nervous sweat blooming on her body.

“You’re lying,” he accused. A pink flush appeared on Lucy’s cheeks, and she shook her head insistently.

“Nuh-uh! I’m perfectly fine, see?” She flashed him that smile again as if to use it at evidence, but it only affirmed Natsu’s suspicions. Lithe and cautious so as not to startle the edgy girl, he crept around the edge of the coffee table with slow, deliberate steps. Lucy fidgeted on the couch, sneaking her hand around the throw pillow. His keen ears heard the parchment wrinkle as she gripped it.

 “Lucy… What’s on that piece of paper?”

“Nothing!” she screamed and leaped from the couch to take off toward the hallway, flailing the parchment over her head. Natsu’s nostrils flared as he vaulted over the coffee table to spring in front of the girl. She squeaked and ducked under his arms as he lunged for her, veering off at a ninety-degree angle to flee into the kitchen. “Natsu! Leave me alone!” she wailed as he stormed after her. She scurried behind the kitchen table, heading for the exit to the entryway, but as Natsu came tromping around the other side of the furniture, she squealed and back-tracked. She stopped on the long side of the table while Natsu paused on the other, and they became embroiled in an intense stare-down. Each time Lucy shifted like she was going to flee, he stomped his foot threateningly and lunged in that direction, making her squeak and reconsider her decision.

“Lucy, I am not above climbing on this table!” he warned. He placed a foot on the cushioned seat to emphasize. Lucy cringed and retreated within herself, clutching the letter to her chest.

“What is it gonna take for you to give it a rest?!”

“Tell me what you were cryin’ about!”

“I wasn’t crying!” she protested and clutched the paper further into her bosom, crumpling it up. Natsu growled and stepped up onto the chair, preparing to scramble over the table’s surface. Lucy shrieked as he came shambling on all fours over the wood, but as he snatched for the paper, she shimmied away and took off back into the living room.

“Dammit, Lucy, c’mere!” Natsu roared, hopping off the table to scurry after her. He found her straddling the back of the couch, pushing up the window with one hand and swinging one leg over the windowsill. “Gotcha!” he grinned as he jumped onto the couch cushions and wound a thick arm around her waist.

“Natsu, nooooo!” she whined as he easily flung her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. As he stepped down from the couch, he plucked the paper from her hand. Lucy bleated protests and pounded her fists into his upper back and shoulders; she then fell limp like a fish and groaned when he refused to budge, and just resigned herself to her defeat. Natsu’s leaf-green eyes scanned over the neatly printed letters on the page, a frown deepening on his face with every paragraph he read.

“… You got rejected for a publishing deal?”

Lucy sniffled wretchedly, then nodded with a tiny whimper. Natsu balled up the rejection letter in his hand and tossed it across the room so he wouldn’t have to look at it, because it would only anger him. How dare they reject Lucy? She’s a great writer! He thought haughtily and stamped his foot. He began grumbling under his breath about the publishing company’s incompetence, and for a moment, he was completely oblivious to Lucy. He blinked when he felt her shudder on his shoulder and glanced down between his arm and his body to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “Lucy!”

“That isn’t the first one. Six different companies have rejected my latest manuscript,” Lucy said dolefully. She scraped at her eyes with the heels of her palms, but the tears continued to flow. They beaded on her lashes like dew on grass blades after a morning rain. “I’ve lost my touch… I’m going to be a one-hit-wonder,” she sobbed. Natsu pursed his lips and walked back over to the couch. He fixed the cushion before plopping down, then resituated Lucy so that she was seated on his lap. She straddled him as she miserably wiped at her face, openly weeping and crying out in shame. “What do I do, Natsu?”

“Listen to me,” he grunted and grabbed both her wrists. Lucy offered no resistance as he pulled them down to rest on her thighs. Leaving them there, he cupped her face and swept his thumbs over her cheekbones to catch the tears still rolling over them. “You are not going to be a one-hit-wonder. Your stories are amazing! So what if those jerks are too blind to see it?” he huffed insistently. “Lucy, you’re going to be a famous author someday with tons and tons of published works under your belt. I know that because my Lucy never gives up.”

Finally, there it was. Lucy’s shaky lips wobbled into a tiny smile, like the first glimpse of the sun after being concealed by roiling gray storm clouds. She giggled, scrunching up her eyes like she always did, and leaned forward a little to lay her hands on his chest.

“You really think so?”

“I know so!” he frowned haughtily. Lucy chuckled again and leaned back, a blush alighting her cheeks. Natsu smiled warmly as that smile he adored so much finally broke out on her face, all teeth and glee. Her warm brown irises barely peeked out of her blonde lashes as she smiled with every ounce of energy in her body. The gloom in the house immediately evaporated, and sunlight streamed in from the open window behind them to bathe the living room in golden light. The natural sun’s glow couldn’t compete with Lucy’s smile, though- it was too warm, too bright, too gorgeous. He reached up to pinch her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and she opened her eyes to regard him curiously.

“There it is. I missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“Your smile, Lucy. It lights up the whole world. I’m sad without it.” Lucy blinked, then smiled affectionately. She melted over him, pressing her torso against his and winding her arms around his neck. Natsu was not prepared for such an overtly romantic gesture, and so he reflexively grabbed her hips. She seemed not to mind, for she began twisting the ends of his salmon-colored locks around her index fingers.

“That’s interesting. You wanna know a secret?” Blinking, he nodded. Lucy leaned forward some more, brushing the tip of her nose against his. “Your smile lights up my whole world.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded, cocking her head to the side as her fingers traveled further up his scalp. “I remember it so fondly- when you grabbed my hand, said we were going to Fairy Tail, and gave me the biggest, most beautiful smile.” Natsu, not used to so much overt praise, flushed as pink as his hair. Her chocolate-brown eyes smoldered with an intense heat that rivaled the temperature of his fierce flames, and they fixated intently on his face. Unable to hold Lucy’s searing gaze, Natsu’s green eyes dropped down to her lips. Suddenly, he was gripped by the overwhelming urge to kiss her. The little smile playing over her plump pink lips was simply so inviting; that gravity, stronger than the largest planet in the universe, effortlessly drew him in. He barely realized what he was doing before he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers.

She hummed serenely and relaxed against him. Natsu appreciated how every contour of her plush, pliant body molded so perfectly against his rugged contours. One of his hands swept a swathe of her golden hair away to tuck it behind her ear, while the other migrated to her waist, hugging the divot of her body. She tasted like strawberries with a faint hint of zesty lemons. He kissed her lips once, twice, three times, before pulling back a hair and looking into her eyes.

“What was that for?” she asked teasingly. Natsu flushed pink and looked down meekly.

“I dunno. I just felt like it ‘cuz you’re so gorgeous,” he admitted. Lucy snickered and reclined against him, laying her head on his shoulder and continuing to play with his tufts of soft pink hair. Natsu purred in contentment and nestled back into the couch, wrapped his arms around her lower back. She was so cozy and warm that he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

“Natsu?”

“Hnn?”

“Thank you. I feel much better.” He glanced down at her to find her smiling again, smiling truly like she ought to. He gave her a lopsided smirk and kissed her forehead.

“O’course.”

They drifted off together on the couch, like a couple of lazy house cats snoozing in the sun. However, Natsu’s sun wasn’t hanging in the blue sky outside; no, it lay in his arms. He held her tight to his chest, his Lucy, his bright golden sun and center of his universe.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

 Tag List: @nalu-week​ @deliathedork​ @searchfortheonepiece​

#naluweek #naluweek2020 #nalu #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail #fairy tail lucy #fairy tail natsu #ft lucy #ft natsu #fairy tail fanfic #fairy tail fanfiction #ft fanfic #ft fanfiction

[errthel]

I have risen up from the dead for the holidays to give this gift (Route Two : Part 6)

Hey man, wassup, how's life? I dunno what to say, I'm a terrible Santa. I put in more time into this chapter than the other chapters (in the spirit of preholiday break procrastination) so I hope you like this gift. This is derived for the amazing @tri3tri 's SW AU and I just thank her for creating such vivid and lovely AUs which I can immerse myself in, I loved the recent AU, Dead MC, a very nice one indeed. So I guess I will leave now so you can enjoy your reading time in peace ♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lucien’s mind was a maze. Every twist and turn, every dead end taunted him, like a defenseless child taunted by their cruel relatives. His frustration knew no bounds when he failed to exit the maze, but that anger was soon replaced by something far more sinister.

The numbing sear on his body felt as if his body was suffocated when he slept. His appendages were like cooked pasta, limp and unruly. Breaths that were like that of an athlete who had run a marathon filled the room at lightning speed. The degradation of his vision forced the boy to squint but even that proved to be ineffective when blobs of different colors was all that filled his vision. Lucien could no longer feel the beat of his heart, his lungs wouldn’t budge and supply him with air. He felt his eyelids droop lower and lower in an agonizingly slow pace until they finally reached their destination. The room fell into a hushed silence, like the prior noise never happened, it was peaceful like a field of flowers on a cliff.

~

For her, time wasn’t a constriction, she had lived long enough to no longer fear the obnoxious concept of time. She lives alongside time. She is time. As long as time exists, she will live and be indifferent to time. Her hourglass will forever be reversed again and again when the sand trickled to the bottom.

But her long life no longer gave her any thrill, she lives in a kingdom where war no longer ensues in its borders and she has been reduced to a routine of nothingness. Until the woman with flowing (h/c) hair and blazing (e/c) eyes came years ago. The woman who was her granddaughter-in-law was an untameable dog who very much was the one who her dear grandson loved with all his heart. 

The sour taste in her mouth left her itching to tame the woman until she was the perfect lover for her grandson.

The sour taste in her mouth was satiated when the woman was on her knees along with her daughters, her confidence was cracking.

She was almost perfect.

Maleficent looked back to those recent memories and scoffed, what was she thinking? (MC) hadn’t changed even with a decade of taming, she truly was an untamable dog. She  sat on a chair that was as black as the abyss of space. In her unlit room, she was like a viper ready to strike at anything that disturbed her.

Her peace however is disrupted by a wave of magic. Her eyes quickly focused on the magic and tried to discern what kind of magic dared to make its way into the Valley of Thorns. Once she figured out what magic it was, her cackling reached the throne room as her bright green flames engulfed her room. She called in a meeting with all the high ranking nobles of The Valley of Thorns.

~

Her room was as gloomy as it was large, floor to ceiling window panes let in as much natural light as the rainy day allowed. She sighed, he was having another tantrum from their one-sided conversation in the morning. 

Her black dress was almost as beautiful as the woman who wore it. The dress was a two piece dress consisting of a bodice and a skirt. The woman's bodice was luxurious, even if it was done in a black fabric, delicate embroidery in black thread was littered across the bodice, while her two layered scalloped bertha collar was created with a sheer black fabric. A large skirt supported by a steel crinoline accentuated her waist as the corset helped to hold up her large skirt. She also wore a black veil, as if she was mourning for someone.

“Mother, long time no see.” Sherry’s somewhat cheery voice announced her presence

“How are you Sherry?” hearing her mother’s question brought the teenager joy as she happily sat on the sofa and talked about how she was feeling

“Hello Mother.” a stoic voice called out to the woman as she walked into the room

Sherry’s green eyes flicked over to Renata who seemed like she walked to the depths of hell and back.

“Yo Renata! You look like you're about to drop.”

“I do very much feel like that.” Renata sighs as she plops herself down to the sofa next to Sherry

“When you’re tired, sleep my dear.” 

“Mhm”

“Renata, did you?” (M/c) asked the black haired teen who nodded in agreement

“Mhm, I already did.” Renata said, referring to a magic spell which allows nobody to eavesdrop on their conversations

“I can feel that something will happen.” 

Sherry and Renata looked at their mother with confused looks, “What will happen?” Sherry said breaking the confusion

“Lucien is here in Twisted Wonderland.” 

“You’re joking!” Renata said looking at her

“The kid’s finally here huh.”

“We still aren’t ready.”

“Don’t worry, where do you think we live? Even if the Valley of Thorns continues to invade countries near it, this kingdom will always be isolated.” 

But her statement was disputed with the wave of magic that engulfed the room and brought the three ladies to panic. The magic was like a hurricane that knocked the breath out of their lungs and gave them excruciating pain by doing so.

“This magic! How is it so strong!” Sherry said trying to breath 

“No way. This is a finishing stage of transformation magic!” Renata said making (M/c) look at the window with surprised eyes

“Lucien…”

~

His face was like an unkempt garden and cottage, bellflowers and catmint littered the ground, sullen from the cold atmosphere. The yellow straw of the cottage roof looked disheveled as if it barely survived a violent snowstorm. That was the appearance of Briar Rome as he sat on the intolerably cold and hard stool that seemed jutt into his tailbone. His purple eyes that seemed to always give the person staring into them the warm feeling of spring, instead looked dejected, regretful, downcast, miserable, and just plain sad. Briar’s wheat colored hair was like sad damp straw, a victim of the recent and sudden storm that glazed Royal Sword Academy for a few hours. 

His pale hands held a hand larger than his own, the nails were a menacing black that glossed under the light of the infirmary. His eyes trailed up to the person’s pale face, the person had (h/c) hair that was like the clouds in the great big sky and his horns were two skyscrapers that disrupted the beautiful view. His silk-like fringe was brushed to the side to reveal a threatening yet alluring pattern of black scales that started in between his forehead and hairline. The ornate design strangely complemented the boy. He looked at the white robe his friend wore and grimaced, he should have known that he was sick or hurting earlier, when he heard that Lucien was the one who had unconsciously casted the tragic storm while also suffering from his transformation, he felt like a thousand needles had pricked him at the same time.

A light groan felt like the bang of a sudden firework to Briar, it felt like seeing the light at the end of a dark and long tunnel. His breath hitched as if his mind stopped working for a moment and he stood up and shouted for a nurse when he finally had a grasp on what was happening. Like swifts, a pair of nurses entered the room, one ushering Briar out, to his dismay, while the other tended to the now semi-conscious Lucien. 

~

The room was like Antarctica to (M/c), frigid and deathly silent. Her eyes trailed to the imposing figure that sat upon a throne of thorns. Like a paperweight weighing down everyone with a rule of silence, Maleficent observed the court, everybody was here, save for the Crown Prince, he wasn't necessary.

She sat on a throne on the right of her husband while Bellatrix sat beside Maleficent on her left. Her children were separated from their mother as they sat on their respective chairs as the High Court Magician and Supreme General.

"I hope I wasn't the only one who felt it, I'd be disappointed if I was." she haughtily said looking at the court of high ranking nobles

Words of confirmation echoed in the large hall and Maleficent steadily raised her staff and pointed to Renata.

"High Court Magician, elaborate further." 

Renata stood up and explained, "The magic that came across the Valley of Thorns is quite unique." 

Some chatter was heard among the nobles, they weren't really surprised, if anything, they probably weren't listening. Why should they listen to a half-human princess? It was probably through pure luck that she was able to get that position, probably by asking the vile queen.

Renata silently clenched her teeth and sucked it in and continued, "The magic is transforming magic, more specifically, dark fae transformation magic."

Gasps were heard in the court while a noble stood up to object the sayings of the High Court Magician.

"Your Highnesses! How can we be so sure about what she says!"

Renata looked at the man and clicked her tongue, Muave Heighgroove. What a joke, she sat down, deeming it unnecessary to stand up 

"What do you mean?" Malleus said in a hoarse voice 

"Your Highness! We don't know for sure if she is lying."

"Faes can't lie." Malleus says passively 

The fact that the king didn't respond aggressively blew Muave up like a puffer fish with pride. 

"Well, with the princesses being half-"

His claim was cut short by Maleficent who just laughed, no cackled, like a dying goat. She was beyond amused. Maleficent looked Muave straight in the eyes.

"That girl is plenty capable in discerning what magic it was. Honestly, I wonder how you all are part of the royal court."

Clean and swift.

Renata stood up and displayed her utmost gratitude and explained the magic even more.

"The circumstances are very unique when we consider this case, in case you happened to forget, transformation potions and anything regarding transformation is illegal in most kingdoms unless it is their Unique Magic, not in the Valley of Thorns though. But even then, transformation magic, especially for a dark fae transformation, is still hard to obtain here as it's distribution is under the jurisdiction of the Former Queen. So Your Highness, were you the one who gave some without the court's knowledge."

Renata was as cruel as she was realistic, her eyes were gleaming as they stared at the great-grandmother's dragon eyes. She was only stating facts and asking the correct questions to the correct people. A perfect smile was displayed on her face, whether or not the smile had other motives was unknown.

"I see, no I didn't."

"Thank you for answering Your Highness. To be honest that was just a formality, I can say with the nature of the magic, the transformation wasn't necessarily done by a spell or a potion."

"Was it a Unique Magic?" Bellatrix said looking at the magician

"Not necessarily, you can say it was a late metamorphosis. Even so, the nature of this transformation is very unique, it may take months of research before a solid reason is formulated. Of course that's if I don't go there myself."

"!!!" Malleus looked at his daughter, her black hair was perfectly sculpted showing off her scaly pattern on her forehead

"The magic came from the north-west, very likely from the Royal Sword Academy region. So My King, My Queen, allow me to go."

"I will have to decline this request, Head Court Magician." Malleus said exasperated while (M/c) looked at Renata, her dark veil shadowing her features

"I will give my permission." 

Malleus shot a look at (M/c), who only scoffed and said, "It will be beneficial to the Valley of Thorns, if we nurture the transformed, they can do our bidding as a payback for teaching them how to control their powers as a dark fae."

"How will you know that they will be beneficial."

His only answer was a chuckle.

#draconia family series #tri3tri #twisted wonderland #twst malleus #malleus draconia #sherry draconia #renata draconia #bellatrix draconia #maleficent

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

Daughter of Giants

"You should move along, Giant, we don't want your sort around here." The bartender's voice was low and authoritative, the voice of a man not easily ignored, but one didn't need the ears of a bat to make out the tremors coursing through it. Everything about him was a well made manor with good foundations, but Aravis could tell it was built on sand. Give him a little shake and everything would start slipping.

Aravis smirked and tapped her fingers idly against the bar's puckered wooden surface. A part of her cursed  how ineffective her disguise had been proving recently, even after she's taken to covering her folc markings. The last thing she needed now was to have word of a nomadic folcwoman travelling the Engle Lands like a sad silk trader. Her tankard's rim just brushed her lips as she held it there and she concentrated on the fact that the man had not moved along, still standing just out of sight behind her mustard coloured hood. If he just needed a shake, why was she feeling inclined to rattle him until the very bricks of his character were dust to be scraped off of her heel. Maybe she was too tired for this today, too done with walkers and their sloppy, indelicate ineptitude. But at the same time, her ichor was roaring through her veins, violet and rushing. It made her lungs burn like magma beneath the island's crust. Her titanic heart yearned for a fight. It had been too long.

"My sort?" Silk dropped into her tone inadvertently, turning her deep, hoarse, broken voice into an almost mechanical purr. Fear rippled through the room like ribbons. It was a cool breeze in a suffocating glare of self-importance and Aravis breathed it in.

"You're a bounty-hunter!" Not the bartender, but a nasal, underdeveloped voice called from the crowd of patrons that had interrupted their own meals to gawk like a gaggle around what had been a peaceful evening drink. Aravis didn't bother seeking out the speaker (though she suspected one of the pasty, mealy shepherds seated closer to the entrance. An easy escape, she mused, smart choice.) Her brow, however, creased at his choice of words. Bounty hunters were perhaps the lowest of the low creatures grovelling on the earth's filthy surface. Turning in fellows of your kind for the reward of others? Had they no sense of honour or kinship at all. Had a folcman or woman acted in such a way, they would be plunged beneath the clouds to the endless oceans below and ripped to shreds by the wild, Bacchic merpeople of the depths. Honour, trust, loyalty; mere dramatic concepts to be learned and forgotten by those thugs like poor poetry.

"Now what would give you that idea?" Likely her stature or lack of ladylike grace. Maybe-

"The ends of your hair. They're white." The thought died before it even took shape in her mind. A chill crawled up around her shoulders, turning the thick muscle there into cold stone. She was frozen in place, barely able to open her mouth to reply through gritted teeth, her head bowed lower toward the counter and her tankard rested against her suddenly ringing forehead.

"Why," she ground out, "would that," turning slowly like a tin doll, her eyes flashed, "mark me out?" Moonlight flashed against a bronze knife behind the bar and it set the room aflame. The man- boy really- stood and quaked like a tethered kite before the entrance like it was a headwind. He had a round, dark, unfinished face; the face of a scholar or bard, not a warrior. Nevertheless, Aravis wanted nothing more than to turn it blue with bruises.

"I've heard stories," He shuddered and searched any face but hers for help "my father's a pepper merchant, he told me about you and your kind." The idea of some miserable, slimy, slithering underwalker's tongue speaking of her ‘kind’ made Aravis' fists curl. "Your hair is dark and- and blue, right?" He was slipping, but didn't run. Yet. "He used to say, when- when what was inside your head became darker, your hair literally started paling in comparison... Making the tips turn white... And- I-I thought..."

"Tom Tom, that's enough." Hissed the bartender.

Aravis was very still. Whispers are meant to be lost in the chaos. Aravis’ words were like breaths, yet each one rang in the floorboards and out of the door like the echoes of screams.

"Your father is well-learned. Darkness seeping into every crevice of the mind, turning you into a miasma veiled in flesh? What better fits that description than a callous, underhanded criminal? What could be so dark, so evil, as to turn the tips of my hair so pale?"

With one hand she tore the hood from her head. And not a breath was drawn as their pathetic faces took in the blank, dull cascades, the colour of new snow. Cold and dead. White to the roots.

She closed her eyes when the whispers started seeping into their fear, and as always, before her there stretched a great gash in the clouds on which she, still an adolescent wrapped in sunlight, stood. Beneath that crevice she saw the island of the underwalkers. But she wasn't looking at them. Instead, all that filled her vision was the great, massive warrior lying like unwanted venison beside the hulking, grotesque, monstrous corpse of a Beanstalk. And the underwalkers were dancing. At their head, leading them on there stood a creature of pale flesh and golden hair. To others he might have looked like a child, beautiful and beaming. Aravis knew what he really was. The axe was still in his hands. That smiling, glittering face was the last thing she saw before the vision cleared and Aravis opened her eyes to the bar counter. 

Shards of metal and broken wood lay before her. Her hand was bloodied by purple ichor. Still lodged within the cut were some remains of the crushed tankard. But it was her eyes that were burning with pain.

The whispers had ceased. And so had the roar in her veins. She was ice.

Standing, she swept her cloak aside to rest both hands on her hips, her feet apart. She was taller now than she had been when she entered, and now the crest of her ringed headband just skimmed the ceiling. Everybody in the room cowered below her. It felt right.

"Indeed. I am a hunter. But what I'm after is not the reward of a slippery, stupid nobleman. It is justice. And it is mine alone." the low rasp of her voice grew full and round as pride swelled within, "as a daughter of the mighty Laestrygonians."

At the name of her folc, new horror trickled into slow running red blood all around her. So many eyes darted to the door, for escape. Many more became fixed on her lips or, more specifically, on the teeth that lay behind them. Aravis didn’t need to be a mind mage to know they were wondering how much mortal flesh had been shredded upon them. That stout bartender was the first to finish quivering.

"Who do you seek, great Giantess? I will tell you all that I know, just don't hurt any of my customers, I beg of you!" Ugh. Begging. Typical underwalkers.

"I'm hunt Prince Jack of Gaul. As I have for almost ten years." Voice rising such that everyone might hear, she let fear carry her words. "He has taken something very precious from me, many things in fact, and I intend to exact justice."

“But, he’s been missing over three years! Many young princes have been.” Aravis was well aware of that. So close. She had been so close she could see the ridiculous peak of his hair, illuminated under dragon fire. But the presence of one of the more powerful fae had forced to keep her distance. But she had him cornered. It was almost over. And then he was gone.

“Haven’t you heard? They’re back, now.” Every head turned back to the scholarly boy by the entrance. “Yeah, the entire Fearless-”

But Aravis was deaf to the world.

They’re back now. He’s back now. He’s back. Again, and again, and again. The sound of clouds being split down the middle and the shining eyes of the blonde, beautiful murderer. And dancing. Aravis’ eyes were filled with axes, ichor and dancing.

Her bident spear was in her hand one moment and whistling across the room the next. The boy- Tom Tom he’d been called- was pinned between its prongs like a fish, flailing and panicked. He grasped at the twin spikes which were twice as thick as his arm. As Aravis strode over, he just resisted going limp.

With her feelings crashing and shrieking in her head, Aravis paid no attention to the fact that the ceiling had splintered around it. She didn’t notice the splinters to timber that clawed at her waist, nor the frigid night air whipping her face as she waded through the bar like mud. People the size of dolls scurried for the exit, while the one she wanted remained pinned. Until she knelt down and gripped the long handle of her weapon, pushing it closer into his throat.

“Where?” Was all she managed. Everything inside was a storm that even she herself was becoming lost in.

“I- I don’t know! I was told by a friend!”

“WHERE?!” Her bellow ricocheted off the dark sky itself like thunder and the bident spear-head pressed harder against his trachea until he gasped for air.

“STONEBURY!” Violent sobs wracked his body but Aravis did not relent, “GLASS STONEBURY! MY FRIEND HORNER IS IN GLASS STONEBURY! HE CAN TELL YOU!”

Only then, with a grunt of dark satisfaction did she pull the spear from the wall, releasing him. With the first real, tangible feeling she had felt in years melting into her veins, she shrank back down until she was practically the same stature she had been when she had arrived. The bar’s roof was gone, allowing freezing wind to howl through. She cared not.

Aravis finished a drink that had been abandoned on a table in the panic. It was revolting, crude stuff, typical for underwalkers. But a smile was curled on her face regardless.

"What will you do once you find the prince? He's a hero, and has many powerful friends!" So the bartender had stayed, she hadn’t counted on that. She graciously turned to look at him, feeling lighter than she had in almost four years.

"Simple. I will rend his arms from his sides. I will cast his broken body across the air until each and every bone is ground into dust."

"They'll see you coming, people have already run to tell others of you."

"You speak as if I’d intended this to be a slaughter. You are wrong.” Aravis’ hood fell to the floor and her hand reached into her satchel. She sighed softly when her fingers met the gentle, rippling fabric of her cloak. Her mother’s cloak. “It’s an execution.” she pulled it free, letting it grow in size until it could wrap around her completely. Her legs and torso disappeared from sight. “And I must have him know his sentence.”

Turning, she vanished behind the concealment of the cloak and into the darkness of the night. The Engle Lands were solitary, located deep in the marshes of Fairytale Island. 

It wasn’t far to Glass Stonebury. And then all that was left was to find this Horner.

Just an intro that I couldn't get out of my head since creating Aravis (her name was Astrid originally). I kinda want to write a whole fic about this but I'm not sure since it would be pretty much all my ocs... I'm imagining basically zootopia but with a Giant princess and a bounty hunter.

Also ive already started about two big projects with no third chapter soooo.....

#beginning of something?? #maybe #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes movie #red shoes fanfic #hana writing #my ocs #standing on the shoulders of giants #SotSoG #red shoes fanfiction #horner appears in my gwen fic red cloak #the third chapter of that is in the works #schools just been pummeling recently #laestrygonians are the cannibal giants featured in the odyssey #they pretty kuch hav a culture that's 2/3 celtic 1/3 ancient greek #aravis #red shoes oc #giant oc