#mask too elaborate for simple brain

[theterrornaut]

Posting this lazy cause people liked it on Twitter

(Inspired by this)

#digital art #art #warhammer art #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #darktide #warhammer darktide #captain wolfer #warhammer chaos #nurgle cultist #was gonna be a serious drawing but #mask too elaborate for simple brain #but kept cause silly

[seungkw1]

maestro — ljh // chapter 1

⛧ pairing: lee jihoon x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns) ⛧ theme: fantasy, suggestive (18+ smut in future chapters) ⛧ chapter wc: 2.7k ⛧ warnings: minor knife violence ⛧ a/n: when i tell u that lee jihoon wrecked me sooooo bad this comeback !!!! the maestro mv was fully giving villain!woozi and my brain took that and absolutely ran with it. also, this is my first chapter fic!! much more to come, stay tuned <3

Your knowledge of the enemy is minimal, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer that is not to be trifled with - and you’ve just walked right into his trap.

You fucked up.

Your task was simple enough: sneak into the palace, steal the ring, and get the hell out. You’ve done countless jobs like this over the years - you're a professional for fuck’s sake. Sure, this gig was a bit more high-profile than usual, but nothing you couldn't handle. 

Yet somehow, they caught you. 

You rack your brain for a clue - something, anything, to indicate what went wrong. But you come up blank. Everything had gone according to plan (up until you found yourself surrounded by imperial guards with a knife at your throat, anyway), not a single detail overlooked. Something is off here, your instinct tells you. 

Here you are now, being forcefully escorted through the palace’s underlevels by a squad of imperial goons. The head goon hauls you through the dim hallways, his grip on your arm painfully tight, knife drawn and at the ready in case you were to try something foolish. A dark mask covers his lower face, so he's hard to get a read on, but you can tell he’s nothing more than a large, brainless oaf. You’ve single-handedly outwitted enemies like him in the past - but here, you are far too outnumbered. For the time being, you comply. 

You arrive at a large steel door, adorned only by a small barred window in its middle. With a rough shove the guard pushes you into the cell - you fall to the ground, your palms striking the cold stone floor. The hinges let out a horrid creaking sound before the door slams shut with a loud CLANG. You hear the clunking of a heavy chain, then the click of a padlock. Footsteps fade away as the imperial squad retreats - then, silence. You are all alone, trapped, imprisoned in this musty cell, somewhere in the depths of the Maestro’s palace. 

You sit on the hard ground, alone with your thoughts. The more you think about it, the only explanation is that this was a setup. But the Agency’s entire job is to sift through lies and misinformation; if this was a trap, there must be something larger at play - something elaborate, sinister. 

Unfortunately for you, you have nothing but time to try and piece together this puzzle. You lean your head against the stone wall, trying to figure out how the fuck you're gonna get yourself out of this mess. 

The absence of natural light leaves you with no way of telling time. The silence grows eerie. Your mind wanders, imagination soon running wild. You’ve heard of people who lose their minds within days of solitary confinement. Will that happen to me?, you can’t help but wonder. How long will I be here? Are they going to bring me food, or am I doomed to die of starvation? How did I even end up here? What are they planning to do with me? What if they forget about me? What if…

Your mind grows weary. You decide to lay down - no use in staying awake and overthinking. You rest your head on the gravelly floor - it’s uncomfortable, but your eyelids soon become heavy. You drift in and out of consciousness, strange visions and voices floating through your mind. Before long, you are asleep.

You’re running. You don’t know where to, but you are running through winding, endless corridors. Running from… something. You don’t know what. The sound of your racing heartbeat pounds in your ears, surpassed only by the heaving pants of your labored breathing. The neverending halls begin to expand around you - they grow larger and larger, disorienting your sense of perception. From behind, unsettling noises draw nearer and nearer: screeching echoes, thunderous crashes, wicked laughter. You run, but it’s not fast enough. The horrid sounds infiltrate your mind, reverberating through your skull so loudly you feel as if your head is about to explode. Suddenly, through blurred vision you see the hallway’s end; at it stands a cloaked figure, facing away from you. You can’t see anything else of the entity, but you sense the dark energy that surrounds it. Dread wells in the pit of your stomach, filling you with terror - but, for some reason, you are drawn to the malevolent being. Their presence is magnetic, alluring - frightening, but seductive. You press on - you don’t know why, but you must get to them. Your legs feel as if they’ve turned to lead - each footstep slowing you down further. You’re almost there, almost, almost… finally - the figure is within arm’s reach. In excruciating slow motion, you extend your hand toward them. Your fingertips graze the black cloak, its woven texture coarse against your skin. Your hand glides over the thick fabric - you close your grip around their shoulder, forcefully turning them around to face you. You lift your gaze to look at their face-

BANG.

You jolt awake in a panic. Disoriented, heart pounding, it takes you a moment to realize you’re still in the cold, dark prison cell. Faint light enters the room through the now-open doorway. Standing in it is a tall, thin man - you can barely make out his face, but his presence is unsettling. He peers down at you, his piercing eyes practically boring a hole into your head. 

“Come with me,” is all he says. 

You blink dully a few times, still not fully lucid. You try to process what all is happening, but your dream (nightmare?) weighs heavily at the forefront of your mind. The odious man quickly becomes irritated.

“GET UP!” he bellows at you.

You rise, stumbling to your feet. Two guards enter from behind him, swiftly seizing hold of your arms and yanking you out of the cell. They halt in front of the man. An unpleasant scowl seems permanently engraved on his face. He smirks at you.

“Well aren’t you pretty.”

You spit on the ground in front of his feet. The man glares at you with vitriol. He draws a short sword from the depths of his cloak, pointing it at your face. He traces the razor-sharp tip lightly across your cheek.

“Act like that again,” he sneers. With a quick flick of the wrist he delivers a small slash into your cheekbone. You barely flinch.

“And I’ll carve some very permanent scars into that pretty little face of yours.”

You stare at him, but say nothing. With a huff he turns, sauntering off into the hallway.

“Come along now. The Maestro wants to see you.”

—

The first thing you notice upon entering the chamber is the hundreds of candles set alight, illuminating the otherwise unlit space. The second is the hooded figure seated upon the throne at the room’s distant end, reclining arrogantly - watching you intensely. 

You hadn’t seen their face, but you know: it is the figure from your dream.

The guards stand you before the Maestro. You still can’t see their face. The thin man who summoned you steps forward, giving a small bow to his master.

“The thief, Your Majesty.”

The Maestro leans forward. Their face, previously shadowed, becomes illuminated in the candlelight: you see a man, much younger than anticipated - and strikingly beautiful. His eyes, adorned with dark makeup, peer up and down your body, studying you. He rises, nonchalantly descending the few steps before him; the clacking of his boots against the dark marble echoes through the otherwise silent chamber. He strolls toward you, maintaining eye contact, coming to a stop within mere inches of you. Slowly he removes his hood, revealing a head of long pale tresses. Up close, he is even more stunning. 

The man lifts his hand, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your head, observing the cut on your cheek.

“I told you to bring me the prisoner unharmed,” he scolds his servant. His gaze doesn’t stray from your face.

The subordinate’s face drops. “Apologies, my liege,” he responds hesitantly. “I-”

“Leave.”

He says nothing else. The servant’s eyes darken with fear. “My liege-”

The man before you motions to the guards. “Take him away.”

The guards seize the man, dragging him from the chamber in silence. The door closes with a heavy thud. You are now alone with the enemy. 

Your existing knowledge of the mysterious individual known as the Maestro is minimal - you have a fairly high level of clearance within the Agency, but even there the details are sparse. Rumors abound, but what is known for certain is this: the Maestro is a dark and powerful sorcerer, and is not to be trifled with.

You watch the man before you intently as he turns on his heels, meandering casually across the room, hands behind his back. Undoubtedly, his presence is intimidating; but admittedly he does not seem to be nearly the loathsome monster you’ve been led to believe he is. Regardless, you will not be letting your guard down. 

“My apologies for the poor treatment you have received thus far,” the man starts as he resumes his seat upon the large, ornate chair. A bowl of deep-purple grapes sits on the table beside him; he reclines again, reaching for the supple fruits. He plucks a particularly round grape from its stem, drawing it to his lips - he places it upon his tongue, holding it there momentarily before biting down, its juicy flesh bursting within his mouth. He chews, his eyes fixated upon you. He swallows before continuing.

“I had to ensure you were who I thought you were, and not some irrelevant member of the Agency.”

You grimace, displeased to learn that your suspicions were correct. He did know about the mission, and presumably the Agency’s agenda too. If that’s the case, then how much else does he know…

You’re itching to ask him who exactly he thinks you are, but you hold your tongue. You know better than to engage with the enemy unless absolutely necessary.

“But now that I am certain, I assure you you will receive nothing but the finest accommodations.” 

You say nothing. He eats another grape. You’ve been staring for far too long when you realize his plush lips seem to have you in a trance; you quickly return to glaring at him.

A few moments of silence pass. The intense eye contact he sustains stirs up a sensation within you - not fear, not worry, but rather… intrigue. You know the man is dangerous, yet here you are - simply captivated by him. You silently curse yourself for allowing emotion to infiltrate your mind like this. You’re smarter than this. Get your shit together.

“Refusing to speak, I see. Very well then. But aren’t you curious?” He leans forward, taunting you. “You know I hold the answers you seek, y/n.”

Your stomach drops. He just called you by your real name. Members of the Agency are exclusively referred to by their code names - even amongst colleagues, true identities remain concealed. How does he…

Your face remains stoic, indifferent, but he smirks. He can read you like an open book, and he knows you know it. 

“Go on, question me. You must see there is no threat here - I am unarmed. You may speak freely.”

You know that’s an absolute crock of bullshit. A cunning sorcerer is never truly unarmed - god knows what he could conjure up in the blink of an eye. But, admittedly he does have a point. You very well may die here - might as well get some fucking answers first. 

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask coldly.

A sly grin appears on his face. “Ah, she speaks! Good girl.” You scowl at him; he continues. “It’s simple, really - it was me who allowed the Agency to ‘discover’ the location of the palace. I made sure their little reconnaissance efforts would lead them to send their most skilled operative to retrieve the ring.”

“You wanted the ring to be stolen.”

“No. I wanted the ring to be stolen by you.”

You pause at his unexpected words. What?

Every neuron in your brain is screaming at you to be silent, don’t play into his little games. But you open your mouth anyway.

“And why me?” 

“Oh, I’ve had my eyes on you for quite some time, darling.”

Your stomach jolts. He said it so nonchalantly, as if he was telling you the weather rather than admitting he’s been watching your every move for god knows how long.

You stare at him incredulously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He simply shakes his head. “Patience - you will learn the whole story in due time. Guards!”

A new pair of imperials, much more polished and intelligent-looking than their brutish counterparts you’ve dealt with thus far, enter the room. 

“Please escort my guest to her bedchamber for the night. I must retire.”

The guards steer you toward the hallway. You follow without resistance. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” the man calls as you step through the doorway. You glimpse back: he is seated in the same position, watching you intensely. You catch a curious look in his eye, one you can’t quite read. He disappears as the heavy door shuts behind you.

—

As promised, your new accommodations are satisfactory - lavish, even. You’ve never seen a room with so many ornate embellishments, nor a bed with so many cushions and fine coverings. The washroom was equally fanciful, offering a large tub and luxurious-looking towels. Enticing, certainly, but at this point you are exhausted, and simply want to sleep anywhere that isn’t a cold stone floor. You lay upon the bed, not even bothering to retreat under the covers. Within seconds, you drift off to sleep.

You find yourself in the same hallway again - this time, not running, but merely standing behind the cloaked figure. You extend your hand, grabbing his shoulder and turning him round. You raise your eyes, meeting his gaze - but where his eyes should be, you only found blackness. You stare into the void of his sockets, hypnotized in fear, their darkness seeming to infiltrate your soul. He draws a dagger from his cloak, shoving you into the wall and placing it against your throat. You feel its pressure, but it does not break skin. He draws his face into yours, tenderly placing his lips upon your cheekbone - right atop your freshly-scarring cut. He kisses you - slowly, fervidly, his lips burning against your skin, but instead of pain you feel only pleasure. His free hand wraps around the small of your back, pulling your torso into his, holding you tightly against his blisteringly-hot form. The dagger remains perilously at your throat, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. His lips parts from your cheek as he draws his head back, looking at you once again, the abysmal darkness of his stare penetrating through you. Slowly, he leans in, his lips converging on yours. Your mouth reaches for his, wanting for his kiss, yearning for his taste- 

Your eyes open. There are no windows in your room, but you get the sense that it is morning, midday perhaps. Dazed, you try to wake yourself up, but your mind keeps drifting back to your dream - to the man who has somehow infiltrated your subconscious. You raise your hand to your face, running your fingertips over your wound, but…

Quickly, you sit up, tossing your feet to the floor and heading toward the washroom. You approach the mirror, peering your face in close to the glass. Where there should have been a fresh scar: nothing. Not a mark on your skin. 

You frown. You don’t know what this means, but you suspect nothing good will come of it. 

A knock comes from the door. You hear the turn of the lock, followed by the creaking of the door swinging open. A young female servant enters, carrying a bundle of fabrics. A second follows, placing a tea set on the small table.

“You are expected at supper today,” the first woman informs you curtly. She places the fabrics upon your bed. “Wash up and dress in fresh clothes.” The two leave swiftly without another word.

You let out a sigh of annoyance. So this is how it’s going to be then. Fine - I’ll play along with his little games. You glance back at the mirror. A tired face looks back at you, grimacing.

Not like I have much of a choice anyway.

⛧ chapter 2: coming soon ⛧

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•. #lee jihoon #woozi #woozi smut #woozi fics #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #svt smut #svt fics #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #woozi x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader

[superworldunkown]

AN: I have stumbled into the world of ‘Who Hurt You’ BookToks and I have to say I am so excited that the reading community is in its renaissance phase and now I cant stop thinking of a Katsuki x Y/N who hurt you prompt. 

HOWEVER

I see a lot of Katsuki as the person in power/influence so I decide to Uno-Reverse this and put him in the damsel in distress seat. 

**

“I’m not going to ask you again,” Your voice didn’t have malice to it, but the usual jest in your tone was replaced with something more dark and ominous. You didn’t like to act this way, but this was Bakugou, and you were fucking queen damnit. And here was your captive standing before you with his usually gorgeous face marred with a large bruise to the cheek and a split lip.

The warrior responded to you tone with a defiant huff, his arms crossing over his bare chest. He attempted to lift his chin up at you, his nonverbal cue for ‘ you may be the queen but I dont take orders from you’, but the wince of pain that graced his face all but stopped him.

“It ain’t your business, your majesty.” 

You stepped forward, “You’re in my kingdom, under my house, and you are my captive. Everything that is your business, is my business. So, I’ll ask again. Who did this?” 

Bakugou had all the cards against him. You were right, he was your captive (albeit by a simple mistake, a robbery gone wrong), and he was in your kingdom, but that doesn’t mean he has to play by your rules. After all, he’s gotten this far without too much trouble. Save for the split lip and all that.

As you continued your approach closer to the blond your eyes caught on a particular mark on Bakugou’s face. Tenderly (but with enough force to say ‘stop resisting’), you hands worked around his jaw to lean in close, inspecting the small insignia that imbedded itself into his cheek. 

“Hm, there’s only one person I know who wears rings with that marking.” You concluded before letting him go, not noticing the flush of red that was now receding from Bakugou’s face. “Stay here.” You ordered before leaving the room.

Hours later Bakugou was awoken to your return, the sound of metal clanging against the wooden table next to his bed. 

“The hell is all this?” He asked lazily, his brain still waking from slumber.

“Chisaki was always so...elaborate with his jewels. The coat, the mask, I always found it so overtly opulent. Either way, he doesn’t seem to have need for these anymore, so I figured they’d be better off in your possession.” 

Despite your stoic appearance, Bakugou could see the glimmer of pride in your eyes as you spoke. The droplets of blood that coated the rings didn’t go unnoticed either. “What did you do?” He asked.

You smiled while glancing over at him, “How lucky for him though. The last thing his hands ever touched was your beautiful face. Despite his circumstance, he should find comfort in that.” 

Bakugou had to spend the rest of the evening wondering that despite your haunting actions and smile, he too found comfort in them. 

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou fantasy au #superworldunknown writes #bakugou headcanons

[pridefound]

" are you going to kill me? " ( 4 dennis )

is his thinly veiled rage that obvious? dennis doesn't account for the vein on his forehead that pops a bit too prominently, nor does he account for the way fingers tap ever so rapidly against the glass of wine that he nurses. yes, wine! wine that's probably worth more than his entire apartment, his precious range rover, and paddy's combined.

brushing elbows with the rich is laughably easy; he simply tilts his nose to the air, laughs at shitty jokes, and presses featherlight kisses against the cold, botox - filled cheeks of old hags he never hopes to kiss again. this is, in fact, one of the gang's most elaborate schemes yet. but if anybody can sport a wide variety of masks like no other, it's him.

at least until he happens to brush elbows with the youngest of the roy children. a political genius. the golden girl. brains. beauty. breasts, not that dennis is staring. he's not. she sees right through him. that's a problem. "what?" he scoffs a bit too sharply, but makes quick work of drowning the venom out with a laugh that couldn't be more faux if he tried.

"oh, honey," he clicks his tongue, giving his head a pitiful shake, "you'll wish i was the one to get the job done when one of these other small - dicked assholes finally snaps. at least i'd make it quick and easy. simple, even. maybe even painless." he murmurs beneath shitty orchestral music with a bit too much intrigue. "but i know you. shit, do i know you. and you might as well be strutting around this sweaty ballroom with a target on your pretty back."

keep talking. that's what he does best. dennis knows how to talk himself out of a sticky situation. "you've got enemies. can you feel it? their fiery glares burning holes in that pretty back of yours? i can feel it. i'm not gonna kill you. but i'd sure as shit be worried about the rest of these coke - nosed pricks."

#* . ⊹ 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘔𝘈𝘊 › writing ( dennis ) #* . ⊹ 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘔𝘈𝘊 › dyn: shiv & dennis #shivcomplex #tw alcohol #tw drugs #tw language #ykw i can already tell that i need shiv to humble this man smh

[fabulouslyflamboyant5]

Just a random idea

If you know flowerfell then you know, but I will be explaining it anyways, since I'm not sure if you do

Basically, premise is simple - flowers are slowly growing on your body, consuming it. You can't get rid of them, since it would hurt as if you were cuting your own limb and bleeding would be unstoppable.

Now this - reader who's body is being consumed by blue spider lilies

It could be done with person who loves muzan or is simply hunted by him. Demon slayers are doing everything to keep the reader away from him.

That's it, that's my brain rn

Thank you so much sending this, I love this idea so much. I am not familiar with Flowerfell but I'll try my best!

An Immortals Wish To Be Mortal

It started with a small lump. You weren't concerned, it was probably a result of training, or at least that's what you believed.

It wasn't until a week went by that you began to worry. The lump was no longer just a lump but rather a red sore the size of a golf ball with what looked like a stem growing out of it.

‘This wasn't right....’

You kept your "injury," hidden for another week. Within those seven days, it managed to multiply across your body, all of them growing what appeared to be flower buds.

'Muzan can fix this,' you thought to yourself.

///

You approached his study and felt your nerves kick in, 'what if he can't help, what if something is wrong-', before you could finish your thoughts you were cut off by the man himself, Muzan.

"Y/N, is something wrong, I haven't seen you in quite some time," he speaks nonchalantly, obvious to your nervous state.

"I-I'm not sure," you stutter.

"Come now, lets discuss this in private," he says as he leads you through the doors.

The two to you sat down and you couldn't find it in yourself to make eye-contact with your lover.

"Darling, please look at me," he says while gently grasping your chin, "let me help you."

His eyes are warm, loving, and soft, something only you ever get to see. It brings you comfort knowing he is there. "I have flowers on my body," you say slowly.

His face is one of pure confusion, "I'm sorry Darling, can you please elaborate?"

"On my body, there are these weird lumps, well at least they were lumps. They have turned into flowers, look," you explain nervously as you role up your sleeve, showing him your petal filled arm.

He gently takes your arm and begins to examine it. The flowers are just beginning to bloom, soft blue petals barely visible to the naked eye. He tugs softly on one of the stems and you let out a painful gasp. "Did that hurt you?" He asks slightly concerned.

"Yea, just a little," you said, equally as concerned. "What do you think is wrong?" You ask in a scared tone.

"I'm not quite sure, Darling. Please continue to keep me updated on whatever changes you see. I'll begin working on a cure immediately." He says, trying, but failing to mask his concern.

He brings your knuckle to his lips and softly kisses them, "It'll be okay," he speaks with a comforting smile.

With that, you feel your worry drift away, 'It'll be okay.'

///

Another week has passed and there has been no signs of the buds going away. In fact, they have turned into full grown flowers, enough to interfere with the kimono that drapes your body. They looked like spider lilies but they were...blue?

"How ironic," you think to yourself.

Muzan is yet to take a break from researching your condition. Ever since the flowers formed he has refused to leave his office claiming, "I'm doing my bets to look for a way to reverse this." He never sounds convincing though, his eyes give him away. Instead of being filled with pride they are filled with worry, not something you usually get to see.

You have tried to pull the flowers out but whenever you pull too hard it feels like you are ripping off your skin, almost ask if the flowers are a part of you...

///

Muzan has been keeping himself inside of his office ever since he realized what flowers had been growing on you

Blue spider lilies.

The very flower he had dedicated his life searching for.

The flower that would allow him to conquer the sun...

Why must this have happened to you?

Of all people this could have happened to it had to be you, the love of his life.

Something that should have been an exciting time was now replaced with dread.

If he cuts the flowers off of you, you will die.

If he doesn't do anything, you will die.

The flowers were a part of you, cutting them off would be like cutting of a limb. However, not doing anything about them would be equally as bad as they would keep growing until they suffocate you...

For once in his centuries of being alive, he was torn.

///

Another week has passed and your health has begun to rapidly decline. They flowers are taking over your body and you are unable to walk on your own. Even breathing is hard, every breathe feels like your lungs are tugged on.

You have given up on getting better, instead accepting death as your certain fate.

Muzan has been torn. He knows you can't be saved, and for that he is devastated. He knew human lives were short but why was your death approaching so fast?

He debated turning you into a demon but you never liked the idea of it, always preferring to live out your life as a human...

What frustrated him the most however was his selfishness.

Of all flowers to have growing on you it had to be blue spider lilies!?

He has spent thousands of years searching for them and now, when he has finally found them, they are the very thing killing you.

He knows your going to die, you know your going to die, but how you die? That isn't in your hands.

Muzan has spent the last week debating what to do about the flowers.

If he lets you die, "naturally," the flowers will perish alongside you.

But if he cuts the flowers off of you the flowers will be usable...

He loves you, he really loves you, but he also loves himself, he wants to be perfect and his final step to perfection is right in front of him yet still so far away.

But he shouldn't waste time thinking of such things, he knows very well what the right thing to do is.

And with that in mind he heads to your room.

///

"Muzan, I didn't expect you to come and visit so e-early," you say, smiling weakly.

Your happiness is short lived however, you are beginning another coughing fit.

Your lungs feel as though they are on fire, it is almost impossible to breathe and you don't know what breathe will be your last.

You feel him crouch down beside you and rub small circles into your back.

"Don't speak, Darling. I'm here," he whispers quietly.

You lean back to rest and feel you eyes get heavy.

"I'm tired, sorry," you slur, knowing very well your tiredness isn't the reason for this turn of events.

"I understand," speaks, smiling sadly.

"Take them, please," you croak out, catching him off-guard.

"I don't know what you mean, please don't waste your breathe talking."

"You need them-m," you cough out. "If I'm going to die, please let me be of use, this way you'll always have a part of me," you whisper, smiling, or at least trying to.

Neither of your say anything else, instead you are only met with a searing pain.

Your lover begins ripping the flowers of of you, slowly, one, by one, while whispering words of, "I love you."

You die peacefully, happy you were of use to the man you loved most.

///

Muzan stands over your grave.

It is small and tucked away in an empty forest.

The spider lilies he planted are in full bloom, laying delicately against the tombstone.

The sun shines down on him but he loathes the feeling of it.

It was supposed to feel heavenly. He used to imagine the two of you standing under the warm rays, hand in hand what no cares for the world.

But that isn't the reality of your situation. Far from it.

Instead of standing beside you, he is standing six feet above you. The sun that was supposed to feel comforting feels like the heavens smiling down and mocking him.

He may be a demon, but he doesn't feel he deserved this, you certainly didn't.

He falls to the ground. Hands clenched in fists, a sob leaves his mouth, the tears are endless and he wishes the sun would just burn him so he can see you again...

///

I hope this was okay! I'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted. I can rewrite it if you want, just message me.

#muzan #muzan jackson #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #muzan angst #angst #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer angst #demon slayer x reader angst #spider lily #blue spider lily #kny x reader #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #anime

[monstersdownthepath]

Two new Sahkil Tormentors

(Pic source)

Many Daemon Harbingers seem to represent mortal fears and frailties rather than the unfair deaths, so I made my own to address this. The Sahkil Tormentors are completely different beasts altogether, and thus far they’ve been fairly consistent at being things worthy of fear, but there’s still a little bit of design space for more personal terrors. Below are two such Tormentors; the doll one has been in the works for a while and I originally planned on writing a full article on it, but the shortform of this puts less stress on my brain to invent needless amounts of content.

And earlier this week I was reminded of sleep paralysis, a terror no Sahkil takes advantage of... until right now.

Reminder that Sahkil Tormentors grant Boons in the form of spell-like abilities that may be used 2/day!

Lilauss, the Porcelain Pretender Neutral Evil Sahkil Tormentor of Dolls, Dread, and the Uncanny Valley

It is easy to tell when one has entered the domain of the Porcelain Pretender, a jarringly normal metropolis incongruously within Xibalba, the Realm of Fear. The people of this false city live tense lives in this land where the sun never rises, sustained by plants that should not grow and animals whose flesh yields like cloth, surrounded by neighbors who sometimes twitch horribly in the corner of their vision... or stop moving at all for extended periods of time. A connoisseur of extended periods of dread, Lilauss’ only price for relative safety in this realm--which admits no other Sahkil within its borders but the minions of the Pretender itself--is the knowledge that, at any moment, the protection it offers will be torn away from every inhabitant the instant even one person acknowledges aloud that something is wrong around the Tormentor’s many hidden agents. Six times in history has this protection been withdrawn, and the handful of survivors dread the next more than anything.

Many of the townsfolk are disguised Sahkil, once-mortal servants of the Tormentor, or even soulless simulacra crafted by the fiend itself, just barely imitating the functions and behaviors of actual people. This is purposeful; their disguises could be flawless, but the occasional cracks (literal and physical) in the illusion serves as a constant reminder for the population how tenuous their safety truly is. That even one mistake could end not only their existence, but the existence of every friend they’ve made in the hell that’s been crafted for them.

Lilauss’ form is variable. Sometimes it is a simple human mannequin whose grotesque shadow hints at worse forms. Sometimes it is a human that never moves its eyes or opens its mouth to speak. Its true form is said to be the one it takes in battle, porcelain and wooden limbs jutting from a chaotic ball of mismatched parts, but the Porcelain Pretender states that every physical form it takes is no more than the shadow of what it really is, though it has never elaborated on what this could mean. When it needs fresh sources of terror, it crafts cursed, disquieting dolls which never leave the first unfortunate to touch them, or Construct minions too close to looking human, and releases them into the Material Plane to reap the fear they sew.

Domains: Artifice, Evil, Protection, Trickery, Subdomains: Construct, Fear, Sahkil, Curse*, Deception Favored Weapons: Warhammer Symbol: A doll head or porcelain mask with cracks radiating out from one of its eyes. Sacred Animals: None Sacred Colors: White *Followers of Lilauss can modify the Protection Domain with the Curse Subdomain, replacing the Resistant Touch power and the spells at the appropriate level.

Obedience: Work towards creating a doll or mannequin, or leave such an object in a location where it may startle someone. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to saving throws against the extraordinary and supernatural abilities of Constructs.

Boon 1: Aversion Boon 2: Object Possession (Dolls, mannequins, and similar humanoid objects only) Boon 3: Statue

------

Him, the Bedside Shadow Neutral Evil Sahkil Tormentor of Suffocation, Nightmares, and Sleep Paralysis

Few even know of the existence of this nameless, voiceless Tormentor, let alone that He is anything but a figment of their own imagination. Appearing as little more than a vague, suffocating silhouette in the room of His target, any of His victims can recall His appearance and presence with perfect clarity even when they were unable to directly see Him, describing Him as a featureless shadowy entity dressed in concealing clothes with a notable, brimmed hat. While most of His visits to the Material Plane are affairs lasting mere minutes during which He does little more than hover by the victim’s paralyzed form, there are many victims of His predations that perish in their sleep... and an unenviable number who survive, trapped eternally in suffocating nightmares haunted by darkness and shadowy fiends, their imprisoned souls stewing in its fear and aging like a fine wine that He can enjoy at leisure, piece by agonizing piece.

The Bedside Shadow claims no dominion in Xibalba, instead existing in the Dimension of Dreams, where He seeks the slumbering minds of those already suffering from nightmares. Following the thread of dreams back to the waking world, He emerges from the sleeper’s own mind, trapping them in a twilight of dream and reality. It is in this state He torments them with His presence alone, drawing slowly yet steadily closer as they lay helpless. Once they either fully awaken or perish as He touches them, the Tormentor vanishes with the dream, leaving victims with the memory of His visit burned into their minds for the rest of their lives, all but assuring that He will find them again and again. 

The dreaming Tormentor allies himself with no other beyond the occasional Dreamthief Hag that manages to reach Him, existing beyond the reach of His kin and their plots. He is seemingly content to operate on His own and rarely even acknowledges supplicants praying to Him. Whether the phenomena of sleep paralysis is caused by Him or something He has simply decided to exploit is unknown... as is the question of if there are multiple Bedside Shadows in existence visiting multiple helpless souls at once, or if simultaneous sightings are nothing more than mass hysteria, though the answer is something most scholars of fiends do not wish to contemplate.

Domains: Darkness, Death, Evil, Void Subdomains: Night, Shadow, Fear, Sahkil, Isolation Favored Weapons: Garotte Symbol: His silhouette. Sacred Animals: House centipedes Sacred Colors: Black

Obedience: Stand or sit as close to a sleeping creature as you can without waking it, then remain there, watching it, until either one hour passes or it awakens on its own. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to saving throws against effects which cause exhaustion or sleep.

Boon 1: Hold Person Boon 2: Deadscape Boon 3: Piercing Nightmare

#original concepts #pathfinder #pathfinder homebrew

[theresnosinlondon]

Don’t Do It For Me - h.s. (part 3)

The one where Harry is a friend in need and - can they still be called complications? (1.5k)

I don't even know anymore - is this a short story now? A series of one-shots? All I know is that there will be a part 4.

Part 2

So, you thought you could be back in London and not tell me?

Men can be quite simple creatures sometimes, they really can. I had mostly taken a break from my phone whilst I was away. I favoured taking a camera out and about and kept my phone safe and hidden in my bag. I have gotten notifications of reactions or replies to my Instagram stories but ignored all of them in favour of absorbing the benefits of being away from London, the UK and work.

I had stepped foot back in Heathrow only five hours prior to the text - he really did have eyes everywhere. How he did it was beyond me. A man with a schedule that was so tight it almost overlapped. He has expressed before how the busier he was, the more productive he felt which, was all good and well, until the bags under his eyes were so heavy and sunken that he looked one meeting away from dropping.

I could sympathise - the idea of work being an escape from your life-questioning thoughts is quite appealing when you have a career that resembles your dreams as closely as possible. Throwing myself into a project that gives me freedom of creativity, interactions with interesting characters and puts me behind a camera has a therapeutic effect on my mind. The same must happen for him.

As much of a golden boy and all-around loved guy he was, he certainly had his fatal flaws, one of which was his lack of ability in the prioritising area. He absolutely adores his family and friends, but present the fella with an interesting project and he gets tunnel vision and that is all he can think about. He doesn't just hide behind his job - he becomes his job.

I wasn't aware I had to go through passport control with you too, H. Heathrow was a traumatic enough experience for my little brain. But yeah! Back on British soil!

His call came pretty soon after my text was read - one greeting led to a quick “you need to tell me everything about home” and “I’ll grab some food and come over so we can catch up!” and next thing I knew, I was opening my front door and was greeted with a happy, cheesy face. A one-armed hug and a flick to my chin led him to squeeze past me and towards the living room.

He, as a person, baffled me. The way he so effortlessly made himself at home and started unpacking the food, all the while rambling about the restaurant being skimpy with veggies in their dishes, but the spices blend makes up for it - so he just orders extra greens. Such a boring opinion that still made me smile fondly at his drawled nonsense.

“So! How much did you miss me?” his exaggerated smile was flashed at me. “Must’ve been torture being away from me for such a long time.”

“Barely made it through,” I played along. “The scenery did make up for it, though.”

“Upstaged by a gorgeous view,” he tutted with faux disapproval. “Seriously though, when can I see your pictures?”

“And here I was, thinking you were here to catch up with your dearest friend.” I scoffed with a slight roll of my eyes. He glanced my way, pausing with a spring roll mid-air and just raised his eyebrows, giving me a smug look. He brought the roll to his mouth, maintaining eye contact whilst he crunched his way through a bite.

“And here I was, thinking you would jump my bones the second I walked through your door.” His scoff was playful and the quirk of his lips was an easy hint at his joking mood.

All I could do was smile at him - that man, with his rights and wrongs, with his wit, his cheekiness, his looks, his talent, his moments that warrant wide eyes and a question of “what in the actual hell?”, his soft demeanour contrasted with his “climbing the walls” bouts of uncontainable energy, the plethora of conversations we can carry, his face, his hands, his neck. That man right there, I did want to jump his bones.

“So,” I tried to think of how to word the question I was dying to ask. “How’s Jess?”

“Hm,” He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, interlocking his fingers on his tummy. “Spoke to her the day you left.”

I stayed silent for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate but, ever the tease he was, he kept the momentum going and smiled slightly. “And?”

“And,” He purposefully prolonged the sound, only to spit out the rest of the sentence quickly. “We talked about taking a break to figure things out.”

I have never been known to have a strong poker face but I could usually mask my emotions and reactions to a certain extent - this time I think he could hear my eyes rolling.

“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” My sentence was heavily accentuated by sarcasm.

“I know you don’t believe in breaks,” He sounded bored and done with the direction the conversation was taking. “And neither do I.” He chose that moment to lull his head to the side and make eye contact with me.

I pursed my lips to the side, feeling the want to wrap myself around him dwindle with each word said out loud. I should’ve seen it coming - he said he was ready to end a seemingly perfect relationship just after he strayed from his path. The fact that I even believed him was quite an insult to my own intelligence.

“I..” Words seemed to fail me in that exact instant, “don’t even know what to say, if I’m being honest.”

“Not much for you to say when that conversation ended with us breaking up.” His monotonous tone was quite disorienting, giving the weight of the words he spoke.

“Huh?”, was all I could come up with.

He heaved a heavy sigh, shuffling on the couch and sitting up straight. “I told you, I didn’t see it working with Jess anymore - I wasn’t going to mess her around any more than I already did.” His pressed lips and frowned eyebrows gave him a gloom look. “I had known, from the moment I met with her to talk, that it was going to end with us breaking up.”

I just kept staring at his profile, not really knowing if it was my place to comfort him or not. The bottom line was, he was my friend before we slept together, we cared for each other and we comforted each other when needed.

I reached out and tugged him by the arm, causing him to lean towards me sideways, with no resistance whatsoever, and his head to fall to my chest. To my surprise, he was quite malleable in my hands and fell into the embrace as if he was expecting it to happen. One arm around his shoulders and the other hand pushing his hair back, so I could kiss the top of his head - he let me cuddle him and let his weight fall onto me.

“I’m sorry, H,” I mumbled against his hair, “I know it’s a decision that you made, but I also know that it hurts all the same.”

“Mh,” he adjusted and held me around the waist, “it’s never easy to go through a breakup, I feel like shit. But you know what?”

I hummed, letting him speak.

“She took it on the chin and called me out on my bullshit,” his chuckle could be felt on my stomach. “When I used the work excuse, she straight up told me to ‘stop fucking around and just get on with it’.”

“Mh, you do like when a partner can put you in your place.”

“Equally as much as I like to put them in their place.” His comment was accompanied by a quick glance up towards me and a squeeze to my middle.

“Alright,” My fingers buried through his strands and gave a tug at his hair. “Let me be a supportive friend and a great host and make you a cuppa.”

“I don’t need your lousy tea,” he mumbled, snuggling his face in my chest, “do you have any nice wine?”

“So that’s why you wanted to come over! Steal all the wine I brought from home?”

“I mean, kind of.” He shrugged and laughed, refusing to let me go. “Seeing your face is also a plus.”

And that is how we ended up with a glass of fine Italian wine each, nibbling on some Chinese food and the pictures I took on my holiday mirrored to my TV. He ooh’d and aah’d at every peak of greenery and blue skies and bright sun he saw, all the while teasing and making jokes to keep the morale up.

His head on my shoulder and his fingers playing with mine were clearly innocent touches - innocent touches that escalated when he turned his face and buried it in my neck when his fingers left mine and took a hold of my nape, when his mouth travelled to my jaw, my cheek. It only took me a split second to sigh at my stupidity and then turn my face, meeting his lips with mine.

And, I suppose he was right - I did end up jumping his bones.

#short story #hs #harry styles #hes #1dff #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #writing #harrystylesfanfiction #harry styles fic #creative writing #writer #flash fiction #original fiction #writblr #harry styles smut #harry styles ff #harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader

[unholyplumpprincess]

For ya OC Jester: You say they're (gender neutral) a slasher, so I guess, if someone tried to flirt with them to get away would it work? Has it happened before and actually worked?

Apologies if this isn't a great prompt, work has zapped my brain

She is indeed originally a slasher and has her own 'horror movie' so to speak!!! Anyone interested can read about her in my OC masterlist: Here

Warnings: SFW, Gender neutral reader, Possessive and obsessive behavior, Violence

___

Jester doesn't kill without reason. She needs a reason. You need to be some sort of bad person for her to want to even come after you. Buuuut. That doesn't stop someone from getting in the way and them thinking she's gonna kill them. She likes fear. She likes seeing scared little faces turn to tears and for strong people to get on their knees and beg for their life.

You're just someone who got in the way. Who witnessed too much. Her spiked baseball bat had done a number on the guy, she'll admit. Blood splattered across her mask and clothing, sauntering up to you with a sway of her hips and the bloodied end of the bat tipping your chin up.

"Pretty little thing," She'd croon, watching your lips tremble and tears prick the corner of your eyes. "Whatever shall I do with you? Shall I split you in two? Perhaps gouge out those pretty little eyes that have seen too much?"

"You think I'm pretty?" You choke out, managing your best smile. It catches Jester off guard, her head cocking. You can see the narrow of her gaze in the eye holes of her mask. "W-wow. Guess I'm kinda helpless here, right? Could do whatever you wanted..."

And she laughs. You make Jester laugh. This sound that makes her bat drop, doubling over with giggles spilling from her lips. "Ohhh you are a funny one. What a treat!" Only for the giggles to stop, her crouching down in front of you and watching your eyes flicker to her short skirt riding up. "Is that an offer, little one?"

In the end. She lets you go. Off the hook, you thought. And for humor being your coping mechanism.

It's...not that simple you soon find.

___

~Rest under the cut~

No one's ever tried to beat her at her own game. Why, you're far too interesting of a little treat to pass up on. So she does what any rational killer clown would, of course: Watch you.

Not that you know. No, no. Going about, minding your business. Jester watches you with utmost interest, taking note of your favorite foods, your friends, where you walk the most, if you have any patterns in your life.

It starts small. One day you receive a box. No address, just a box. Inside is a painting of you, beautiful and elaborate. Looked like when you were at the park the other day, mid-laugh with falling leaves around you. It comes with a bouquet of flowers, no letter attached.

Your roommate nudges you, asks you about your secret admirer. Someone from school, maybe. And you laugh it off, trying to shake the unease of someone watching you...

You get off the hook of being killed, you think. But you've just invited something into your life without realizing. It's up to you to decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

#Princess talks #The Jester #Oc #my ocs #Oc x reader #Jester x Reader #TYSM FOR ASKING ABT HER SHE IS MY OLDEST AND MOST BELOVED OC!!!!!! #I really gotta write out her OG story in the masterlist tho #princess talks #imagines

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,” delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.  

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.  

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil, 

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans. 

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Agents of the Golden Throne

It took me longer than I wanted to write this, but here’s the follow up to the current story thread.  We see more of the Inquisition and their methods, we have what I sincerely hope to be a heartwarming moment, we touch on the subject of xenophilia, and, of course, we get to see the Grey Knights bust heads.  I hope you enjoy the story, and, as always, no one except Drake and his crew belong to me. 

“I carry with me an Inquisitorial Seal.  It is a small, unassuming object contained in a neat box of Pluvian obsidian.  It is a modest thing.   Relatively plain, adorned with a single motif and a simple motto.  Yet with this little object I can sign the death warrant of an entire world and consign a billion souls to oblivion.”  -Inquisitor Flast of the Ordo Malleus

“It is Mankind’s holy destiny to rule the stars, and rule them alone.”  -Lord Inquisitor Knael of the Ordo Xenos

“Do not worry: your memories will return with time.”  The deep bass voice of Lord Hector Rex cut through Vir’s headache.  He was aboard the Fury of Deimos, the heavy starship that served as the headquarters of Rex and the Grey Knights.  He looked around him, taking note of the gloomy gothic architecture and the massive cathedral windows of the hangar bay.  A cadre of humans stood around him; individuals that he was sure he knew but couldn’t really remember.  His memories were in the back of his mind, flitting things that he tried in vain to claw back to the forefront of his brain.  He remembered being on some strange planet… something that had to do with the color red.  There was some sort of white orb, too.  Nothing else besides that.  He couldn’t recall the interior of the Fury of Deimos, something Rex unabashedly told him they permanently deleted.  No one save the most powerful and dedicated servants of the Ordo Malleus could come aboard a starship of the Grey Knights and still leave with their memories.  It was explained to him as a simple security measure, but it still irked him.  He could, though, remember the probing, the strange devices… the pain.  It was the singular most painful experience he had ever gone through, and that was saying a lot.  Ripping through someone’s mind to make sure their soul was untainted did a number on the pain receptors of nerves, not to mention the utter wrongness of such an act.  

But, apart from the pain and the memories of the elderly Inquisitor guiding him through his recovery, he could remember nothing except brief hints; shadows of what he once was.  Then there were his companions, people who he was certain he should know but didn’t.  There was a brown haired, easy-going man dressed in a black and yellow jumpsuit.  It was something he would have found ridiculous except for the sense of respect he felt for the individual; that particular memory ran deep.  

Looking rather confused was a man with close cut hair, wearing what Vir vaguely remembered as a combat armor bodysuit.  Faint memories of competence, fighting side by side, something in common…  This man was some sort of friend.  Trustworthy.  

The third perplexed individual was wearing high boots and a leather jacket vest, similar to his own.  This one Vir held slightly in awe, somewhat like the first man.  He remembered hearing stories about this one, but, frustratingly, couldn’t remember.  

The last had a black coat and boots matching his equally black hair.  Blue eyes roved suspiciously around the hangar, looking with untrust at the Inquisitor and the other Imperials.  A series of conflicting feelings rose from the sight of this man: good advice, utter hilarity, slight insanity, and a disturbing amount of large explosions.  What the hell…?

“How soon will our memories recover?” asked the black coated man.  Rex scratched his head.  Vir could tell he was frowning behind his mask.  

“This is not an exact science.  I would estimate a day, perhaps two, for all of your memories to fully come back to you.  It could be as little as an hour, or, in the most extreme, as much as a week.”  Rex noticed the alarmed looks being cast his way.  “Though that is unlikely.  I can give you my utmost assurance that all of your memories, except for the ones of the halls of this ship, will return.”  Another man entered the room, this one dressed in a distinctly Imperial style, with an elaborate, overly-embroidered greatcoat and cap.  Vir remembered him… from somewhere.  He thought this man had been on his ship before.  His ship… what was his ship called?  Something fierce, he hoped.  The man bowed to Rex and spoke in a worried, but polite tone.

“Greetings, Lord Inquisitor.”  

“Greetings, Commissar Cain.”  All four of the non-Imperials in the hangar looked up sharply.  Cain.  They remembered him better with a name to go with a face.  “I trust your stay in the hangar has been satisfactory?” inquired Rex.  

“It has.”  Ah, yes.  Cain stayed here because he didn’t want to get mind wiped.  And he didn’t touch the orb, like we did.  That’s why we’re here!  The orb!  Cain cleared his throat.  “With all due respect, Lord Inquisitor, and I do recognize that this is your area of expertise, but was it necessary to completely mind-wipe them?”  Rex cocked his head curiously.

“We did not mind-wipe them.  Unfortunately, it is a side effect of the process that makes sure they are untainted.  If we could avoid it, we would, but there is simply no other way.”  Cain nodded.  

“Very well.  I thank you for your explanation, Lord Inquisitor.”  He glanced at the still confused four mind-wipe victims.  “May I take them back to their ships?”  

“You may,” replied Rex with a nodd.  He made a curious symbol on his breast, folding his thumbs together and outstretching his palms.  “May the Emperor guide you, Commissar Cain.”  Cain returned the gesture and bowed. 

“And you as well, Lord Inquisitor Rex.”  He gently guided the four to a shuttle.  “Come now.  We need to get you back where you belong.”

Rex watched them board the shuttle and take off.  They were strong of mind and soul, those ones.  That must have been why the Prognosticators of the Grey Knights had told him not to interfere with their business.  He had been annoyed that xenos had seen the Knights, but it was inevitable, he supposed.  After all, the Sons of Titan had teamed up with the enigmatic Aeldari to fight the daemons of Chaos when necessary.  More xenos, especially ones deemed necessary to the future by the seers of the Grey Knights, couldn’t hurt too badly, he supposed.  There were worse enemies out there.  He did, however, chafe that those pesky GA delegates were still around.  He had pulled rank and ordered the Knights not to destroy them.  That would cause too much of a political headache.  Though, he did discreetly mind-wipe them with his powers, and pull the orbital defenses of the Rundi homeworld from the chairwoman’s mind; information he had subsequently turned over to Inquisitor Vail.  They wouldn’t ever remember meeting him.  A good thing, all things considered.  They had neither the training nor stomach for fighting demons.  He spun on his heel and strode into the hall of the Deimos.  There was work to be done.

Aboard the shuttle

The shuttle had roved from ship to ship, dropping off passengers that barely remembered where they were going.  The yellow-shirted man, who had introduced himself as Kirk (some more slight memories came from that realization… something about a TV show?) was left on a ship called the Enterprise (a good name.  Adam hoped his ship was named something just as good.)  The First Mate, a tall thin man with strange pointed ears, had sighed as if this were a regular occurrence and led Kirk deeper into the ship.  

The short haired man was left aboard the Normandy (memories of beaches, and machine guns, and mass death in a war a long time ago.)  A raven haired woman wearing a bodysuit that left little to the imagination greeted them.  

“Ah, Commander.  Welcome back.  I trust everything went satisfactory?” she asked.  The other man stared at her.  

“You have a strange accent,” he said at last.  “Where are you from?”  The woman, who Vir presumed to be the First Officer of this ship, merely cocked an eyebrow.  Cain rolled his eyes and stepped in.  

“Ms. Lawson, the Inquisition performed an intensive interrogation on Commander Shepard, the side effects of which include the temporary, and I stress temporary, loss of memory.”

“He has no idea who I am.  Or anyone else,” stated Lawson bluntly.  Cain nodded and pushed Shepard from the shuttle.  

“Off you go Commander.  Hope the doctors don’t take you apart.”  The shuttle ramp closed, veiling the sight of a very confused Shepard and very exasperated Lawson.  It took off, slipping through the void.  The silver shape of a large, rectangular ship flitted through the viewport.  Vir looked out in wonder.  This ship… this one’s mine.  What is it called…?  Harbinger?  Harbinger sounds right… but… no…

The shuttle touched down in a large, open hangar.  A shorter, brown haired woman stood at attention there, waiting.  The ramp came down with a heavy thunk, and Vir and Cain exited.  

“This is our stop,” said Cain.  “Will you two be alright?” he asked the shuttle’s other two occupants.  The black coated man nodded jerkily, still staring into space.  

“What?  Oh.  Yes.  Don’t worry about us.  Commissar Cain.  Admiral Vir.”  He rattled off their unfamiliar names, the taste of the words strange on his tongue.  As the shuttle took off once more, the woman approached Vir and Cain.  

“Admiral,” she said with a crisp salute.  Vir looked her over, trying desperately to remember who she was.  Obviously some sort of ship’s officer.  

“Ah… yes,” he stalled, trying to buy time for his memories to return.  “Uh…”  The woman stared at him.  

“Are you… alright, Admiral?” she asked, perplexed.  Before he could do anything to embarrass himself, Cain stepped in.  

“Ah, Simone.”  Simone!  Yes!  Now he had a name to go with a face.  Simone was his… assistant?  Maybe?  “As you know,” continued Cain, “Admiral Vir was interrogated by the Inquisition.  The side effects of which include temporary memory loss.”  Simone’s mouth set in a hard line.

“Those utter-” she stopped herself, realizing who she was talking to.  “Ah.  Yes.  Commissar.”  She turned to Vir, clearly trying to ignore that she almost criticized the most deadly and powerful organization of Cain’s home government.  “Admiral… you really don’t remember me?”  Vir shook his head a miserable ‘no’.

“No.  I don’t.  There are bits, and pieces… but not much.”  

“Well, you should probably get settled.  Go to your cabin; someplace familiar.  I’ll make sure Kril doesn’t kill you,” said Cain with a wink.  He strode off, Commissar’s greatcoat swirling.  Simone watched him leave.  

“What did they do to you…?”  muttered Simone.  “I’m your First Lieutenant, Admiral.”

“Ah hah!” came Vir’s triumphant shout.  “Yes.  Simone.  I remember you are my first lieutenant.  It’s coming back.  A bit.”  

“Alright, then.  I’ll take my leave, Admiral,” she said.  Vir shook his head, still confused.  He wandered through the hangar, somehow knowing where the exits were and where they led.  He knew his cabin was somewhere towards the front area of the ship, near the bridge, but found his feet taking him a different way.  He walked through the bowels of the ship, saluting the crew he passed with automa-like precision.  It was mechanical.  He remembered none of them, but for an unknown reason kept walking until he reached a door near the engineering area.  He instinctively stepped inside, though he did not know where it led or why he did so.  

The room was bare, with empty metal walls and a corrugated steel floor.  The walls were covered with elaborate weapons blueprints and armor designs.  In the corner, huddled over a workbench, a large figure welded something.  Flying sparks illuminated a sleek blue carapace and four arms.  Vir had no idea who this was or what sort of creature it was… but he knew it.  He trusted it.  He felt safe here.  Hearing his footsteps, the figure turned around and lifted its welding mask.  

“Adam?  You got back already?” He felt something stir inside him at her (he knew it was a her) voice.  

“I… I can’t remember anything,” he confessed.  “The Imperials interrogated me… one of the side effects was temporary memory loss.”  The blue alien stood to its full height.  

“Those bastards…  You don’t remember me?” she asked.  Vir shrugged.  

“Tell me your name.  It helps with remembering,” he replied.  She stepped forward and took his arms.  

“Sunny,” she said.  Suddenly, everything clicked.  

“Sunny,” he replied.  It was a statement.  A sentence spoken by a weary man who has finally come home.  

“You… you do remember me?” asked Sunny with concern.  

“I remember your name,” said Vir with a smile.  “Clearness.  Blue skies.  Light.  Warmth.  Happiness.  Sunny.”

“Is… is that it?  You don’t remember anything else?”  Vir stepped forward and threw his arms around her.  He felt tears go down his face as he buried it into her chest.  She drew him close, her four arms wrapped around him.  

“Yes.  I remember that I love you.”  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The Falcon was full to capacity.  Nearly fifty individuals were crammed inside.  Han Solo and Chewbacca were quietly flying in the cockpit.  Not a single word passed between them, for the First Mate realized his Captain wished to be alone with his thoughts.  In the small recreational spaces of the ship, sitting morosely in the chairs that controlled the dorsal and ventral guns, slouching in the hallways and resting in the cargo holds were dozens of the Apocalypse’s armsmen.  

After Thomas Drake had returned from the Fury of Deimos, he had instinctively gravitated towards Richter and Ordelphine, whom he had told his predicament.  The two had immediately and bluntly set him straight, giving him the beginnings of his memories back.  He had been lucky; most of who he had been and what he was doing returned within the span of hours, no little thanks due to his First Lieutenant.  He had been scrolling through his computer files when a note to himself had popped up… and he had a sudden epiphany.  Which was why the Falcon was currently headed to a small but busy moon in the far reaches of this galaxy known as Noctopolis.  

The note, and the realization it brought, was simple.  The Holy Ordos of His Divine Majesty’s Inquisition and the laws of the Imperium of Man were harsh.  They were known to declare all those who dealt in alien technology Excommunicate Traitoris.  This meant that the individual in question was expelled from the Church and light of the God-Emperor and cast out of the human race to be hunted down and executed.  If such a punishment was fit for those who merely traded technology crafted by aliens, then what of those who romanced, or even copulated with aliens?  The punishment for such an act would be… unbelievable.  Unfortunately, xenophilia was an accepted act in five of the nine galaxies that now made up reality.   Should His Majesty’s Inquisition find out that such people were accepted, it would mean instant and eternal war.  

Drake realized the Inquisition could deal with aliens by themselves, for if the aliens fought alongside humanity against larger threats, then they were an asset.  However, if Holy Humanity debased itself with aliens, and to the Inquisition, if aliens were treacherous and convinced humans to perfore perverse acts with them, then the Inquisition would have no other choice but to step in.  This would result in any alien race that had any sort of xenophiliac history with humanity to be exterminated, and human civilizations that thought xenophilia was acceptable to be brought under Imperial compliance.  

The civilizations and the xenophiles themselves had no idea of the storm that was about to bear down on them.  With Inquisitor Amberly Vail of the Ordo Xenos now in this galaxy and presumably finding out whatever she could about it, Drake had what he believed to be four options.

One, he could do nothing.  The simplest option.  If he stood by, Vail would find or overhear that Admiral Adam Vir had convinced the Galactic Assembly that xenophilia should be legal.  In that case, Drake could claim plausible deniability and the Inquisition might believe him.  Regardless, the xenophiles would be rounded up, the GA destroyed, and this galaxy would become part of the Imperium of Man.

Two, he could turn the xenophiles over to the Inquisition.  For eradicating such a large heresy, the Inquisition would probably give him whatever he wanted: advanced weapons technology, one of those delightful gothic starships, perhaps his own private moon.  However, innocents would die, the Scoundrels would be broken up, and Vir, Quill, Kirk, and Shepard would despise him before being forever silenced.  

Three, he could tell his compatriots or wait for them to do something.  However, Thomas Drake had succeeded and survived in life through one maxim: if you wanted something done right, then you did it yourself.  

Four, he could side with the xenophiles.  He would have to do this carefully, as, otherwise, the full wrath of the Inquisition would come down on his head.  He would have to get them underground, undercover, completely invisible from any prying eyes.  Already, he had sent warning messages to the Milano, Normandy, Omen, and Enterprise.  All were hand written and hand delivered, all written in Drake’s camera-less cabin.  No one could hack into handwriting.

The question was hard.  The answer was simple.  He was siding with the xenophiles.  Why?  At the moment, the xenophiles were sitting there, doing nothing.  The Inquisition, on the other hand, had gone and messed with his brain.  All moral concerns aside, he was siding against the Inquisition ‘cause fuck ‘em, that’s why.  Ah, spite.  That most excellent of motivators.  

The Falcon touched down on the putrid streets of Noctopolis, the polluted air swirling around the landing gear.  Drake and the armsmen disembarked, leaving Solo with Chewbacca to reclaim the last vestiges of his shredded memory.  The armsmen wore garb similar to Drake, all in heavy boots and trench coats.

Good: the trench coats were not armor or uniforms, and thus they would not be easily recognized.

Bad: a group of people wearing black coats and strutting about an overcrowded criminal-ruled moon would be seen and possibly remembered.

Best: trench coats could conceal weapons.  A lot of weapons.  Each of Drake’s armsmen wore clothing that was reinforced to stop bullets, and had enough guns on them to fuel an army.  No one would be messing with them today.  

They walked through the streets, their massive numbers and intimidating bearing making sure no one got in their way.  Making their way down fetid alleys and downwards, ever downwards, they reached a gorge with red smoke, pollution from some nearby factory, billowed.  They made their way through a deserted alley and reached a door.  Drake knew it hid a deceptively large building.  

“Fan out,” he ordered the armsmen.  “Surround the building.  No one in or out without my permission.”  The armsmen nodded.  Weapons were pulled from concealment, the larger ones assembled quickly by their wielders.  First Squad had drawn duty today, and Saul stood by Drake’s side.  Two black coated women stood next to the door, shotguns at the ready.  He wasn’t expecting it, but there could be hostiles inside.  You never knew when you might need a hot breach.  Drake rapped on the door.  There was a long pause.  Drake and Saul stood unmoving.  The armsmen were ready with their weapons, turning the door and the alley into a kill zone.  Eventually, a slit opened and a pair of human eyes peered out.

“What do you want?” asked a somewhat surprised voice.

“I’m a friend of Adam,” replied Drake, the grin on his face unable to hide itself.  There was a snapping and rattling of chains and locks being undone, and the door opened.  Drake and Saul stepped through, two other armsmen who had been ready to provide support with compact submachine guns hot on their heels.  A man with electric blue hair stared, frightened, at the quite obviously mercenary soldiers that had just walked through his door.  Before he could say or do anything rash, Drake held out a calming hand.  

“Relax.  In this case, I really am who I say I am.”  He held out a paper, which the man took and carefully scanned.  

I, Admiral Adam Vir, hereby state that Thomas Drake is a close confidant and can be completely trusted.

Drake had papers with similar messages from all the Scoundrels.  He had forged their signatures and had their fingerprints on file.  It was, perhaps, a breach of trust, but he would not be offended if they did the same to him.  It was just good business.  Plus, such documents were very useful.  Very useful indeed.  As the man puzzled over what was happening, Drake held up a finger to his comms device.  

“You know, you really should change your passwords.  And your back door code is 0-0-0-0.  Sloppy,” sighed Drake.  “Very sloppy indeed.”  The blue harried man gapped up at him.  Drake sighed again.  “Can we, perhaps, go somewhere to talk business?  That is, of course, why I came.”  The man nodded, still slack jawed, and led the mercenaries through what seemed to be some sort of club and into the back rooms.  A group of strangely dressed humans and aliens stood there, apparently summoned by the blue haired man.  Drake sat in a vacant seat, the cheap leather scratching through his coat.  Saul and the two other armsmen stood beside him, their coats open, ready to grab hidden guns at a moment’s notice.

“Are you here to kill us?” opened one of the humans abruptly.  The other faces at the table were silent, but held the same worry.  Drake sighed for a third time.  

“I only kill those whose deaths are necessary or deserved.  You are neither, so you have nothing to fear from me.”  There were a few audible sighs of relief.  

“Then why are you here?” asked a small, furry alien. 

“I come with warnings.  There are those who would kill you, and I wish to prevent that,” replied Drake calmly.  There was a splatter of derisive laughter before another human held up a hand. 

“Are you… one of us?  Why would you want to warn us?”  Drake gave a rictus grin.  Some of his table-mates visibly shrunk back.  

“No I am not.  Frankly, I don’t care about you or your opponents here.  Let us just say that it’s better off you weren’t mass murdered by zealots.”  That brought a series of murmerings.  

“What?” asked a Drev.  “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

“Indeed,” replied Drake.  “It is always wise to start at the beginning.”  He settled into his chair.  “I’m sure many of you are familiar with the fact that there are now nine galaxies in this universe, not just one.”  A chorus of yeses greeted this fact.  “You may also be familiar that in one of these galaxies resides a government known as ‘The Imperium of Man.’”  A chorus of hissed curses greeted that name.

“Xenophobic scum,” muttered someone.

“Hmm.  Yes,” replied Drake neutrally.  He leaned back even further and crossed his legs.  “At the present moment,” he continued, “The Imperium’s secret police, known as the Inquisition, is here, in this galaxy, investigating a completely unrelated matter.”  More mutterings.  “They are bound to investigate everything they can about this galaxy, and when they do, they will find out about your existence.  If this happens, you will all be tortured to death, and the GA, with most likely every alien race here, will be exterminated, with the galaxy coming under Imperial rule.”  Drake smiled over their horrified faces.  “I do not wish to see that happen.  Which is why you must do as I say.”  They all leaned in, desperate to hear if he could save them.  “One, you must disperse.  Groups attract attention.  I found this place easily, because I knew what to look for.  The Inquisition is even more adept than me.  Two, you must leave this place.  If a trail can be found, something I am trying to erase, believe me, but, if a trail can be found, it will lead to this moon.  Three, you must never, ever practice any sort of xenophilia, or have anyone suspect what you are.  Four, if you do as I say, and are still captured by the Inquisition, you must tell them that you are alone; a singular degenerate alone and unloved in this universe.  They will ask you to betray your comrades; don’t.  They will kill you either way.”  There was a stunned silence, before the room went up in shouts.

“No!”  

“Absolutely not!”

“You ask us to give up everything!  Everything we’ve worked so hard for!  To no longer be ourselves!  Adam Vir would never do this!”

“Adam Vir is not here!” thundered Drake.  “You are dealing with me now.”  He stood and rubbed his forehead as he paced.  “Nothing I have told you, or will tell you, is a lie.  My colleagues are, to a man, all better people than I.  However, they are, at times, unbearably naïve.”  He spun around and fixed them with his most intimidating glare, the one that made corporate oligarchs, high generals and planetary governors quake in their boots.  “Be grateful that you are dealing with someone who knows precisely what they are talking about.”  The table sat back down and watched Drake.  He frowned.  “Now, I can get you off this moon; get you to wherever you want to go.  I can give you new identities, multiple identities, just in case, food, tickets, papers: whatever you need to start a new life.”  He paused.  “However, all things come at a price.”

“I knew it!” hissed one of the humans.  A tesraki held up a hand, silencing the other members around the table.

“What do you want?” 

“I want information.  And you are going to give it to me.”

“What do you want to know?”  The voice was resigned to its owner’s fate.  Drake leaned forward. 

“Everything about the LFIL, everything about Admiral Vir, and everything about this galaxy that I don’t already know.  Give it to me and follow my directions, and I can ensure you will survive.”

Aboard the Fury of Deimos

Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex stood on the command bridge of the Grey Knight’s ancient ship, surrounded by the mindless servitors that crewed it.  In front of him were winking holograms of Admiral Vir, Captain Kirk, and Commander Shepard.  Deep into the blackness of space, a space station, so sleek and unlike anything Imperial, orbited an empty planet.  A camera feed from inside the research station flickered through the terminal in front of him.  What it displayed was clear signs of daemonic presence.  

“We got word just recently that this research station went dead,” said Vir.  “They apparently had some sort of artifact they were studying here.  It only came alive in the past few days.”  The cameras showed an infestation.  The artifact had spread throughout the station.  Twisted masses of white bone, flickering with red energy and black ooze, clung to the floors and walls.  Dark energy, lit with crackles of red, pulsed through the ceilings as if the station were some living thing.  As if the red crackling were arteries, filled with blood, flowing to the artifact, the beating heart of corruption.  The station’s crew were all dead.  Their bodies were held up by tendrils of bone, some twitching slightly as the horrible mass grew inside them.  Bone spread through every empty space in their bodies, growing through their eyes and mouths, infesting their noses, even going through their very veins.  To the watching Scoundrels, it was horrifying.  To Lord Hector, it was just a regular day.  

“It was good of you to inform me,” he replied.  “Stay aboard your ships.  We shall take care of this.”  The Scoundrels nodded.  If there were people who knew precisely how to combat this sort of thing, then they would differ to their expertise.  Rex deactivated the holograms and turned, walking off the bridge.  As he strode through the ship, he sent a mental message to Doctor Strange.  Strange was aboard, just in case the Knights or Inquisition needed his help.  He was staying in the hangar bay, though, for he just didn’t want to take the chance of being mind wiped.  

Strange.  We are cleansing the research station here.  Stay aboard.  If you receive word of any other artifacts being activated, you are free to intervene as you see fit.  

Understood, Lord Inquisitor.  I’ll be keeping my eyes open on the areas that celestially connect to Polaris.  

The Scoundrels awoke from their induced slumber with a warning: there were corrupting artifacts, hidden in the locations that Polaris was connected to.  These artifacts needed to be destroyed.  Rex couldn’t agree more.  

Through the halls bearing the symbols of the Grey Knights he walked, until he reached the teleportarium.  The five Knights who had accompanied him on this mission stood there, silently waiting, weapons in hand.  Rex simply nodded at them.  No words were needed.  His sword was always at his side, his armor always on him; no need to go get them.  

The silent party of Ordo Malleus operatives stepped into a large circular chamber, mysterious machinery clanking along the walls.  A servitor trundled forward, and flipped a lever.  

With an almighty crack of displaced air, Lord Hector Rex and the Grey Knights teleported aboard the now derelict research station.  The pulsating mass of bone and energy crackled ominously around them.  They marched inexorably forward, untouched by the corruption.  

“They are coming,” spoke the rumbling baritone of one of the Knights.  “This thing defends itself.”  Without warning, a fallen scientist leapt at them.  It’s eyes were dead and gone, replaced by inky black spots of primordial darkness.  It’s mouth stretched impossibly wide, bone spurs ready to shred flesh.  

It was unnaturally, unimaginably fast.  

The Grey Knights were faster.  

Nemesis force halberds crackled to life with but a thought, pure blue-white energy flowing across their blades.  The Knight nearest to the lifeless abomination spun at speeds the mortal eye could not follow, his psychic powers enhancing his already enhanced body.  The blade of his halberd connected with the thing’s neck, cleaving through bone and thin, lifeless skin like a knife through tissue paper.  The once-human fell, the unnatural life in its eyes gone.  With its death, the station exploded.  

Tentacles of bone whipped forward, seeking to impale the intruders.  More infected bodies darted forth, running at the Knights with speeds that would have astounded a normal human.  The darkness seemed to grow deeper, an unnatural deficit of light swimming forward to fill the halls.  

Lord Hector unsheathed his blade.  The sword was called Arias, an ancient weapon carried by the Ordo Malleus’s greatest heroes, reportedly blessed by the Emperor Himself during the Great Crusade.  It glowed with faint golden light, repelling the darkness around them.  He now brought it forward onto a corrupted scientist; a quick slice, almost as if he were swatting a fly.  The infected form fell, cleaved in two by Hector’s power.  

The Grey Knights spun and swirled through the station as if they were smoke.  Untouchable.  Untaintable.  Their psychic powers churned through the air, leaving blessed purity where there had been corruption a moment before.  They moved in tandem, augmenting each other with their power, exactly in tune with their brothers’ minds.  They were a brotherhood of demigods, slayers of the demonic, a group that brought only death to the damned.  

Lord Rex spun Arias in a defensive pattern, the consecrated blade shredding every attacker that reached him.  He held out a hand, and a dead Vrul scientist that had leapt at him, bone-fangs ready to tear his throat, stopped in mid-air, suspended with his mind.  His fist closed.  The Vrul exploded into bone shards.  

A wall of force, crackling with golden energy, swept away the encroaching darkness, fueled by the combined might of the Knights.  The scientists were all dead now, shredded by the psychic ammunition of the Grey Knights wrist-mounted bolters or cut down by their crackling blades.  The tentacles and walls redoubled their efforts, desperate to make sure the Inquisition didn’t reach the artifact at the center of the station’s corruption.  

With a swipe of his hand, the Grey Knight’s sergeant flicked open the heavy doors that led to the artifact’s chamber.  They saw it, a small mass of bone, swelling with unnatural power.  With a flick of his sword, Rex cut the tendrils that suspended it.  The very station seemed to shriek underneath them, the bone tendrils spasming.  Rex held the thing in mid-air, unwilling to touch it.  

“What shall we do with it?” he asked the sergeant.  

“Put it in a box.  Take it back to Titan.  We must study this,” replied the deep voice.  Another Knight came forward with a purified small metal container, and Rex telepathically lowered the artifact inside and sealed the lid.  With a mental command to the servitor, the Knights and Lord Inquisitor disappeared, teleported back to the Fury of Deimos.  The starships of the Scoundrels and Inquisition erased any trace of the station, its memory gone forever.  In its box, the cursed artifact pulsed, another relic to be taken back to the headquarters of the Grey Knights to be studied.

I hope you liked it.  If you have any requests or want me to write about a specific group or person, please tell me!  Wherever you are, have a great day.  

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #crossover #empyrean iris #warhammer 40k #star wars #crossover story #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #sci-fi

[k1ng-for-a-day]

Could you possibly do some fluff/nsfw Headcanons for The Shape x Killer! S/O? Like maybe his s/o gets stuck in the entity’s world too? Thank you!

:000 Oh my god thank you so much for this request!! I honestly never thought I would get one I feel really flustered just by looking at this.

A Michael Myers and killer S/O... how would that go...

❤️SFW❤️

🔪🖤 When Michael first saw you, he thought of you as another killer who landed into the entities arms. In short he never had much of a heart for you. At all.

🔪🖤 After a couple of rounds and seeing your tactics, he immediately became invested. He was intrigued by this seemingly new found power a killer like you would have. Whether it was your weapon that was sharp yet pristine, or the way your body shapeshifted into many directions. It was very amusing in his eyes.

🔪🖤 The thing that really kicked it off was how you would ask Michael for some advice. He found it oddly adorable, but he would never admit it. He would say things very bluntly, or write it down for a more in depth explanation. (Down side to that was his somewhat horrendous hand writing). At first you could barely understand it at all, and ask what he meant on a certain sentence or paragraph, which would cause him to demonstrate it. In his mind he believes that his handwriting is decent in a way.

🔪🖤 When he discovered that you couldn’t read it fully, he was somewhat shocked at this. He tried to make it a little bit better, which worked mostly. You could finally read his notes properly, and studying his handwriting really did help you a lot. (Keep this is mind)...

🔪🖤 After you two started talking more and more, he became a bit more close to you, and showed you things he wouldn’t with anyone else. Hell, he wouldn’t even show Danny these at all. (Or Ghostface. He’s really close with him).

🔪🖤 What he presented to you was this:

A picture of his family. It was wholesome, sweet, and his cute little blonde hair made you smile. This was something he showed Danny.

A key to his house in Hadonfield. This was something that was somewhat special to him due to the nostalgia of his old family, even though he did kill Judith. He definitely didn’t show Ghostface this place. (Knowing Danny he would trash it in an instant).

His favorite blade- A kitchen knife. It’s vertical simple, but to him it’s like an artifact. It’s like a painting at a museum, or some beautiful necklace at an expensive jewelry store. He enjoys it very much. Danny has seen this one too many times.

His face.

🔪🖤Once Michael finally revealed his face to you, it felt like your goal was achieved. Something inside you felt complete; you were finally whole. His beautiful eyes gleamed at you softly, but somewhat shyly. He was kind of blushing. It was weird to see this man seem so defeated, but satisfying nonetheless.

🔪🖤At first when he revealed his face, he felt a bit insecure about it. After you quickly examined his face, he covered it up instantly. He was scared that you wouldn’t like it, however that was false.

🔪🖤You would attempt to ask him if he would take it off, but he shook his head no. Course you were sad about this and ask why. He would shrug. He just doesn’t want to. If you annoy him enough, or give him a small gift, he might slip a small peak. However, he’ll quickly put it back on afterwards.

🔪🖤Later on he started to gain a bit more trust, and take off his mask for a little more time. (This phenomenon was only when you two were alone). At first it was only for a quick second, but slowly grew on to be a bit longer. A minute, five minutes, fifteen, and the longest was an hour.

🔪🖤This ‘special hour’ of mask-less Myers was a glorious site. His hair was so fluffy, his eyes were so soft, and his skin was surprisingly smooth. Everything was amazing. You two would talk about your past lives, feelings for certain killers, and just deep conversations in general. Sometimes you would even lay on his shoulder. It was soft as well.

🔪🖤After a while, Michael starts to lighten up to you about stuff that swirls around his mind. Not only does he talks about the survivors, but he talks about his day in general. (Most of it is written on a paper though). Even though Myers doesn’t feel emotion, his writing almost seems like something from a Shakespeare play. It’s somewhat sweet, but very talented.

🔪🖤You complemented Michael every time he wrote these things to you, but he seemingly shrugged it off. It seemed like you were ignored. It was kind of strange.

🔪🖤Months later you were mainly focused on hunting down survivors, and attempting to talk to Michael. Even though you tried to talk to him before a match, he became a bit more distant to you. It was to the point you thought he wasn’t fond of you anymore. You almost felt used.

🔪🖤When you confronted Michael about this, he just stared at you blankly and didn’t say anything. He didn’t even write anything at all. The reason for this was because he was scared. He was paralyzed. You didn’t catch onto this, and just walked away thinking that he didn’t actually care about you. Then again he isn’t suppose to feel emotion.

🔪🖤The next day he wrote you a small note explaining why he was distant. It was mainly due to the harshness of the entity and how displeased he was. He became so distracted by you that he started killing less and less victims. It was to the point no one was hurt at all. He was very sincere about his apology, and even brought you a small gift; an Ebony Mori.

🔪🖤Was he this crazy to give this to you..? This has to be a mistake. He didn’t need to do this!

🔪🖤The next day Michael tapped you on the shoulder, and lead you back to his house, but in a secluded area. This place was empty, but slightly warm. It was welcoming.

🔪🖤He handed you a small piece of paper, and rubbed his arm nervously. He stared at you, blushing underneath the mask.

🔪🖤You read the note, carefully: “My dearest, S/O, I wanted to know if you’ve had these odd feelings before. These stimulants that react in your brain that seemingly damage your heart once it all crumbles. This void then replaces those crumbling bits that fell through your heart. It’s like a burning passion that your to afraid to leave. I never understood these feelings of grief, pain, happiness even. I only knew hatred, death, and seemingly nothing more. I was only a prodigy made to enforce pain, but once you came to me, my eyes opened into newer possibilities. I was seemingly morphed into this new being that could finally see what others saw with my own eyes. I could finally feel. So I have to ask, do you truly love me? Would you take my hand and hold it close to yours?”

🔪🖤You looked back at him and blushed in shock. You never thought that he would do something like this, let alone to you. He stared right back at you with his mask off, awaiting your answer.

🔪🖤”Michael,” you spoke, “of course I love you!”

❤️NSFW❤️

🔪🖤Later that night, Michael stared at you with a soft smile. He thought about how beautiful you were, and how your body was perfectly made. It made him feel something much more interesting; lust. He longed for that smooth touch of your body near his, and was somewhat needy,

🔪🖤When he writes his notes, he’ll sometimes ask if you want to do something ‘strange’ with him. You didn’t realize what it was, but he’ll elaborate onwards about it.

🔪🖤If you do consent to this ‘strange’ thing, he’ll show you what he means by using his own collection of “tools”.

🔪🖤When you saw this ‘collection’ you were immediately shocked. Michael was into collecting.. sex toys? What the fuck..? You stared at him blankly, just merely in disbelief. He simply twitches his head to the side. ‘Was it not normal to collect things like this?’ He ponders for a bit.

🔪🖤You just shook your head, and decided to follow through with this ‘strange idea’ of his.

🔪🖤The first thing Michael wanted/needed was to be loved. To be kissed specifically. He likes affection before the actual event begins.

🔪🖤He took off his mask and stared at you with his widened eyes. He observed you like an a diamond, and slowly pulled you towards his lips. He kissed you on the cheek for starters, since he was inexperienced at the time.

🔪🖤He slowly started to go near your lips, and peck them gently in order to assert some form of neediness. Sometimes he would bite you lip on purpose in order to hear you squeal quietly. It was adorable, but he’ll never admit it.

🔪🖤As he kissed your lips, he finally advanced to something much more enticing; he inserted his tongue.

🔪🖤As he entered your mouth, you were in a bit of shock, but hypnotized by this taste. It was addicting to feel his mouth, and the soft but tough texture complemented both of you perfectly.

🔪🖤The next thing he would do was slowly take off his jumpsuit, (or whatever tf it’s called), and tease you a bit. He wouldn’t fully take off his clothes, and leave you there to beg for more.

🔪🖤And honey, you really did beg. You begged so badly that you were practically on your knees at this point. And he was amused by it. Definitely amused if you know what I mean.

🔪🖤You slowly crawled towards him, and pull it fully down to reveal his trousers. You could tell he was hard in an instant. You weren’t to sure how big it was at first, but once his boxers was off it was revealed in its entirety.

🔪🖤It seemed like a horse cock in your eyes. It was pretty thick, and was about 8 maybe 9 or 10 inches. No matter the size, you were still intrigued. You placed your hands on it in order to give him a good start. You just stroked it gently. Since it was your first time, you were very nervous. Extremely scared about this.

🔪🖤After stroking it softly, Michael was about to cum. He slowly grabbed your delicate head, and rammed it on his snake! He would then proceed to pull your hair while you were sucking it so delicately. When he was at his full release, he would cum inside your mouth and pull out. His last bit of white was all over your face. Just like he showed you.

🔪🖤From then on, when Michael was horny, he would bring you into his ‘sex dungeon’ of sorts. What you both discovered was that he was big into knife play. He enjoyed bringing your/his weapon up against your throat, and slowly licking your neck.

🔪🖤What you also found out was when Michael had extreme urges, he would deadass break into your match and fuck you in a bush or a closed off area. Sometimes you would ask, “what about the entity? What about the survivors?” But he didn’t care. All he wanted was you, and he was able to cum inside you. He didn’t give a flying fuck if someone like Jake Park saw this shit with his own eyes. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if he joined in! (Actually he definitely would).

🔪🖤Before you two would complete his desires, Michael would give you a piece of paper asking if you would partake in his acts, (even if you really wanted to for the whole day).

🔪🖤He also uses his sex toys during these phenomenons when the time comes. He also likes to put marks around you, add a collar on you, and degrade you when he’s really in an enraged mood.

🔪🖤Sometimes he’ll threaten to record a session on Danny’s camera if you don’t behave. Of course he wouldn’t do it since he doesn’t know how it works, but that usually gets you to behave in an instant.

🔪🖤Aftercare with Mikey is actually quite wholesome. After you use the bathroom, eat something sweet, or some other thing he’ll ask if your ok. If you say ‘yes’ then he’ll kiss you on the cheek and tell you how much he loves you. If you say ‘no’, he’ll start to feel bad and tell you how much he actually cares for you, and positive things to brighten your mood. He’ll even take you to Sally if you’re not feeling well.

Well I hope you enjoyed this headcannon I guess. I know it’s probably not up to your expectations, but I tried. And again thank you so much for requesting this. I was just shocked when someone finally said something! Thank you so much!

(Also please don’t mind the weird spaces! I copied and pasted this from my notes, so that’s the reason why the spacing is weird. I can’t stop it from doing that..)

#slashers #dbd #dbd art #dbd claudette #dbd dwight #dbd fanart #dbd fanfic #dbd frank #dbd ghostface #dbd killer #michael myers x you #michael myers #michael #halloween #halloween 1978 #slasher movies #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x you #slasher x slasher #headcannons #dbd legion #dbd ask blog #dbd susie #dbd rp #dbd julie

[gaythingliker69]

Platinum Wings - Part II

Part I

The sun was harsher, the nights felt longer, the smile she wore hurt. The mask looked out at the client, a buffoon who asked for a scorpion fo complete his disjointed sleeve. The mask, smiled, talked, accepted payment, then watched the client leave. Then the mask fell, and Mary Saotome sank into her chair once again.

It had been two weeks. Nothing. Mary had no way to contact Ririka, to ask the question she so desperately needed to ask, so she had to wait. The first few days had been filled with hope and childish butterflies, allowing her mind licence to wander and dream. But as time dragged on, her hope deserted her, and the butterflies turned from childish to mocking. Weekends passed, still nothing. It normally took people time to recover from such a big tattoo, especially for their first one, but Mary’s brain told the last pieces of resistance in her heart that if she wanted to, she’d have called. Mary had messed up the only chance she’d had. This is what she told herself as she worked, turning over what could have been in her wrecked heart.

Mary glanced at her mobile phone, then the company landline. Was it too much to ask for her to call? Mary felt stupid, like she’d failed somehow. She sighed, stood up, and went to the single toilet in the parlour. She threw water over her face, trying to shock herself out of the daze she constantly found herself in. Then, she stopped stock still, her hand on the tap to turn it back on. The phone was ringing.

She ran through the building, those nervous butterflies powering her tired legs. It wouldn’t be her, it couldn’t be. But she had to hold out hope, to keep that door open just in case it was her. She grabbed the phone, answering and pulling it to her ear.

“Hello?” said Mary, her breath attempting to return to normal.

“Hi, this is Mary isn’t it?”

It was her. She’d ring back. It was her.

“Yes! Yeah, is it Ririka?”

Almost immediately she scolded herself for that. Too forward. But she couldn’t forget that voice. Not ever.

“Yeah, that’s me. I was calling because I want an adjustment made to the tattoo…”

Mary’s stomach pitched. So it was just work. Did she not like it? Had Mary done a poor job?

“…there’s nothing wrong with it, I just want something small adding.”

That was a little better.

“Of course, whatever you need. When do you want to be booked in? I’m free all afternoon at 2 if you’d like.”

“Yes, that sounds great! I’ll be over then.”

As Ririka hung up, Mary wondered at the hints of excitement in Ririka’s voice. It’d all be down to the new tattoo, nothing more.

———

The day was eerily similar to the first time they met. Afternoon sunlight poured in where it could, but it was outshone by Ririka as she opened the door and moved up to the reception again. Mary couldn’t help but smile - she was glad to have her back in the shop.

“It’s good to see you again,” started Mary, trying to contain her excitement. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s good to be back! The wings are great, I’m so happy with them,” replied Ririka, beaming with pride. “So do you know the theatre masks? Like comedy and trafedy?”

“Yeah, one kinda smiles and ones kinda sad, right?” asked Mary, caught off guard by the odd question.

“Exactly. Well, I’d like a tragedy one between my wings and at the top. Right on my spine. Like this.”

She produced a crude drawing on what looked like scrap paper. The mouth was a crescent, turned so it curved down into a frown typical of tragedy. The eyes had two edges, and were angled so the outside corners pointed to her cheeks and the inside ones pointed at the forehead. There was a simple outline of a mask, one that would cover the whole face with no gaps to show skin. It felt almost out of place compared to the elaborate wing design.

“Ok, seems simple enough. That’s all?”

Ririka nodded, and they moved into that back room again. There were a couple of new drawings and stencils decorating the walls, and Ririka’s wings took pride of place over where Mary kept the ink. Mary got to work, and the routine felt similar, like a rehearsal. She still had to look at the floor when Ririka changed, as she became overcome with that unfamiliar nervousness. Her hands still tingled and blazed when she gently patted the small stencil down. Her mind began to drift as she looked at the beautiful woman before her. Because she was, Mary realised. She was beautiful.

“This is gonna hurt okay? I’m sorry,” said Mary, but the last two words were drowned out by the needle. Ririka’s grip tightened and the sides of the bench, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It took all Mary’s will to keep going, to not stop and soothe the pain. But the tattoo didn’t take long, and soon Ririka was taking deep breaths as the cream was massaged into her back again. Mary couldn’t get used to the feeling of touching her - she doubted she ever would. If they ever met again, Mary chided herself. The rehearsal continued - going back to the desk, money, small talk. Now. It was now or never.

“Ririka?” said Mary, cutting through the brief silence with her shaking voice.

Ririka looked up from her purse, her eyes lighting up with that same sparkling energy as last time. Hope. It was hope. It made the turquoise if her eyes grow just a little brighter, like ocean waves glittering in the morning sun.

“I meant to ask you this last time, but…”

She trailed off. A lump in her throat formed, and she felt the butterflies spread their wings in her stomach. She had to power through. To ask. She cleared her throat.

“There’s a nice cafe I know round here, and… and after I’ve finished work one day, well I was wondering if you’d like to go there with me?”

Awkward delivery. She was too nervous, it hadn’t come out right. But then Ririka seemed to glow, an ethereal energy emitting from her. She smiled widely, covering her rosy cheeks with her palms.

“Oh my gosh Mary, I’d love to! I don’t have work on Tuesdays is that ok with you? Actually, you can have my number, that’ll be easier.”

Mary seemed to enter a daze as she write down the series of digits. Ririka babbled, she talked more than Mary had heard her talk in the two appointments. The words washed over Mary, that light voice making them oh so easy to listen to. Ririka skipped to the door, opening it to allow the noise of outside to spill in again.

“See you Tuesday!” beamed the blonde woman, before disappearing into the street, nearly skipping as she went. Mary was alone in the parlour again, but she wouldn’t cry this time. She smiled, and the smile lit up her face in a way nothing ever had before. If she’d seen herself, she might’ve realised it was a molar warm glow as the one Ririka gave off, complimenting the glow. If they’d been together then they’d have come together like magnets.

Tuesday, Mary thought. She would see Ririka on Tuesday. And suddenly, the sun wasn’t harsh anymore, it was beautiful. Her smile no longer hurt, and the mask was discarded.

Tuesday.

#kakegurui #kkg #kakegurui xx #meariri #ririka momobami #mary satome #tattoo shop au #momobami ririka #ririka x mary #mary x ririka

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Spooky unpredictableness

31 Days of Spooktober

Day 4/31

Cassian fully believed his girlfriend was a demon.

Not in the bad sense of the thing, even though whenever he told her that she would reply by saying that there wasn’t a good sense in that. No, Cassian just believed that Nesta could not be human. There was a series of reasons to that, but the biggest one was that his girlfriend couldn’t be scared.

Haunted houses, horror movies, pranks, jump scares… Nothing drew more than a simple frown from Nesta. Cassian just knew that she could walk into Hell itself and probably scare the Devil before being scared by him.

And so obviously, Cassian spent the whole month of October trying to scare her.

He didn’t do it as much during the rest of the year, but there was something about Halloween season that just made him insanely tempted to giive Ness a good fright. She wasn’t like Feyre who hated scary pranks, or like Elain who would scream and laugh seconds later. Nests didn’t react, and so she didn’t particularly care if Cassian tried to scare her or not.

“I’ll get you this year.” Cassian said, eyes narrowed as he stared at Nesta.

She only smiled sarcastically over her coffee mug, reading the news on her phone. “You couldn’t make me gasp from surprise even if your life depended on it, sweetheart.”

Cassian jaw fell slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry?”

Nesta raised her icy grey-blue eyes to him, a light-brown eyebrow raised. “We know each other for seven years. We date for four. Tell me one time you got a reaction like that from scaring or surprising me. Let’s be honest, Cass, I can’t be scared and you have become predictable. It’s ok, it’s how our relationship works.”

“I will surprise you.”

“Uh-huh.” Nesta murmured, going back to her coffee and news.

“I mean it.”

“Of course you do.” Nesta’s ironic smile only grew. “Why don’t you go to Halloween spirit buy a Michael Myers mask? You can try catching me when I’m getting out of the bathroom. No, wait, this is not very original. Haven’t you done this already too? Like three times.”

Cassian huffed, getting up from the table. “You’ll see, Nesta Archeron.”

“Want to bet?”

He, stupidly and recklessly, assented. “Yes, I actually do.”

“Very well, name your conditions.” Nesta’s face was probably hurting from her smile.

“If I make you obviously surprised, and I mean even a gasp, I win. If by the end of the month this doesn’t happen, you win. The winner can ask anything and the loser has to say yes.”

Nesta raised her eyebrows, low laughs coming out of her. “Oh, I’m in. You’re so fucked.”

He walked out of the kitchen, Nesta’s laughs following him until he closed the bedroom’s door.

He would never admit it to anyone, especially to Nesta, but she was somewhat right. It’s not that Cassian had never tried to surprise her, but Nesta was always one step ahead, always noticing stuff he thought he had hidden well. She knew him way too well, and getting anything that would be actually surprising to her was near impossible.

And then there was the fact that Nesta couldn’t be scared. It wasn’t something solely based on Cassian, but just in general. Both Feyre and Elain would always tell the rest of their friend group that Nesta was never scared, especially during Halloween when she knew things were fake. She had been a serious kid, and nothing, absolutely nothing, would even force a surprised gasp out of her.

He was dating a goddamn evil genius, and he would need to step up his game a lot if he wished ti get Nesta to at least widen her eyes.

And so Cassian paced his room all throughout breakfast time. He mentally annotated some ideas for actual scares, but nothing that he truly believed that would make Ness surprised. After thirty minutes of nothing, he sighed, throwing himself on their bed.

At least he hadn’t bet with her.

Oh, wait.

—————

Nesta adored Halloween.

People usually believed that because of her serious demeanor, she was the type of person to hate the holiday, but to be honest, since she was a kid Nesta had loved Halloween time. She liked the autumn aesthetic, the elaborated decorations, the horror movie marathons. She loved the candy sales and how everyone was minding their own fucking business and not shoving their noses of hers.

Above all, Nesta adored Halloween because it never scared her.

Since she was little she would watch slasher movies and while her sisters squirmed and screamed, she was intently watching the story. Haunted houses in amusement parks were fun because of other people’s reactions, because they also always failed to make her jumpy. Spooky prank wars with her sisters was easy because they could never scare her, but were easily scared by her.

In short, Halloween was Nesta’s holiday and she made sure to enjoy every single second of October.

It also didn’t hurt how hilarious she found her boyfriend trying to scare her every year. At this point, he had already tried everything from masks to fake insects, jump scares to fake blood. He would even sometimes run out of ideas and repeat the same prank as if she would have magically grown terrified of plastic spiders. She found his dedication both cute and funny, but also effortless. She had gone twenty four years without falling for these pranks, and it was very unlikely that things would change now.

Sometimes she thought about asking Cassian to stop doing them. It was a waste of his money, but he seemed to enjoy them so much that Nesta just couldn’t bring herself to burst his bubble. There was also a very smug part of her that thrived on always winning their unspoken Halloween matches, but she’d never say this out loud if only to maintain her cold and detached nature about these childish pranks.

All those factors together were what made her, in the following morning, taste her sugar before pouring it into her coffee.

She turned to Cassian who was sitting at the table and intently not looking at her. “Really, Cassian? Salt instead of sugar? Not even my dad would fall for that one.”

Cassian scolded, but refused to look at her. Nesta simply smiled and laughed smugly, looking around the cabinets for what was labeled salt but was actually sugar.

“You got it on a Buzzfeed article, didn’t you? I told you those things will fry your brain and it’s not like you have neurons to spare.”

His head whipped in her direction, eyes narrowed and defiant. “I will surprise you, Nesta Archeron. You’re in for a fucking ride if you think not.”

Nesta smiled coyly, letting her coffee mug on the counter as she slowly walked to Cassian. “Really?”

“Yes.” His jaw was tight, but there was something about his expression that was slightly off, that was slightly different.

Ignoring the fact that she was probably being paranoid, Nesta laughed, sitting on Cassian’s lap and putting her arms around his shoulders. He was stiff under her, something that only made her laugh once more. “Cass, our relationship is not based on surprises. As much as it pains me to say, since the beginning you understood most of me, and I understood most of you. And that was a long time ago. There isn’t any aces to play, no rabbit inside the hat. Our relationship is transparent and it’s good that it’s this way.”

“You can still surprise me.” He grumbled.

“You are easily impressionable.”

“Fuck off.” Cassian’s brood broke, and he let out a huffed chuckle. “This has not convinced me to stop, just so you know.”

Nesta jumped off his lap, smirking as she went back to grab her coffee. “I never hoped it would.”

——————

It was October 31th finally.

As much as Nesta still believed she couldn’t be surprised, Cassian sure as hell was trying. Worst was, he wasn’t trying hard, he was just trying a lot.

In the past year the pranks were elaborate and hard to build, but this time they were… classics.

Fake bugs inside your drawers, mayo instead of toothpaste, garlic inside the Oreos. The type of shit that would make you want to throw the thing away, but not really the type of stuff to frighten you. He did buy some masks and put them in random places of the house to scare her, which obviously didn’t happen. He tried to get her scared by doing jump scares after they watched a horror movie, by turning on and off the lights whenever she was alone in a room. He tried the whole mirror thing that, whenever the bathroom was too hot, the words “help” would show up in it.

It was funny and he obviously thought about it, but there was something missing. There was something that was essentially Cassian not being put into those pranks. It’s like he was actually getting his ideas from Buzzfeed, and he would definitely know that none of those things would actually surprise her.

To be honest, she was somewhat disappointed. Nesta would never say it out loud, but she liked the pranks. It was a part of her relationship with Cassian since they started dating— before even— and this year it had been… boring, predictable.

Exactly what she had said it would be.

As she padded to the kitchen on Halloween morning, Nesta wondered if Cassian was doing it on purpose because of what she had said. Wondered if he had made it purposefully predictable to make her regret her own words.

She stopped in front of the fridge, shaking her head. This wasn’t Cassian’s style, no. If he was pissed about what she had said, he would have talked to her. The one in the relationship that usually brooded and was middle vindictive was her. A lot less than she was in the beginning of the relationship, and something she was constantly working on. It wasn’t that she was a mean person, but Nesta had learned to bottle her emotions so much, had learned to treat everyone so coldly as a defense mechanism, that sometimes she would panic and those would be her initial reactions.

It was a slow process— becoming more and more the person she wished to be. A lot of it had been done because of the amazing support she had from Cassian and from her sisters, but Nesta was also proud to recognize that a lot had to do with only herself.

No, Cassian wouldn’t be cruel and do something like that. Nesta knew this because, during the years that she took to overcome her trauma and get to know herself more, she had also gotten to know Cassian more. And he was never cruel, never mean.

Nesta shook her head, clearing her head of thoughts as she opened the fridge.

She could only stare at the jar in front of her, torn between sighing or laughing. She grabbed it, turning around to look at Cassian who had just entered the kitchen. “Really, Cass?”

Cassian huffed, spreading his arms. “Not even a gasp?!”

Nesta chuckled, setting the jar down on the counter. It was big and filled with a green liquid. What was supposed to be scary was the head inside that looked a lot like Rhysand’s. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t be happy if this was actually Rhys’s head.”

Cassian laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got to let the grudge go.”

“I have!” Nesta deadpanned, examining the jar. “Most of the times, at least.”

“Well, looks like I failed.” Cassian said, and Nesta raised an eyebrow at his tone. He didn’t sound defeated, he sounded smug.

“Yes, you did.” Nesta announced, eyes narrowing at Cassian. “What the fuck are you smug about?”

His smile widened. “Nothing.”

“Fuck off, Cassian. If you honestly think I’ll let you surprise me on the last day, you’re mistaken.” Nesta rolled her eyes, turning back to the fridge to grab some grapes. “If you honestly think I’ll—“

And right there, for the first time in her entire life, Nesta found herself absolutely shocked when she turned around. A loud gasp left her mouth, the grapes she’d been holding falling to the ground and rolling all the way to where Cassian was kneeling, a complacent grin on his lips. He was holding a small black box, a simple silver band with small black diamonds on it.

“Well, well, well, Nesta Archeron. If that gasp wasn’t like fucking music to my ears.”

She placed a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Cassian…”

“If I remember our bet correctly, which I do,” he winked at her, holding the velvet black box higher. “I believe I had the right to anything I want and you have to say yes.”

Nesta let out an incredulous laugh, her head shaking. “I should have guessed that your shitty pranks weren’t because you were tired.”

Cassian threw his head back and laughed. “No, they weren’t. I thought that by making your expectations for pranks this year be lower, this whole thing would be more surprising.”

“Are you proposing to me only to win a bet, you asshole?”

Cassian grinned again, hazel eyes shining against his brown skin. “No, but you need to admit it has come in handy. I had been planning this for weeks, and then you asked if I wanted to bet I could surprise you. Honestly, you set yourself up to this. And I haven’t proposed yet, chill a little, woman.”

Nesta laughed again, eyeing Cassian. He was still wearing only the shorts he wore to bed, his shoulder-length hair a mess of curls. His face still looked slightly puffy, his usual sharp cheekbones red from happiness. Nesta guessed she wasn’t much better; she was wearing one of his white shirts, light brown hair falling down to her shoulders.

“So, are you going to ask or not? I don’t have all day.”

“So bossy, what am I getting myself into?” Cassian said ironically, but soon his face softened, smile becoming loving. “Nesta Archeron, even though you don’t have another option that it’s not a yes, would you give me the pleasure of marrying me so I can spend the rest of my Halloweens trying to scare you?”

Nesta chuckled merrily, nodding. “Yes, and even if I wasn’t forced to say yes because of this bet, I would have said it nonetheless.”

Cassian got up, immediately sliding the ring into Nesta’s finger, his other hand sneaking around her waist. He pulled her against him, a huge smile overtaking his mouth as he pressed his lips to hers. “I know you would. You’re not that unpredictable either, sweetheart.”

.

.

.

.

A/N: Oh, hello Nessian, it’s been a while... I had this idea during September and didn’t know who to give it to, but I realized today how good it fits what I imagine the Nessian long term relationship would look like! Hope you guys like it and about the kinktober: I know it was supposed to be Sunday but I was procrastinating so it’s gonna be here around 3 AM probs

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​ @jlinez​ @courtofjurdan​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @ladywitchling​ @lexflame​ @sleeping-and-books​ @annejulianneh111​ @perseusannabeth​ @linshryver​ @mu-si-ca-l​ @camilamartinezdunne​ @dank-queen7​ @minaidss​ @starborn-faerie-queen​ @booksofthemoon​ @loveofbooksandwine​ @jesstargaryenqueen​ @bluejaberry​ @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog​ @superspiritfestival​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @sayosdreams​ @justgiu12​

(If you didn’t ask to be in the general tag list, you’ll only be tagged to what you specifically asked)

#nessian #nessian au #nessian oneshot #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nessian spooktober #nestacassian #nesta archeron #cassian #spooktober #31 days of spooktober challenge #31 days of halloween #31 days of spooktober #halloween #spooktober writing #halloween writing #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #mardu writes #acotar au #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar oneshot

[superworldunkown]

“Daddy, did you die?”

AN: While I wait patiently for all of the ‘Bakugou wakes up from a hospital bed and rushes to Deku’s side’ fanfics to be populated and/or reposed  from when we all thought this was a headcanon, plz enjoy my Domestic Daddy Bakugou x Daughter Kiara spin on the matter.

Summary: Being a hero is hard. Being a hero and a dad...why wasn’t this taught at U.A? Bakugou x Kiara 

(Lol sometimes I pretend he waking up in the below image and the first thing he see is me and I’m like “Shush BB, your melanin queen is here.”) 

Ouch.

Bakugou had awoken in hospitals with no recollection of how he got there before, but this one carried an extra special ouch with it. Villains were getting stronger and stronger it seemed, and now with the widespread availability of quirk enhancing and suppressing drugs on the market, it made the old ‘Win To Save, Save to Win’ mantra quite the challenge. Also, anything with Deku made things 100 times more complicated.

 It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission - they all seem to start out that way, but as always, something catastrophic had to happen and Deku just HAD to jump in and put his life on the line for everyone. And, of course, as his partner, Bakugou just HAD to blast on in after him. Who else was going to keep the damn nerd with the most incredibly powerful and incredibly secret quirk alive?

Speaking of, where was that damn nerd anyways? 

Taking a rather large breath, Bakugou pulled the oxygen mask away from his mouth and pushed his sore body into a resting position. The machines he was connected to hummed in their disapproval, rattling his already irritated brain. But it was no matter to Bakugou, he had things to do, and no machine designated to keep him alive as going to stop him, damnit.

He could see beneath his hospital gown his torso and chest covered in white medical tape - that’s right! The hit to the shoulder he took in battle. Great, another scar to add to his growing collection. His mind was already thinking of how he was going to explain this scar to you when you explicitly expressed that he didn’t come home with another one. You too knew that missions with Deku always tended to go heroic vs under the radar.

 As Bakguou began to move his legs towards the side of the bed his eyes caught a white piece of paper that was folded at the end of the bed slip to his side. The words ‘Read Me Kacchan’ written in an oh so familiar handwriting. 

‘Hey Kacchan, 

As you requested, as of 7:37am this morning, I am alive and checking in on the rest of the rescue team. Incase you are curious, I have all my vitals on the back of this paper. Please stay in bed and rest.  - Deku’

Bakugou let out a huff while he refolded the note and stuck it in his pant pocket. Since his graduation from U.A he had gained rather irritating nicknames among his former classmates turned hero partners. 

“Damn, working with Bakugou can be such a pain sometimes. Sheesh, you can’t even get a papercut under his watch.” Sero would groan.

“Hey, he’s just being a manly captain that’s all.” Kirishima would chime in, “Always looking out for us! And besides, he was a lot worse at U.A.” 

“Yeah,” Mina rolled her eyes, “From Lone Wolf to Mother Hen, quite the upgrade.”

Bastards. All of them.

After a rather nasty battle Bakguou would be the first to roam around the hospital, busting doors down to check in on the status of the team, only to rip them a new one for being reckless and careless. There was an unspoken rule on when teaming up with this hero, don’t even think about dying on his watch. If you do, he’ll murder you. And it goes without saying that no one has broken that rule in his 5 years of professional hero work. Excuse him for keeping everyone fucking safe! 

Pushing the rather annoying memories into the back of his brain, he toyed with the idea of getting up for his usual rounds of ‘Who the hell got hurt?!’ duty. However, the moment he let out a slight exhale of relief his ears were filled with a rather disturbing sound. It was faint, perhaps a few rooms down and barely auditable, but there was no way he could not hear it. 

Why was there a child crying? And why did it sound like Kiara? 

Instantly, his body jerked into action. Was she hurt? Why was she here? Where were you? Don’t tell him that you were in that mess from earlier with the villains. Even worse, did you go into labor already and he wasn’t there?!

 Damnit. 

Damnit. 

Damnit! 

The machines let out a dangerous whine as Bakugou began to pull everything off of him to get to the door. His legs gave out the moment he took two steps. Why the hell was he so weak?! Crawling wasn’t beneath him, if it got him closer to his daughter, so be it. Sweat began to form at the tip of his brow, running down his neck and soaking through is bandages. 

“No it’s okay i’ll go check on-Kacchan?!” Deku paused as he opened the door to Bakugou’s hospital room, only to rush to his side, “Didn’t you get my note?!” 

Bakugou was shaking at this point, grabbing at Deku’s shoulder only to use him as a weight to further push himself closer to the door. He could still hear his daughters cries, “Shut up...you damn nerd. If you’re not going to help-” 

Deku tried his best to reason with him, “You need to stop moving, you were hit with some kind of quirk suppression drug, its like poison and you’re only agitating it.”

“Where is she?” Bakugou managed to get out before his head collapsed on to the cool tile of the hospital floor, “Where’s my kid?” 

He could still hear the mixture of his daughters cries and Deku’s anguish as his vision went completely dark.

***

Ouch. Double Fucking Ouch.

Waking up for a second time in the hospital hurts even worse than the first. Bakugou found himself back in his bed, reconnected to the machines, twice as sore and twice as pissed off. Forget the rules, when he sees Deku again he’s going to -

“Daddy?” 

Bakugou jerked his head to the side to meet a pair of tiny, puffy red eyes. Kiara sat on her mother’s lap, her lip quivering and arms shaking.

Luckily for Bakugou his hospital bed was reclined slightly upright, giving him the perfect positioning to catch his daughter as she leaped into his arms.

“Kiara be careful baby!” You called.

Kiara ignored your chastising and buried herself into her father’s chest, tears flowing freely. Bakugou ignored the pain, wrapping his arms around her to pull her even closer. The relief of her safety was worth all the pain. His arms gripped around her a bit tighter as if Kiara would slip away from him again. Kiara never cried like this before, even during her worst temper tantrums (which she 100% inherited from Bakugou’s side of the family), she never acted like this. 

Bakugou turned his head towards you, his cheek brushing against the top of Kiara’s head as he looked for some clarification to Kiara’s behavior. 

“She’s scared Katsuki.” You answered simply. Seeing your husband’s confusion you elaborated further, “You were unconscious for a whole day before you woke up the first time. We tried visiting you but when she saw you lying there she started crying, and really hasn’t stopped since.”

“But I’m fine.” 

“I know that.” You reassured him, “But, this is the first time she’s seeing you get a little beat up and that’s scary. She’s not a baby anymore Katsuki, she’s understanding how dangerous hero work can be.” 

It dawned on him; the same, gut twisted feeling that brewed in his stomach anytime Deku or a member of his team got hurt was now being manifested in his 3 year old daughter. His eyes moved down to his daughters head, watching her continue to cry into his chest. Damn, he was hopping she inherited his quirk and not his dangerously high levels of panic and anxiety. He then moved his gaze over the the bump in your stomach. Was this going to happen to them too? What the hell should he do!

He felt the gentle nudge on his bruised shoulder, you mouth silently forming the command to say something to soothe small girl crying in his arms.

“Oi,” he tried to make his usually ear piercing, gravely voice as smooth as possible.

Kiara poked her head up, her ruby eyes staring deeply into her fathers, “Daddy, did you die?”

“Huh? Hell no. You think some lame ass villain can kill me?! You think I’m weak?”

You ran your hand across your already tired face, you wouldn’t expect a Bakugou style father/daughter talk to go any different, but seriously?

Kiara shook her head violently, small tears flying from her eyelashes. Katsuki was beaming, despite the pain, “That’s right kid. Being a hero means we have to do scary things sometimes. I know today was scary but I never lose, got that? I’m a Bakugou, and so are you. We always win and we always kick ass.” His large callous hands drew to his daughters face, wiping away any remaining tears.

“And it’s okay to be scared sweetie.” You chimed in while leaning closer to your daughter, “But Daddy and everyone we love is okay today. And we can be happy about that, right?” 

Kiara nodded, sniffling “Mr. Deku is okay too?” 

“Pfft,” Katsuki huffed while shifting Kiara off his lap to lay by his side, “The damn nerd is just peachy.” 

“Daddy, why do...why do you call Mr. Deku a, a damn-?” 

“That’s a fun name Daddy calls Mr. Deku that only Daddy can say and that’s all you need to know about that.” You chimed in quickly, careful not to let Bakguou destroy your precious daughters mind any further. Kiara shrugged her shoulders and curled at her fathers side; the three of them a happy, but rather dysfunctional family.

#bakugou katsuki #domestic bakugou #bakugou x Kiara #bnha #mha #my hero academia #bakugou x black reader #bakugou #bakugo

[bellygunnr]

Into a Parallel Mirror

Your name is Frederic Ellsworth. You live on the planet Ballast and have been an elementary school teacher for over twenty years. You have just finished the first week of the school year and find yourself in the grocery store, perusing the bakery section for a celebratory cake. It's not your own feats you're celebrating, however.

It's your daughter's. She's just turned eleven and handled the transition between summer and school flawlessly. It's the least you could do to make her feel seen-- sweets were a rarity in your home, as both you and your wife had difficulty processing them, but exceptions could always be made. You think about her favorite flavors. Chocolate or red velvet. Sometimes, she even liked carrot cake.

You ease yourself toward the glass display, overly conscious of the space you take up in relation to everything else. Your wheelchair of choice is kind of bulky, these aisles unfortunately uneven. You come to a rest just in front of the cakes. They range from simple to elaborate to exotic, threatening to overwhelm your senses with the sheer variety.

At the very least, you can see cakes that might be German chocolate or Black Forest cakes. The name tags are a blur from this angle. You stretch out of your wheelchair to ring the bell atop the counter. The second you spot movement in the back, you reach for the pen and notepad in your bag-- and come up empty.

You just manage to mask your frustration as the employee comes to assist you. They're young, probably a teenager. They look as exhausted as you feel, but are still focusing on you intently.

You mime writing with pencil and paper, then typing on a commpad when they draw a blank expression.

"I'm sorry, sir," they say, even as comprehension dawns in their eyes. "We don't have anything to write with for you..."

Whatever they were about to say next dies on their lips, their head turning toward something behind you. You frown in consternation as a looming figure takes up your periphery, and you turn your head, only to come face to face with someone's torso. You crane your neck just to see the largest person you've ever seen standing beside you. You don't even notice their companion sidling up on their opposite side.

For a long time, it's just you, and the tallest man alive, because the cashier also cannot stop looking between you two, desperate for some kind of explanation.

The man is tall and broad and musclebound. He seems to become conscious of the intense scrutiny and cowers, his teeth clicking together audibly.

(You're surely not meant to see it, but the man takes his companion's hand into his own and squeezes.)

You watch the man and baker exchange words you can't understand. You cross your arms and wait. It doesn't take you long to get fed up and wave them down, turning the movements into clear sign language.

Something in the tall man changes. He signs back.

"I have a commpad, but I can also translate for you," the man signs.

(He's looking everywhere but you. His hair is coal black with greying whorls. There's a mole on his nose, lost among the faded freckles.)

"Could you translate, please? Also, I can't hear, so if you could..."

"Yes," the man says.

There's a lull as they talk amongst themselves. Then,

"What are you looking for, sir?" The man inquires of you.

"I'd like to buy one of the German chocolate cakes. The small one, on the top," you say, pointing to said cake.

(The man's companion is staring at you.)

(It's unsettling.)

Words must have been said because when you key back in, there's a bagged cake waiting for you and a bill paid by the other man. You look up at him incredulously.

"You're far too generous," you say sharply.

"It's the least I could do. Trust me," the man practically snaps back.

(They repeat 'trust me' four or five times. They have big scarred hands.)

You share a look with the employee as the giant man departs. He carries himself stiffly, robotically, like a wind-up toy soldier.

For some reason, you feel like vomiting.

--

The air outside is… cold. Or maybe he’s just sweating and the hot air becomes cooled through that process. Maybe his heart is racing and his brain is running the entire course of his human existence, starting at Day One. Six years old. Surrounded by strangers. Confused, tired, lonely, wanting.

He had been certain that he had forgotten that day. Replaced it with another-- another stained with pain, with his body stretched out, his neck burning, eyes aching. But he was surrounded by friends and it was okay and there was John, always, and Kelly, Linda, Sam--

Back to Reach, to the caves, to the DIs in exoskeletons and the fireteams in all-black suits that they’d stolen. Back to Reach, cold and freezing and wandering the forest, clad in nothing but tracksuits, boots, and ripped shreds of map. 

Six years old. Eight years. Ten, twelve, fourteen.

Fifteen.

“Rebels. Insurrectionists. It was-- it was insurrectionists that told me-- did you know they ask us, sometimes? When the truth came out, about-- you remember? Maybe not, I wasn’t supposed to see it.”

Fred turns on his heel. There’s a wind rushing through the easy streets of the town, warm and airy. He makes a sweeping motion with his arm, sharp and controlled. Upon seeing Veta, he snaps his arm back to his side.

His expression is…

“I don’t-- know what you’re talking about,” Veta says. “Fred.”

Fred settles abruptly. His eyes, wild moments ago, dim, the color settling back on the murky green-blue, blue-green. His face falls and his posture loosen. He peers down at Veta blankly. 

“Right, sorry,” Fred says, enunciating his words clearly. “I lost it. I…”

“Fred,” Veta repeats. “Do you want to go hiking?”

His eyebrows furrow, caught off guard. He stays still as Veta reaches for his clenched fist, stays still as her fingers pry his knuckles away from his thigh, opens up his hand and slides their palms together. She squeezes once.

He squeezes back, twice.

“...Veta,” Fred says weakly. “I think I do want to go hiking.”

She pats him roughly on the upper arm, flashing a grin that’s braver than she feels. None too gently, she shoves him into moving. They fall into step together still fiercely entwined. Three years they’d made that code.

She’s glad he still remembers.

“Good. I’ve heard good things about the trails here, Fred,” Veta says with a smile.

#halo #fred 104 #veta lopis #flash clones

[wing-ed-thing]

Cliché (shy!Reader x Might Guy, Part IV)

Parts 1-3 are up on my master list. I feel like there are some people who don’t know that... I can’t link them here because then it won’t show up on the taaaaags. Enjoy! 

Warning for mild language and sexual innuendo.

“C’mon Guy, what about that one over there?” Izumo was gesturing towards a woman near the other part of the bar. “You should go talk to her! Guy, when’s the last time you got, you know, some action?”

Guy chuckled at his friend. He had to admit, she was beautiful, he just wasn’t interested. Guy swirled the glass of his new drink around. He downed the little that was left and let the bottom hit the counter. “I told you, I’m just a wingman for tonight,” Guy replied with his usual gusto. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“You say that every night.” Izumo groaned, repositioning himself in his stool to face his comrade. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

“I’m having fun right now with everyone!” Guy perked up with a smile.

“Not what he meant.” Genma commented, sauntering up to the bar. He ordered another drink. He began to say something else, but Guy was distracted by movement in his peripheral.

Kurenai leant to whisper something to Asuma before sliding off her bar stool. Asuma gave her a look of understanding before she left the bar. She had taken her things with her. Guy’s eyes followed her, perplexed.

“Hey Kurenai! Where are you going?” he called to her. She was too far away to answer. Izumo waved a hand in front of the taijutsu user’s face.

“Guy, you do know you don’t have to spare her feelings, right?” Genma told him, apparently for the second time.

“Who? Kurenai?” Genma’s hand met his face as he slumped back.

“No, not Kurenai.” Izumo grumbled, rolling his eyes. Kakashi, who was having a separate conversation with Asuma, chimed in. He turned to fully face them.

“And we’re going to stop this conversation.” He chirped to the group of three before his features became stern. His eyes drooped to their ever-lidded state and the outline of a frown was visible on his mask. “This is not the time and it certainly isn’t your place.” Guy looked between everyone, puzzled. Was he missing something?

“Don’t worry about it, Guy.” Kakashi spoke, giving the two men on Guy’s left a look of warning. Even without the Sharingan in Kakashi's right eye visible, his look would intimidate most. However, being mostly intoxicated, Izumo and Genma were currently outside the realm of “most”. Izumo sat back against the bar. He hiccuped. Genma shrugged, his glass near slipping out of his hand before he managed to catch it. He brought it to his lips.

“I’m just saying that just because (Y/N)-Chan has a little crush on you doesn’t mean that you have to stay celibate.” If Guy had been drinking, he would have spit out his drink with widened eyes. A little what now? That was another piece of new information he’d have to wrap his head around. Before he could speak, his eternal rival cut in.

“Genma, shut up.” Kakashi sternly snapped.

“What? It’s not like she’s here.” Guy turned to face the booth where you were supposed to be sitting. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed upon noticing that you were indeed no longer there. Guilt flooded Guy. He had hardly noticed. Dismay washed through his features. Did someone say something to you?

“Drop it, you two. Someone really should have cut you off.” Asuma spoke gruffly, he turned to the whole group. “(Y/N) is our friend. I know for a fact that she’s saved all our asses more than once. So what we’re not going to do is get fucking wasted, bully the shit out of her until she leaves, and then talk about her behind her back. Knock it off.” He took a puff of his cigarette.

Guy sat silently. His ice-filled, liquid-lacking glass sat in his large grip. He reflected back on your period of time together. Something about having you around always did feel… nice. You were always the colleague who he had never had a chance to spend much time with, but now that you had, he couldn’t imagine not being with you. For once, he had a sneaking suspicion about what it was about you. Guy liked being close to you and he might have just figured what that meant.

Genma scoffed, stumbling over himself dizzily. He propped himself against Izumo’s stool. “‘Bully her’, yeah right. It’s a fucking joke. She can take a joke right?”

“Genma!” It went quiet on the side of the bar claimed by the ninja. The only one who did not look mildly surprised was Kakashi. Those at the table ceased speaking and looked to the bar.. After all, it was rare for Might Guy to raise his voice in anger at anyone. Genma shuttered slightly, unnerved by his ex-teammate’s uncharacteristic outburst. Guy’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed slightly in displeasure. “You were asked to stop, now stop.”

All talk concerning you ceased after that. The rest of the night went per usual up to closing. The whole crew came stumbling out of the closing bar. Ebisu supported Genma, holding him up by positioning himself under his ex-teammate’s arm. Asuma had two bodies slung over each shoulder. Somehow, Kakashi got shackled with the burden of one of the two. The rest of the group laughed together at his misfortune as the lights of the bar began to shut off behind them. Guy insisted on taking one that Asuma held. Asuma refused, however Kakashi was happy to hand the drunk Jounin off to Guy. As everyone began to go their separate ways and Guy found himself still walking with Kakashi. The Copy-Nin followed alongside wordlessly.

“Kotetsu and Izumo are going to be hungover for their mission tomorrow.” Guy remarked.

“Well, that’s not new.” Kakashi sighed.

The two continued on walking through the empty streets of the Leaf. Kakashi luckily knew their destination and guided his long time friend. Ever aloof, his attention was focused only forward. Guy kept leaning into what he assumed was his friend’s peripheral view. He opened his mouth before closing it again. He didn’t know what to say.

The apartment was close and soon the apartment was in their sight. Neither said a word and Guy was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the silence. Thoughts raced around his head, but where to start?

“Just spit it out, why don’t you?” Kakashi looked to Guy, opening the door with a borrowed set of keys fished from the passed out Jounin’s pocket. Both men stepped inside.

“I feel like I should’ve done something sooner,” Guy started, Kakashi helping with their passed out friend. “Kurenai is with her, isn’t she?”

Kakashi only hummed as he reversed their friend’s vest before allowing the body to slump sideways on the couch. He stood up silently and Guy closed the door behind them as they felt the evening air again.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, we didn’t know.”

“I should probably talk to her, shouldn’t I, Kakashi?” Guy sighed. Kakashi gave another wordless hum. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“You shouldn’t be saying anything.” Kakashi answered. The sharingan user looked at his friend. “I know you, Guy. You want to tackle the problem as soon as you can at its source. But you have to give this one time.” Guy waited for his eternal rival to elaborate. Kakashi exhaled deeply, raising both hands to intertwine with each other behind his neck. “I didn’t want to be the one to talk to you about it. It’s not my place, but I guess things have changed.”

“What has changed?” Guy inquired. Kakashi shifted, the gears in his brain turning as he chose his words.

“Remember what Genma was saying to you at the bar?” Kakashi prompted, a hand on his chin.

“Yeah?” Guy acknowledged slowly. He processed each word with care, determined to understand.

“What do you think he said to her when she was actually there? It wasn’t an ideal night for her. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.” It was as Guy suspected. While his first instinct was to be there for you, he now considered that his presence might make things worse.

“So what are you saying?” He questioned, still unsure of what he should be doing.

“I’m not surprised that you haven’t noticed, Guy, but (Y/N) admires you greatly. I guess the first question that you have to ask yourself is if you admire her too.”

“I-” Guy began before Kakashi cut him off. The pair stopped.

“I know,” Kakashi spoke with understanding. “Give her some space.”

That was the Copy Nin’s advice before he parted ways with his rival, leaving Guy and his thoughts alone on the Konoha streets.

Notes: I little bit of filler, something a little simple for y'all. For anyone wondering, they put the vest on backwards so that their passed out colleague wouldn’t roll on their back and choke on their own vomit. Take care of your drunk friends, kids!

I feel like I’m talking to myself all the time! Feel free to comment or reach out to me!

#naruto #might guy relationship #shy!readerxmightguy #might guy x reader #might guy #Maito Gai #maito gai x reader #maito guy #Maito guy relationship #kakashi #kakashi hakate #genma #asuma #izumo #cliché #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto imagine