#she’s dancing with me near the campfire

[mi-i-zori]

Among the Ice of Her Thoughts

CoD Viking!AU (Not Mine) - Viking!Soap x Healer!Reader

DISCLAIMER : Just a little something I wrote a while ago for @ghouljams ‘ Viking!AU. I just recently tweaked it a little. Healer!Reader is Ghoul’s character, not mine. I will write something for my own Viking!AU, but it will of course be very different from theirs. Please go check their work, it’s absolutely amazing !

WARNINGS : None.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

When she finally comes back from the realm of dreams, Dag’s chariot is already high in the sky, and the sun is peaking through the fabrics of her tent.

She finds tearing her limbs from their lethargic state to be no easy task. Her muscles are begging for a few more minutes of rest ; hours, even. They pull and wail along with her every move, the creaking of her joints echoing within their walls. She could indulge them - the Gods know how many times she decided to follow her needs, going back to sleep when she was supposed to start her day. But she is not tired enough to succumb to sleep anymore ; especially not when a choir of unfamiliar voices echo from the outside of the so-called « sanctuary » she was given a few hours earlier. To her, this assortment of fabrics and furs is no safe haven, especially not when she jumps so violently every time they start dancing with the wind. Still, she is in no position to complain : not only was she given permission to use this tent as hers even though it originally belongs to the one who brought her here, but the warriors roaming the campsite also respect the boundaries this shelter was made to provide, allowing her to hide from their curious eyes.

A part of her wishes she could stay under the covers and ignore her surroundings, act as if this is was nothing more than a dream. Yet she forces herself out of their warmth, the morning breeze leaving a trail of shivering kisses along her skin.

She barely has the time to put her heavy coat on that the sun suddenly sculpts a broad silhouette on the outside of the furs. It moves silently, with the confidence of a warrior, and her whole body tenses as the man stops before the entrance of her tent. He hovers for a second as she stands frozen in place, her breathing so low even she can barely feel it in her chest.

- Vænn ? You awake ?

It’s MacTavish, she realises, his deep timbre sending a wave of warmth down her spine ; a stark contrast to the violent shivers the sound of the nickname he gave her send crawling down her spine. Despite knowing that he is unable to see her, she can’t bring herself to move. Swallowing the knot tightening in her throat, she graces him with a hum, although it comes out much weaker than she originally intended.

- ‘Am about to go gather some wood. Wanna come with me ?

His tone is low, careful ; not unlike the kind one would use to coax a terrified little creature out of its shell. She can’t really decide if she likes the idea or not. In her eyes, this behaviour of his is way too human for a man like him, cursing the flame that sways in her chest at the prospect of accepting his offer. Her satchel lies against the wooden post standing in the middle of the tent, it’s empty stomach catching her gaze. It could be a good opportunity to gather some herbs for her decoctions, she thinks, and the rational part of her soul lights up at the idea of potentially being useful to her captors. MacTavish’s words from the day before echo in her mind.

Say yes next time someone asks if you’re a healer. You’ll live longer.

- Give me a minute, she finally says, the words grating against her tongue. Please.

- Gotcha. I’ll be waiting for you near the campfire.

It’s only when his shadow disappears that the tension finally lets go of her chest. One of her hands glides along her face, a sigh escaping through her fingers. The bed is neatly made before she covers herself in warm furs and sturdy leathers. She then takes a deep breath as she opens the entrance of the tent, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness in her muscles. The tremors seizing her body are not from the midgardian frost waiting for her outside ; but she decides to play pretend, holding her head high as she steps in the fresh morning snow. Sól greets her with a wintery kiss on her cheek, highlighting MacTavish’s figure in the distance. She marches towards him, forcing herself to ignore the curious stares of his companions.

Vænn. A catch. A prey. That is what she is in the eyes of those who see themselves as a pack of wolves, their fur covered in blood as they take whatever they want, destroying those who refuse to yield : nothing but a frail creature meant to follow their every word in order to stay alive. Soap has made his intentions of courting her clear, promising that no harm shall befall her while she lives among his peers ; but as he greets her with a smile, guiding her towards the forest with a hand on her back, she knows she cannot allow herself to be afraid. One wrong move, and she shall become nothing more than a meal to be shared in their den.

A frozen blade pierces her core as these thoughts dance in the back of her mind. The forest is peaceful, and they slowly carve their own path through its shimmering white coat. Her gaze roams her surroundings as MacTavish starts gathering a thick bundle of branches under his arm, looking for a patch of herbs to collect. Their eyes meet, causing him to send a smile in her direction before resuming his own search. The snow crunches heavily under his boots. Her attention flickers to the blade hanging from his hips, the iron of its handle glinting in the sun. She frowns as her mother’s voice echoes through her memories.

You are not safe, she says, and she can almost see her spectre glare at the warrior’s silhouette walking ahead of her.

You are not safe.

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #fem!reader #cod au #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #viking au #viking!soap #soap x f!reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mw3 #Ghoul ​I love this AU so much #thank you for sharing your brain with us

[joedirtymadre]

Hello I seen you were asking for requests so I decided to pop in and ask for corazonxreader dancing in the rain? I’m on my knees begging for this fic 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ .Much love have a awesome day/evening/night💜

Rain

YES I CAN! And please keep sending requests. I like making them 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

CORAZON X READER! FLUFF! (Send more requests 📲)

You smiled as you saw Law hovering near you as you prepared breakfast over the campfire. “You know, you can join us if you want Law,” you said, causing the child to freeze up. “Hmph…” he hugged as he sat next to me. “No fair! How come he’s so nice to you (Y/N)?” Corazon cried. “Cause she didn’t throw me out a window,” Law said as he ate some bacon. You smiled as you added more food to his plate. “You see how he treats me (Y/N)?” Corazon cried as he hugged me.

“I on’t know why you’re married fo him, (Y/N)… he’sh sho annoying,” Law said with a mouth full. “Don’t speak with a mouth full, you’ll choke,” you smiled as you handed him a glass of water. “Hey! Don’t go giving (Y/N) any weird ideas! We love each other,” Corazon said as he tipped the glass Law was holding, causing him to spill it on himself. “Hey!” Law shouted.

“You see! How can you be with someone so childish?” Law asked, as he dried himself off. “Oh don’t be like that Law. One day you’ll realize how much of a great man Corazon is,” you smiled as you ruffled his hat. “Yeah right,” he scoffed. You laughed and handed Corazon a plate as well. “Thanks honey,” Corazon said as he kissed your cheek. You laughed as you saw Law roll his eyes.

You looked up at the sky, noticing how cloudy it was. “Looks like it might rain today,” you said. “Law, you should go back to the palace. I’d hate for you to catch a cold,” you explained. “What about you?” He asked. “We’ll be fine, besides (Y/N) likes the rain,” Corazon explained. “Mmhmm,” you nodded. “Should we walk around the plaza? It’ll be nice and empty,” Corazon suggested. “Sounds nice,” you smiled and gave Corazon a quick peck in the cheek.

“Ugh,” Law said, grossed out. “I’m out of here,” he said as he walked towards the palace. 10 minutes after Law left to the palace, the rain began. “Well? To the plaza?” He asked. “Yep,” you said and took his hand and walked towards the plaza.

“Wow the rain really has started to pour, huh?” You asked your husband. “It has, I should’ve brought an umbrella,” he said as we made it to the plaza. “Nah, plus it hardly rains here,” you mentioned. “I guess, but you better not get sick. You’re practically drenched,” he scolded me. “You’ve jinxed me!” You playfully gasped.

As you two walked down the empty plaza, “I always love walking around here when it’s raining. It’s so empty and we can just run around like little kids,” you smiled as you held Corazon’s hand. “Well, come on. Let’s go to our favorite place,” he said as he guided you to the water fountain in the middle of the plaza.

“Well m’lady may I have this dance?” He asked as he bowed and held his hand out. “Aww, how sweet you remember our tradition. The last time it rained was how long? 5 months?” You asked as you placed your hand in his. “Actually 5 months and 3 weeks,” he corrected. “But why would I forget your favorite thing to do? Now come on,” he said as he pulled you in and placed his hands on your lower back. While you placed yours around his neck. He took the lead as the two of you danced around the fountain. You laughed as he spun you around and dipped you.

You guys danced the night away, well almost… while Corazon spun you out, you suddenly heard a splash. You quickly turned to him and noticed he fell in the water fountain. “Corazon?!” You asked as you reached out for him. “I slipped…” he said. You burst out laughing, causing you to misstep and trip. “Woah!” You let out and fell onto Corazon. “You alright?” Corazon asked as he rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah… guess that was karma…” you sighed as you quickly picked yourself up. “I think it’s time for us to go home,” you smiled as Corazon stepped out of the fountain. “Yeah… ACHOO!” He sneezed. “Uh oh… looks like you jinxed yourself, come on! Let’s hurry home before you get worse!” You yelled out as you ran back home.

The Next Day

“ACHOO!” Corazon sneezed. “Aww my poor baby, here’s a cup of tea,” you said as you handed him a cup of ginger tea. “T-Thanks (Y/N)…” he sniffled, as he trembled under the multiple blankets I covered him with. “I thought idiots never got sick,” Law said as he sipped a hot cocoa I made him. “Hey!” Corazon shouted with a raspy voice. “Shhh! Come on, drink your tea,” you said as you rubbed his cheek. “I don’t know why you married him (Y/N)…” Law said as he smirked to an angry Corazon. “You’ll see one day Law, he’s truly a great man,” you said as you sat across from law sipping some hot cocoa.

#anime fanfic #fanfic #fluff #x reader #anime #one piece trafalgar law #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #trafalgar one piece #one piece law #corazon #one piece corazon #corazon x reader #corazon x you #one piece #one piece dressrosa #one piece doflamingo #one piece donquixote #donquixote corazon #donquixote rosinante #rosinante corazon #one piece rosinante

[zqmbiescorpse]

𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗘..

kaitlyn ka x female reader

a/n: i've been dying for kaitlyn fics, and just the quarry fics in general, because there's hardly any and that makes me want to cry. anyways, first thing i'm hopefully posting so no bullying pls. no werewolves! also sorry if the ending feels like it could be improved, i just really wanted to be finished with this <3

warnings: nothing serious, some making out

word count: 2.4k

(masterlist)

The joyous, fun atmosphere surrounding the gentle flicker of the campfire quickly disappeared, leaving the mood somewhat awkward as everyone who had remained (being Dylan, Ryan and yourself) turned towards Kaitlyn with a disappointed look.

"What?" questioned the small ravenette, sensing the glares from the three of you while she feigned innocence at the situation she, may have, intentionally, created.

"You totally ruined the party man," Dylan absentmindedly responded, taking a sip of whatever beer was left. All of you were a little tipsy, sober enough that thinking clearly wasn't an issue but drunk enough to feel a warm woozy sensation floating around your bodies.

In all truth, you weren't bothered in the slightest by the absence of Jacob, Abi, Emma or Nick. You did like them, sure, though being with them throughout the summer was often challenging - you typically found yourself enjoying the company of the others instead.

The four of you had stuck together for a large portion of the time, and you felt you'd become pretty close; so close that, naturally, you formed a humongous crush on the confident, very attractive, super cool dark-haired girl that was sometimes a little mean to you.

With Kaitlyn, you could never be quite sure about how she felt about you, there had been a few occasions where you doubted if she even liked as a friend. She was hard to read and you were a bit sensitive so, as you can imagine, things got tricky - having a ton of feelings for her only made you suffer greatly.

Then again, when these times occurred where you were miserable, Kaitlyn would periodically open up to you and let you know that, yes, she did appreciate you. Small moments of affirmation after so much doubt made you feel so unbelievably fuzzy inside. Unfortunately, the pair of you were tremendously insecure, because of this, there was a lot of dancing around each other the entire summer, similarly to Nick and Abi.

Suddenly desperate to relish in what could be the last evening with her, a rapid demand to continue the entertainment of 'truth or dare' came spilling from your mouth.

'Someone's...eager," Ryan chuckled slowly, glancing over at you and then at Dylan with a knowing glint in his eye.

Following this, Dylan offered, "Y/N's just disappointed she didn't get to smooch anyone this evening."

"You and me both, Y/N."

It was such a quiet array of words yet everyone heard Kaitlyn mutter them - nobody said anything back.

You were so hopelessly in love with her, that you couldn't help but hang onto anything Kaitlyn said that remotely resembled a reciprocation of feelings.

Shyly, you lifted your gaze from the muddy floor to your friends around you, careful not to stare directly at her gorgeous face. Whatever you were about to say next needed to be calm, one hundred percent normal and definitely not suggestive of anything.

With a brief amount of consideration and overthinking, you said, "Well, I don't know, what else is there to do right now? We can keep playing without the others."

You needed to stop working yourself up over such minuscule things; with Kaitlyn anywhere near you, you couldn't control yourself. Not being a fumbling mess was incredibly difficult.

"Yeah sure, why the fuck not?" Dylan chimed back in with a sense of glee, intrigued to see what would happen next.

"Cool alright, Kaitlyn?"

Deep down, it was clear to you that she would join back in, but part of you still inwardly thanked Ryan for ensuring that she was interested in continuing.

"I'm in, of course," A short pause. "You're a bit far away from us Y/N, you should get a bit closer, come here..."

Watching as Kaitlyn patted the empty space on the rough log impatiently, indicating you join her, an eruption of warmth covered your cheeks at her attention being on you; her wanting you next to her.

"Yeah, come on over here Y/N!"

Obviously, it didn't feel as special when Dylan said it, though, you appreciated how it got rid of some of the tension.

"Okay okay, yes, I'm coming," You spoke up, giggling, absolutely infected with giddiness that was bursting to show. You're sure it did, a big goofy smile plastered to your face as you made your way to the opposite side of the campfire. Apparently, the delight spread to Kaitlyn since you could've sworn she was attempting to mask an excited grin too.

Immediately, a soft scent of honey mixed with something floral was all you could smell, each and every time you inhaled. It made you feel very comfortable.

"Who wants to start it off this time?" inquired Ryan, yet your attention was instantly torn away from him due to the sensation of a soft, smaller hand brushing over your slightly sweaty one.

There was not a doubt in your mind. You had already jumped to the conclusion that it was intentional. From doing an action so small as turning away from you to face Ryan, how could Kaitlyn's hand touch yours in the process if it were on accident? There was no time to think rationally, you were already freaking out like mad. And she loved it.

"I'll go."

Leaving no room for arguments, Kaitlyn's head whipped back round to face you once more, this time with a playful theme prominent within her features.

"Y/N. Truth or dare," she asked, intently, her pretty eyes trained on your very nervous self.

You couldn't pick a place to focus your line of sight, eyes darting from her straight to the floor and back at your two shaky hands resting in your lap. Not in a million years were you prepared to answer 'dare'. In what world did you have the confidence.

Telling yourself it was the sensible response, you requested 'truth' like the jittery coward you are - to nobody's surprise but to Kaitlyn's disappointment.

"Tryna play it safe, are we, Y/N? I'm not letting you off that easily," was all she said as you sat there, patiently awaiting for whatever abomination that was heading your way.

Finally, you observed as her eyes lit up with a sudden delight; her full attention, once again, solely focused on you, not quite prepared for what was coming next.

"Out of everyone here, meaning me, Dylan or Ryan, who would you be the most interested in dating...and you have to answer otherwise it's no fun."

The situation wouldn't have felt awfully suffocating if it weren't for your stupid crush, which you were starting to suspect Kaitlyn was fully aware of. Her plump lips contorted mischievously into something smug - a perfectly arched eyebrow raised while she continued staring you down.

Because of the intense stare and immense amount of pressure you felt you were under, you missed a faint flash of worry flicker in her eye at your hesitation; uncertain whether or not her question had backfired on her.

Words couldn't describe the newfound urge tugging at your stomach to let her know that you so badly wanted to date her, to be with her, to kiss her. You couldn't handle rejection in the slightest but also couldn't bare the thought of letting this go on much longer - missing your chance when you had it.

You felt yourself tearing apart because of a silly crush on a girl who was way too good for you; evidently taking this unimportant game way too seriously. This time, you locked eyes with Kaitlyn, your heart racing, making an effort to bring any remnants of confidence together to prepare an answer.

"Uhhhh, I'd probably wanna date you, Kaitlyn?"

You had never experienced something simultaneously this underwhelming and overwhelming. Really, your response was very simple, basic, and not that huge. If, by chance, the beautiful ravenette was utterly disgusted by your answer it could be put down to merely a game and everyone would move on. You would be devastated but you'd get over it.

Having said that, repulsion was the last thing Kaitlyn felt regarding your answer, instead, a frantic fuel ignited within her. For a moment, she kind of just gawked at you, a bashful awkwardness radiating from your features.

"Truth or dare," she asked once more, this time the question coming across as more demanding, and a slight shake was apparent in her voice. Desperation spurred over her yet she seemed to be concealing it quite well, aside from the little chew on her lip while she awaited your answer, the nervous habit being the only indication of how Kaitlyn felt.

"Hey, what!" Dylan interjected, "Why are you going again, Kaitlyn? It's Y/N's turn."

Though you had to admit that Dylan's disapproval was amusing, you were too engulfed in whatever was happening between you and her. Nothing but you and her. Bathing in her alluring nature, you really did not mean to take this long to respond, you shouldn't be keeping someone that exquisite waiting.

"Dare..."

To outsiders, the atmosphere didn't appear tense at all. The luminous blaze of the golden camp, flickered and your chest tightened by the second.

"I dare you," Kaitlyn breathed out, her words trailing off implying a wane in confidence. Again, she was doubting herself, even when, at this point, the both of you had been as open as you could about your intense romantic interest for each other without explicitly saying anything.

You observed her complexion closely, each insecurity conveyed on her face made your heart rate increase consequently. You yearned for her to give in and do something to relieve all the built up anxiety, yet couldn't blame her too much since you found yourself incapable of initiating the first move.

An abrupt change conjured. Kaitlyn ostensibly bolder.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Silence. You inched forward but couldn't quite make it all the way. You didn't know what it was, something was holding you back. Also, with the audience of the two boys, you couldn't help your sheepish nature.

As though she couldn't handle it anymore, impatient because of your hesitancy, Kaitlyn took matters into her own hands and closed the gap, her soft lips meeting yours. Certain she would tease you about your failure to for fill the dare, you decided it was best to concern yourself with it later - a highly insignificant worry, really.

The kiss didn't last too long. The bliss you felt quickly overpowered by insecurity, and maybe disappointment too. You had hoped the moment you had been chasing for months would at least be longer than a few seconds. Grateful you got to kiss her, yet, you needed more.

"That was...terrible. I'm sorry," You mumbled bashfully, barely audible for Dylan and Ryan.

"Nu-uh baby, it was good," She whispered back, then tugging your face toward her once more.

Whereas the first peck was delicate, shy and over in a few seconds, in this instance, the kiss was deepened almost immediately. Her gentle hands cupped your flushed cheeks, promoting you to tightly grasp at her clothes. It took all of your power to not let any whimpers or whines escape you, making out with someone while other people were around was embarrassing enough as is.

"Okay...guys..." Ryan, being the first to speak up, broke the immersion, the two of you reluctantly pulling away from each other.

"Totally digging how happy you are right now, but, you know, lodge is empty..." Dylan chimed in, somewhat less awkward than Ryan.

You shared a look with Kaitlyn, your shortness of breath mirrored after your lips had been pressed against one another's for an extended period of time.

"Sounds great, thanks Dylan," Kaitlyn rose from her place seated on the log, enthusiasm oozing from her. "Let's get going huh, Y/N?" She proposed, laced with sultry.

You stayed seated, a little dumbfounded about the kiss and relishing in the electric sensation circulating in your body. Kaitlyn gripped your wrist, gaining your attention as her request caught up with you.

"Uh, yeah...yes we should go," Stumbling over your words, you got up, waved to Dylan and Ryan and began your journey back to the lodge. Incoherent mumbling could be heard from the pair left behind. You ignored it, giggling slightly and walked beside Kaitlyn.

When you arrived, you opened up the wooden door and stepped inside, Kaitlyn not giving you an opportunity to voice your opinion on anything; her mouth soon latched onto yours.

It was hungry, and you returned the passion. Although she may have been smaller than you, she still forced you up against one of the aging walls of the building; her tongue buried in your mouth. There was no fight for dominance, Kaitlyn was in control, not that you minded. It was such a rush, her lips all over your cool skin, your trembling hands in her dark hair, the occasional raspy chuckles from her, and the whines from you. Anything either one of you did spurred the other on wildly.

Eventually, distances had to be created since you couldn't keep going without catching your breath.

"I can't believe it took us that long to do this. We could've been having hot make-out sessions all summer" Kaitlyn beamed with genuine delight, her hands retreating from being all over you to placed on her hips, taking her usual sassy stance.

"I know," You agreed, laughing," I was so scared about being rejected"

"It's okay, I was equally terrified. Better late than never I suppose. At least we know now." The ravenette smirked, gazing into your eyes, entertained by how dishevelled you looked, encouraging her to admit, "I seriously am so fucking attracted to you."

Again, you let out a giggle, a noise that Kaitlyn thought was endearing. "Well, I've been fawning over you for like ages now." You blushed, the confession sparking a wave of heat to pass over you. Even though your actions had already said enough, disclosing the information made your shoulders feel externally lighter.

"It does really suck that it's the end of camp, going our separate ways and all" You continued, dejectedly. You were overjoyed that you were finally sharing these movements with Kaitlyn but hated yourself for holding off this long.

She examined your rapidly declining mood, likewise, she was regretful for waiting, however, not an ounce of uncertainty clouded her mind.

"What is there to worry about? Of course, we can stay in touch, I'm serious about this and...I do want to be with you." She reassured you, offering a loving smile filled with comfort. "Just give me your number, baby."

#the quarry #the quarry fanfic #the quarry fandom #the quarry kaitlyn #kaitlyn ka #kaitlyn ka x reader #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #emma mountebank #jacob custos #until dawn #supermassive games #the quarry x reader #until dawn x reader #lgbtq #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #x female reader

[asylummint]

Shadows of the Heart

Like most Astarion was what got me into Baldur's gate in the first place! obvioulsy everyone else made me stay but heres a small tribute to him

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In the dimly lit corridors of the Underdark, where shadows danced and whispers echoed, Astarion prowled with silent grace. A vampire spawn cursed with immortality and a hunger for blood, he had long wandered the dark realms, his heart veiled in shadows as deep as the caverns he traversed. But amidst the darkness, amidst the ever-shifting alliances and betrayals, there was a glimmer of light—a ray of warmth that thawed the icy confines of his soul.

Her name was Tav, a rogue with a spirit as free as the wind that whispered through the tunnels. She had joined their band of adventurers, drawn by a quest to challenge the darkness that threatened to consume their world. With each passing day, Astarion found himself inexorably drawn to her, her laughter a melody that echoed in the caverns of his heart.

At first, he dismissed his feelings as mere curiosity, a passing fancy born of fleeting companionship. But as they faced dangers together, as they fought side by side against the horrors of the Underdark, he found himself admiring her courage, her strength, and the kindness that she freely offered to those in need.

Yet, Astarion was a creature of darkness, his existence bound to the shadows that he called home. He was cursed to walk the night, forever separated from the warmth of the sun and the touch of mortal flesh. How could he, a creature damned by his very nature, dare to yearn for something as pure and radiant as the love he glimpsed in Tav's eyes?

But love, like the tendrils of ivy that cling to the cold stone walls of the Underdark, is tenacious and resilient. Despite his doubts and fears, Astarion found himself falling deeper under Tav's spell with each passing day. He found solace in her presence, a refuge from the ceaseless hunger that gnawed at his insatiable appetite.

As their journey unfolded, they faced trials that tested the very limits of their resolve. They battled demons and monsters, confronted ancient evils that lurked in the depths of forgotten tombs, and emerged victorious against all odds. And through it all, Astarion found himself bound to Tav not only by duty but by a bond forged in the fires of adversity—a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

In the quiet moments between battles, amidst the flickering light of campfires and the hushed whispers of the night, Astarion dared to dream of a future where he and Tav could walk hand in hand beneath the open sky. He imagined a life filled with laughter and love, free from the shadows that haunted his past.

But fate, like the capricious winds that swept through the caverns, is unpredictable and unforgiving. As their journey neared its end, a darkness loomed on the horizon—a darkness that threatened to tear them apart and plunge the world into eternal night.

In the final confrontation against the forces of darkness, Astarion stood by Tav's side, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their time together was drawing to a close. But even as they faced the greatest challenge of their lives, he knew that their love would endure, a beacon of hope that would shine bright even in the darkest of nights.

And as the sun rose on a new day, casting its golden light upon the world once more, Astarion knew that no matter where their paths may lead, he would always carry Tav's love in his heart, a guiding light in the endless expanse of shadows that stretched before him.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 astarion #tav #bg3 fanart

[fatale-distraction]

“Are you trying to teach a drider how to DANCE?” Astarion demanded.

Qilue paused and turned to look over her shoulder at her vampiric friend. Kar’niss had his hand over hers, all seven of his eyes intent on the ground where he was attempting to make sense of where to put each of his eight legs.

“He knows how to dance,” she informed Astarion loftily. “Or at least, he did, once.” They’d danced together many times, years ago. Before. He hadn’t been particularly skilled, but the men in Menzoberanzan usually had only to follow their partner’s lead, leaving the skill up to the females, or the higher ranking males.

Astarion lifted an immaculate eyebrow and gestured for them to continue.

Qilue guided her arachnid partner through a few of the simpler steps, Kar’niss concentrating hard on each movement, trying to keep each leg in tandem as he followed her in what had once been a familiar dance. He didn’t quite manage to match the effortless elegance of his partner, but when they completed the first movement, Astarion had the grace to offer some light applause.

“Bravo,” he said with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. “How…austere.”

Kar’niss preened. Qilue, on the other hand, frowned and cross her arms over her chest. “And I suppose you could do much better,” she challenged, lifting her chin at him.

“I could,” he insisted. “If I didn’t think your…handsome partner would disembowel me for the attempt.”

“We only disembowel if She wishes us to,” the drider muttered darkly as he settled near the fire, tucking his legs beneath him awkwardly. He was still trying to figure out how to make himself comfortable in this body. Comfort was a luxury he’d never known, not as a drow and certainly not since becoming a drider. It was only through a great deal of coaxing and encouragement from Qilue that he’d even begun to explore the idea of relaxation and leisure.

“Charming,” Astarion quipped, presenting his hand to Qilue with an ostentatious bow. She stared at the hand with a wry smirk, then took it and slipped her arm around Astarion’s waist, taking a leading position. Astarion snorted. “Ah, no no no,” he chortled, plucking her hands up and repositioning them. “Up here on the surface, the men lead.”

“How delightfully uncivilized of you,” Qilue responded, only half-joking. She was still adjusting to life outside drow society, and as much as she had detested her life in Menzoberanzan, it was hard to shake two hundred years of grooming, a feeling she knew Astarion shared. “Lead on, then.”

The vampire swept her instantly into an elegant twirl, waltzing her skillfully around the sparking flames of the campfire while Kar’niss kept close watch, both wary of another male’s hands on his beloved mate, and intrigued by the energetic dance. He didn’t particularly appreciate how close the pair held each other, and felt a pang of jealousy that set his sharp teeth grinding. Astarion’s hand pawed Qilue’s slim waist, pressing her close, and she leaned into the touch, cupping his neck as they turned and skipped gaily about. She was breathless with laughter, color high in her cheeks as Astarion grinned down at her, enjoying her mirth as much as anything else.

Kar’niss’ forelegs churned the dirt in front of him. He liked Astarion, mostly. They had taken to hunting together, one of the few true joys Kar’niss felt. He enjoyed the skill with which Astarion stalked his prey, the way he pounced, and the bloodlust in his eyes. He could relate to that hunger, and seeing it reflected in someone else, someone capable and powerful and yes, broken, but still strong…it was a catharsis for Kar’niss. Yet seeing even someone he admired giving his precious mate such pleasure had his hackles raised. A growl rumbled in his chest. Qilue was at his side in a moment, petting and soothing him, chasing the darkness away while Astarion stood nearby, examining his nails with a nonchalant air, yet Kar’niss could sense his attention, red eyes keeping close watch from beneath his lashes. As many times as they’d hunted together, relied upon each other, he knew the vampire still didn’t quite trust him around Qilue. Astarion’s dearest friend, and Kar’niss’ treasured mate.

“Behave yourself, my love,” Qilue was murmuring, stroking his hair back from his forehead and kissing his cheek. “It’s only a dance. We’ll practice more later, and maybe Astarion will be kind enough to teach you, too.”

“We do not wish to dance with Astarion.”

Qilue ignored her friend’s faux aghast outburst and continued to stroke Kar’niss soothingly. He leaned into her touch, purring deep in his chest.

“Wouldn’t you like to lead me in a dance, dearest?” Qilue teased, softly dragging a finger down his cheek.

The purring sound grew louder and deeper. He would, very much, actually. The drider had been created to be subservient to Lolth and her worshippers. Kar’niss didn’t just long to be the dominant partner in a mere dance, but to dominate her entirely, in ways he could only have dreamed of before.

Astarion wisely removed himself from the equation, murmuring rude excuses as he retreated to his own tent. Kar’niss drew Qilue closer, caging her in with his legs as his arms encircled her waist. He dragged his tongue over his dripping fangs, taking in her flushed skin and heaving breast, blood still high from the dance.

Kar’niss bent his head to hers, kissing her softly, as they’d never been permitted before. He took solace in the way she melted against him, her fingers tangling in the lank strands of snowy white hair, the soft, throaty moans of pleasure as his tongue swept over hers.

No one would dare bother them this night or any other. Kar’niss would make sure of it.

#kar’niss #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #happy new year

[lovehugsandcandy]

Aerin drabble inspired by the amazing AerinxMC piece by @erixafleur here. I love this artwork so much <3

When her hand hits the cold, empty sheet, Raine groans. It’s been hours and, still, she is alone in this forest bed.

It isn’t even her bed, not technically. She has traveled often, opening realms, visiting friends, and supporting Valax in improving the Shadow Realm. But when she can, Raine stays here, rebuilding the Goblin lands in the Deadwood center. While this place may not be her home, she’s realized, in all her travels, that home is not a location, not a marking on a map, not a set of coordinates. 

It’s a person.

And right now, her person is not beside her.

Long gone are the days when she would fear his disappearance. In the beginning, every absence was concerning; where had Aerin gone? Would he be there when she returned? But slowly, carefully, piece by earnest piece, they had rebuilt that which betrayal and distance had torn asunder. Now, he was a constant presence, a steady thrum echoing in the beat of her heart, regardless of how far she traveled.

And now, with the empty expanse of mattress beside her, there is only one place he could be.

She shivers as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. The moon hangs high in the sky, flooding the room with light. Shadows dance over the careful construction of the walls as she toes on her boots and slips out the door.

The path takes her past Willow’s house, over a short boardwalk, and to the magnificent tree that forms one corner of the Community Center. The building is sturdy, two floors of sprawling space designed for the entire community to congregate, and large enough for even humans to slip inside the arched door. She wanders through the halls until pausing just outside the library; from within is a distinct noise, the soft scratch of pencil to paper, and she carefully pulls on the handle as silently as possible to not disturb the occupant within.

Once she is sure he hasn’t noticed, she takes a step forward, leaning against the doorframe to watch him work. Candlelight flickers over his face, making his eyes glow over the shadows below his cheekbones, and Aerin is engrossed in the sketchbook in front of him. The tip of his tongue pokes out between lush lips as he scribbles frantically and every so often, an impatient hand will swipe at the curls at his forehead, batting them out of the way so he can continue his single-minded focus on the page. She can’t see the image, not at this angle, but it’s either a detailed design for additional housing near the lake or a more… personal project.

A few steps further and he still doesn’t notice, so she gracelessly plops into the seat next to him.

He jumps, mouth dropping open as he blinks at her. “Raine! You startled me.” Quickly, he flips through the papers in front of him until there’s only an empty one in view. 

Ah, a personal project then.

“Well, you worried me. It’s late; come to bed.”

He glances out the window, where a few twinkling stars peek through the branches. “I didn’t realize, I was so caught up in-”

“-in your work?” His face flushes scarlet, and his skin is warm as she cups his cheek. “May I see?”

He sighs. “You know it’s of you, don’t you?”

“Please? You know I love your drawings.” she asks, dropping into the chair next to him, and his teeth dig into his plush lower lip before he responds.

“It’s not done yet.” He flips back a few pages, past an architectural sketch, a labeled diagram of a medicinal plant, until he stops, glancing at her. Peering closer, it’s undoubtedly her- she’s sitting in the woods, braids cascading down her shoulder and a pensive look on her face.

“Is this…?” She squints. “Is this today?”

The blush across his cheeks somehow deepens and spreads to his ears. “Yes. I saw you in front of the campfire and I was… inspired.”

She edges closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You know, your muse is right here,” Raine curls her fingers into his tunic, “and she would like to go to sleep.”

His eyes flash mischief and love as he glances down. “She would, would she?”

“She would. Aerin, I’m tired; come back to bed. Please?”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. “Certainly. But will you let me draw you tomorrow?”

“I will let you draw me any time you want. Just not now.”

“Of course.” Aerin closes his sketchbook, offering her a hand. “My muse needs rest.”

She giggles as he leads her out of the community center, her hand in his the entire way. And no matter how far she travels, when she returns to the wood, he will slide next to her in their bed, warm and sure, and she will pose for his art, smiling and laughing, and the portraits will serve as a memory of when her heart is home.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #amy writes #artists are amazing arent they?!?!?! wow

[hellsbells88]

Jenny Kirk

Young Jenny, finding her footing in the gang, is met with the 'sympathetic' guidance of the wily Micah Bell.

The sun was sinking behind the horizon as the gang busied themselves, establishing a new camp near the bustling town of Blackwater. The initial joy of their journey had given way to exhaustion, each member engrossed in their respective duties, the circle of wagons forming a protective barrier around their temporary home.

Away from the rest, on the outskirts of the encampment, sat Jenny. Her small figure was silhouetted against the setting sun, her gaze distant and thoughtful. Her dark hair danced in the evening breeze as she sat alone. As the most recent addition to the gang, she grappled with the unfamiliarity of her surroundings.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Micah approaching. His squared silhouette stood stark against the evening sky, a solitary aura surrounding him as he drew closer.

"Bein’ part of the crowd makes it easier," he drawled, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a slender match. His smile was cool and unnerving, yet strangely comforting.

"But you keep to yourself," Jenny countered, defiance flickering in her voice, her blue eyes meeting his.

"And you keep to yours," he retorted, taking a long drag and letting the smoke drift between them. He gestured towards the other side of the camp with his chin as he exhaled, where the women of the camp were gathered, their laughter faintly audible. "Why don't you go join 'em?"

"I don't think they'd like me," she admitted, her gaze returning to the blazing campfire. "I don't really know them women."

Micah chuckled lowly, studying her intently. He knew the women would welcome Jenny with open arms. Despite being relatively new to the gang himself, he had already observed how the women looked out for one another. "I understand," he said instead, feigning sympathy before asking, "You afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Jenny shot back immediately, stubbornness creeping into her voice.

Micah grinned at her defensiveness, his intense gaze never leaving her. He found their emotional hide-and-seek amusing. Although he would never admit it, he enjoyed these encounters with Jenny, intrigued by her quiet demeanor.

"Tell me, how old are you?" he asked, leaning against a tree, his gaze steady on her.

"Eighteen," she murmured, her gaze flickering to him and then away.

Micah laughed heartily. "Well, you're just a kid then!" he exclaimed, delighting in the irritation that flashed across her face.

"That don’t make me a kid," she retorted. But Micah merely chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

"Oh now, don't mind me, I just enjoy being a pest. Don’t mean no harm," he teased, playfully ruffling her dark hair before smoothing it back down in a more intimate gesture.

His teasing and touch earned him a suspicious glare, but he relished the banter, the spark in her otherwise reserved demeanor. "You've got quite a mouth for a shy thing," he added, grinning at her crossed arms.

They were settling into a rhythm of kindred spirits, an us-against-the-world sentiment resonating in their shared solitude.

"Don't tell me, you've got a fella too?" he probed further, earning another suspicious look.

"No, I don't," she replied curtly, her gaze darkening at the question. "Hey now," he lifted his hands, chuckling lightly, "can’t fault a man for asking."

"It's mighty rare to see such a beautiful girl unaccompanied," he remarked, seizing the opportunity to discreetly look her over as she turned her gaze to the campfire. She ignored his comment.

Micah noted the flicker of sadness in her eyes and decided to steer the conversation towards lighter topics. He pulled out another cigarette and offered it to her, "Smoke?"

She eyed the cigarette, hesitated, then accepted it. As she placed it between her lips, Micah leaned over to light it. Their eyes met—a silent electrical exchange was had. He knew he piqued her interest, and as she took her first drag, he continued his probing.

Ever wonder why you're here, Jenny?" he asked, his voice low and smooth. "Why you ain't with your family?"

Jenny's gaze hardened at the mention of her family, her grip tightening around the cigarette. She took a long drag before answering, "I left."

Micah raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her curt response. He had expected her to dodge the question or give a vague answer, but her straightforwardness surprised him. He could sense there was more to her story, something she wasn't ready to share.

"That so?" he echoed, feigning concern. "Big decision for a young girl."

She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames of the campfire. "Had to," she said simply, leaving no room for further questions.

Micah nodded, understanding the unspoken message. He knew better than to pry into someone's past, especially when they were clearly unwilling to share. But he couldn't help but see this as an opportunity, a chance to exploit her vulnerability.

He paused to flick the ash from his cigarette, his gaze locked on her. "Ain’t easy," he began, imitating concern, "Venturing out alone like you have."

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. There was a hint of suspicion in her gaze, but also a glimmer of appreciation. Micah knew he had said the right thing, painting himself as a sympathetic figure in her eyes.

"But remember, Jenny," he continued, leaning closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "In this world, it's every damn man for himself. You gotta look out for number one."

He held her gaze, letting his words sink in. He wanted her to understand that he was not just a friend, but also a potential ally. Someone who could help her navigate this new life, for a price.

As he prepared to depart, he left her with a final piece of advice. "Don't trust too easy now," he said, extinguishing his cigarette and gesturing towards the gang. "Nice folk—but remember what I said."

With that, he rose and made his departure, leaving her alone to contemplate the encounter. He had subtly instilled doubt in her mind, now all he needed was to wait for it to sprout.

"And Jenny," he casually tossed back, his tone relaxed yet enticing. "Feel free to join me anytime. I reckon we could both use some good company." A soft smile graced his face—one of satisfaction.

#red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #oneshot #jenny kirk

[gothimp]

Bound

Lorcan x Shadowheart scene the night of the tiefling party. Spoiler warning for events in act I. Explicit sexual content warning. 1.7k word count

The appearance of Mol at their camp festivities had shaken Lorcan to his core. No longer could he drink and dance lightheartedly with the refugees, for the sight of the slight one eyed child had thrust the memory of Alfira’s corpse back to the forefront of his mind.

His possessed feet carried him to Shadowheart’s tent where she sat secluded and listened to the music afar with her very own selection of wine she’d skimmed from their supplies.

“Aren’t you a sight? I was enjoying watching you dance, you know. Far more graceful than to be expected for a man of your size, then again I should hardly be surprised, I’ve seen how you fight.” Shadowheart greeted with a lighthearted smirk and a hint of color on her cheeks.

He could feel her gaze lap up his bare torso slightly dampened with sweat from the night’s revelries and he wished he could indulge in lascivious thoughts with her, their flirtatious moments too far and few for his liking.

“I’ve a favor to ask of you.” He said.

Her posture stiffened at his tone and her head tilted inquisitively in a way that made her bound plait swish tantalizingly behind her.

“There’s too many people about. Bind me tonight, shelter me in your tent, it is the most secluded from the campfire. I can’t risk losing myself again. The wee swindler is here…. If anything were to happen…” Lorcan knelt beside her as he laid out his plea.

Shadowheart frowned and there was the faintest twitch of her eyebrow as she pondered his words.

Through their connection, he could sense a twinge of.. disappointment. This was not the proposition she’d anticipated, and it ate at Lorcan to think she may have accepted a proposition of another kind.

“And here I thought you’d be more agreeable to tying me up.” She gave a soft smile and sipped at her wine.

“Aye, more favorable indeed but unfortunately not what’s needed at the present.” He exhaled a laugh, relieved she seemed to be considering it.

“And what a present it is. I’d be lying if it hadn’t crossed my mind, watching you clench that jaw and take your lashings from that Loviatar devotee.”

His eyes darkened at her words and he leaned towards her, planting a hand on her rug beside her hips as he neared, pleased to see she did not shy away.

When his mouth claimed hers, his thoughts finally quieted, as his desire for her possessed him body and mind.

His free hand batted her glass of wine away, and it broke against the nearby rock face, painting it near black with the red wine as it dripped down.

The soft gasp she made at the sound of shattered glass was all the purchase he needed to deepen the kiss as he snaked an arm around her toned waist.

He hovered over her on his hands and knees like a desperate beast, the hunger reflected in their bruising kisses.

Their connection glowed in his mind like a flickering star amongst dark fog.

Easy… she cooed in his mind, but it only served to harden his efforts.

Her wrists pinned to the ground under one of his hands as he kneed at her inner thigh to press his hips to hers before he truly realized what he was doing.

With a groan, he broke the kiss and tried to reign in his racing thoughts of the delicious noises she’d make for him as he fucked her and fed on the tender flesh of her neck.

“You owe me a wine glass.” She commented, though her tone was breathy and the scent of her betrayed her body’s desires.

“Get me through the night, I’ll buy you a silvered chalice.” He replied.

She led him into her tent and closed the flap. Their tents weren’t made for anything more than sleeping, so the necessary closeness felt incredibly intimate, especially after their kiss.

He set his boots just outside her tent as she procured rough rope. It would not make for a comfortable binding but it was thick enough, if tied right, he shouldn’t be able to break it.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He asked.

“In theory.”

Her soft voice and gentle smirk distracted him from any misgivings temporarily, until she guided his arms to his front, forearms pressed together.

“You should bind them behind, it’s harder to create leverage to try and break free in that position.”

“If I’m to do this, I’ll do this as I wish, or you can go ask someone else in camp to do this for you and perhaps explain why it is needed?” She quipped as the rope deftly danced around his arms as she worked to bind him.

Lorcan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, for at least the binds she made seemed skilled enough.

“Cup your hands.” She requested, the rope finally tied off.

“What?” His tone incredulous and more than a little annoyed.

“Cup your hands, please.” She repeated ever so slowly as she straddled his hips.

He complied once more, though his unwavering gaze radiated contempt as he cupped his hands just under his chin.

She leaned forward atop him in a way that made his eyes roll in pleasure at the pressure against his arousal, a barely contained groan in his throat.

When she leaned back she held a wine bottle and began to pour the sweet red into his cupped hands.

“This is absurd.” He snarled.

Wine dripped between his fingers and down his arms despite his best efforts to contain it.

“Pragmatic. I’m helping you, and you owe me a wine glass.”

Her lips touched his fingers and all he could do was watch as she drank from his hands. The wine stained her pink lips, an enviable droplet traveled down the hollow of her throat and betwixt her breasts.

Lorcan had never known thirst quite like this. His mouth watered in anticipation, yet he had no idea if he’d be sated this night.

He felt their connection strengthen as she drank, and he gently nudged himself into her mind.

When I finally get a hold of you. Untethered. Raw. A flurry of images flashed in her mind. Fingers in mouths. Bruises on waists. Bloodied breasts and mussed hair.

Shadowheart’s eyes slowly fluttered closed at the thoughts as she continued to drink.

His hold on the wine weakened as he felt her reach down between them and cup his length, the last of it splashing their chests and laps.

The warmth of her tongue pressed to his skin and she licked at the spilt wine up his arm before taking a few of his fingers between her lips.

A shaky exhale came from him. Nearly every muscle in his body was tensed for her.

If only their roles reversed. If only he had her like this at his mercy. The slow tempoed dance they’d share until he was hilted inside of her. Or to see her on her knees, jaw strained and beautiful mossy eyes watering.

“I can taste you in the air.” He whispered.

“Then savor it.” She smiled softly and pressed gentle kisses to his wine stained fingers.

She leaned in and moved on to press her soft lips along his jawline, her long dark lashes tickled the skin of his cheek.

His fingers twitched beside her throat. It would be all too easy to grab at her slender neck and pin her to the bedroll, even bound as he was, but then how would he possibly undo the laces of his leathers?

It was the look in her eyes that told him his thoughts were not solely his own.

In the swell of their tension it became harder and harder to distinguish between their two minds with the stoked connection, and he found himself surprised she had not shut him out yet. Mayhaps the experience was simply too novel to both of them to be able to control.

Her nimble fingers undid his pants to touch him at last, and Lorcan could not contain the low groan that vibrated from him.

“Oh hush, we’ve only just begun.” She teased with slow strokes, her lips brushed his skin as she spoke.

“Give me something to bite down on.”

His darkened eyes twinkled dangerously, and despite his bound arms he still looked and sounded every bit a wild predator.

She leaned back at his words, her hands hesitant at her top.

You can handle yourself, can’t you? You’ve been oh so capable thus far, he taunted her mind.

It was impossible to undress with grace in the small tent, but she quite nearly managed it. She stayed atop him as she tossed her top aside, crawling away only to peel off their leathers, made difficult due to the sweat and wine spillage.

When she resettled atop him, his nose gently caressed the curvature of her neck as he breathed in her slightly floral scent mixed with her heady arousal.

Her pulse quickened and her breaths stuttered as she slowly lowered herself onto cock. It took all his restraint not to bite into her then and there, but if she tensed at the bite it might end him before he was fully sheathed and he was not wanting or willing to risk such a fate.

His bound hands cupped at her breasts as she moved atop him, able to do little else.

Her toned thighs squeezed around him as she built a rhythm of her own pleasure and one hand wrapped around his shoulders whilst the other dipped between them to touch herself where he could not.

“Do it.” She said in a rushed whisper.

Lor only chuckled against her and pressed kisses to her tender skin. He could feel her quickened pulse on his lips.

“Do it!” A more desperate plea, still unmet.

Her movements became more rushed and erratic as she struggled to keep her own needed tempo in the anticipation.

It wasn’t until she let out a dry sob beside his ear in climax that his teeth sank into her at last.

Her hot blood pooled into his mouth and he grabbed at her wherever he was able as if being atop him was not enough.

#lorcan x shadowheart #oc: lorcan #shadowheart #nes plays bg3 #sry for the formatting i pasted from docs

[k-n0-x]

Crimson Leafs and Sunrays

A/N: Hi again!

I just made through exam week (NEVER GIVE UP) and stuff. This fic is Kazuha waking up our little reader (aka, YOU) with kisses. Also btw my birthday is on March 8th, so that's something :3 Reblogging and commenting is appreciated :>

Thanks to: @woofwoofbarkbarkmeowmeow for the idea!

✧˖°.🧷🖇️☠︎🍂✮⋆˙✧˖°.🧷🖇️🍁✮⋆˙✧˖°.🧷🖇️🍂✮⋆˙

Y/N has had an awfully long day, after running around helping with errands all by yourself, while your so-called companion was yapping your goddamn ears off throughout, while just letting you do all of the hard labour.

You and Paimon set up camp (again you did it in a solidarity state) and sit by the fire near Wangshu inn. You place your head in your hands, reminiscing when you and your sibling used to do stuff like this together.

You did everything together, and your bond was ruthlessly torn apart by the Heavenly Principles and-

"Y/N, are you okay?! Paimon was asking you about-"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... Tired, I guess, from running around all day," you trailed off, ridiculously fatigued, barely keeping your eyes awake.

"Well, Paimon thinks you should get some rest. Energy is vital to be a traveler!"

"I sure hope so, 'cause I'm gonna hit the stack like a rock," You finally make head way to your sleeping bag, basically embracing it with open arms.

As you hit the hay with a satisfying thump, you brain almost instantly does not regard anything your companion says, even though she tries to remind you about a special guest who will meet you in the morning.

"With that being said though, try to wake up early, Kazuha will be visting us tomorrow-"

"Yeah, yeah I know, now shut upppppp-" you make the most pathetic attempt to swat Paimon away, but you just end up into your deep slumber, not properly computing what your partner had to say.

Your dreams were.. interesting.

You were beside the campfire, the flames licking around the burning logs. The blazing inferno is almost pixelated, animatedly. You squint and in a fraction of a millisecond, the flames transfigure into block-like shapes and indulged you into the dark and blocky mess.

You scream and cry, begging to be let out and your fingers make fruitless attempts to escape, scratching the unknown substance.

“Y/N!” A voice calls. Is it the pearly gates, coming to welcome you with open arms? The voice was faint at first, but the sound seems to get closer and louder.

You feel a set of soft lips on your cheek, snapping you out of your agonising slumber.

“..Kazuha?” The albino smiles and holds your hands in his.

“How are you doing my love?” He places a peck on your hand. He’s sentimental that way.

“A bit better now that you’re here” The inazuman places his hands underneath your eyes.

“I’ve told you to take care of yourself. A little bird told me that you were working strenuously yesterday,”

You yawn. “I’m fine! You don’t need to worry,”

“I find it hard to believe you,” He rubs his fingers around your eyebags. “Rough night?”

Before you could answer, he starts to place little kisses around your face with his soft lips, making you feel much more energised already. You look at the dawning sun, as you see two crimson leafs dancing through the wind.

Your other half is out there, somewhere…. <3 ✧˖°.🧷🖇️☠︎🍂✮⋆˙✧˖°.🧷🖇️🍁✮⋆˙✧˖°.🧷🖇️🍂✮⋆˙

#kazuha #genshin impact #fluff #fanfiction #genuinely #someone help #kisses #wriothesley #romantic #genshin inazuma #fontaine #mondstadt #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #paimon #liyue harbor #wangshu inn #siblings #aether #lumine #genshin angst #anemo boys

[scoundrels-in-love]

I just need someone to hold me (even though you don't even know me)

Rollo's death is the car crash of a wakeup calls. It eclipses even the devastation of Jeneora Rock that had left him numb and decaying. Now, he is far too aware. Too aware of how deep he had been caught in this game of almost normalcy. (Of something sweet and light, almost, like light dancing through a sun catcher he remembers hung in one of the artificial gardens.) Of pretending to not be a creature that brings chaos and death wherever he goes. To whoever he looks at for more than a moment. Also on AO3.

| Vashmeryl with implied Mashwood | Missing Scene | Post Episode 05: Blessed Child | Grief | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Get yourself a girl who will nudge you to the emotional release cry that you're denying yourself and hug you through it & clean your face up afterward | Vash has more denial than there are worms in No Man's Land |

Rollo's death is the car crash of a wakeup call. 

It eclipses even the devastation of Jeneora Rock that had left him numb and decaying.

Now, he is far too aware. 

Too aware of Meryl's worried glances, the way she had shuffled her feet as she had thought about approaching him. 

Too aware of Roberto's gaze and pointed way he had pulled Meryl away a little.

Too aware of Wolfwood's cold rage. The grains of truth in his words now swirl in Vash's mind like a sandstorm.

Too aware of how deep he had been caught in this game of almost normalcy. (Of something sweet and light, almost, like light dancing through a sun catcher he remembers hung in one of the artificial gardens.) Of pretending to not be a creature that brings chaos and death wherever he goes. To whoever he looks at for more than a moment.

(Has he already doomed them?)

Every inhale and exhale in the car scratches at his skin. No one is speaking, even the radio is turned off, and he's selfishly thankful for that because he knows it would be too loud. Everything already is.

He tries to think about anything that isn't here. The only images he can discern in the sandstorm are the grave they'd made for Rollo, his wide smile as a baby, his eyes in the second between his mask falling away and he - off the edge. They spin in his mind, blend together until it is a dizzying blur of loss.

"We should stop for the night." 

He winces when Meryl breaks the silence in half. Roberto agrees and the car drives for another infinity or half an hour before it stops and the humans hurriedly get out. Wolfwood especially as if he can't bear to be near him for even another second. Vash can't blame him. Frankly, the feeling is quite mutual.

He doesn't move, though, as if rooted to this car seat, and time drips around him with Vash hardly noticing, at least until the doors on the opposite side click open and he sees Meryl entering his peripheral vision.

Vash turns his head to look at her, because it's the polite thing to do. He's so good at going through the motions by now. So good he even fooled himself.

"Vash? Are you going to come eat?"

He looks at her hand, stretched toward him and thinks - he isn't even sure what. It's not a thought, really, just a feeling. That he will shatter if she touches him, crumble to dust. The silence stretches and then she flinches, retracts and it's a relief interwoven with bitterness.

"I'll bring you something," she says and leaves the car.

He watches her retreat to the campfire and a different, new ache blooms in his chest. He should have counted the nights spent around it, turned them into tiny glass beads to put on strings of the sun catcher that can turn even the vicious heat into shifting, colorful beauty.

But it's cracked now - it clinks in a dissonant way as it falls to the ground. He never had a right to it, to the laughter and warmth around a fire as the night closed its soft fist around them. To the way Meryl would gently bump her shoulder into him and laugh like a little bell that makes his chest hum. To her and Wolfwood's banter. To Wolfwood's nicknames and companionable silence when one of them could not sleep and the other was on a watch. To Roberto's tentative trust in his story. To singing purposely off key with all of them in the car, making silly faces for the photo Meryl is taking, to stealing Wolfwood's lollipops and acting all smug about it as though he didn't fully know Nicholas let him, to… 

Having friends.

Meryl brings him a plate with food, places it on the seat so often occupied by Wolfwood. "Please eat," she tells him softly and he wants to promise her, if only for her relieved little smile, but he knows it's just empty words. His promises always are, just like Wolfwood said.

She lingers for a moment and then leaves again and it's for the best, that's what humans are supposed to do. If they're lucky enough to survive being around him. Rollo wasn't, Rem wasn't.

He sees Wolfwood come to the fire, sit down heavily and lean against the punisher. One cigarette, two, three - Vash loses count, even though he had never meant to count in the first place. He'll burn through the entire packet at this rate, he thinks distantly.

Burn through it like Rollo's life, in one brilliant flash of blue. 

There is still anger in Vash, at the ease he had done it with, that he had done it all. Anger he doesn't know where to put because he himself is the usual target.

Mercy, Wolfwood had called it. Death is not a mercy, it is the end of choice and chance and Rollo had been in there, behind all that pain, and he could have-

He looks away from the fire and people gathered around it, turns his empty gaze toward the desert. What ifs are the only plentiful crop to be harvested in No Man’s Land. And he is so very tired of it.

Briefly, the intensity with which he misses Ship Three overpowers everything else. Home, with familiar cool tones and greens among which to lay down and pretend a century and half hasn’t passed, pretend that there will be familiar laughter winding its way toward him in a minute, pretend both of his hands feel the soft coolness of grass the same way.

The left front door opens and though he doesn’t turn to look, he can tell it’s Meryl from the sound her jacket makes and her soft breath as she slips in the seat. 

“Vash?” He doesn’t respond, he has nothing to say to her, to anyone. “Is it okay if I sleep in here?”

This makes Vash look at her - Meryl is peering around the car seat, eyes wide and cautious. Not of him, but for him. As if she's afraid to spook him. How sweetly, mortally foolish. It embeds itself somewhere in his chest, another budding flower of ache.

The question hangs in the air and Vash thinks he should get out, give her the space, pretend that her asking permission to sleep in essentially her car was about that, not the once again extended hand across emptiness.

He should, but he doesn't. Again. It's hard to say no to her, he's realized somewhere over the past couple months. (Even when she isn't asking at all, as she tosses a rope around him.) Harder still, because he has wanted to indulge in the illusion of comradeship, of her delighted smiles. 

He still wants, even as his body buzzes with grief and awareness he isn't allowed soft, lovely things. Wants that simple comfort of her presence one last time.

(If Roberto doesn’t make their paths split after this, as someone with a mind as sharp as his ought to, Vash knows he will have to do it soon.)

Vash nods, barely and stiffly, and it feels like a surrender. To her and the tender humanity he wears.

He has had to surrender greater things today.

She sighs in relief and curls up on the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees and propping her chin on them a little awkwardly so that she can continue to watch him. He looks out the window into the darkness, but her gaze still lingers and tingles on his skin.

If she knew what she was looking at, would she even dare to stay this close? Would her kind heart find any worry left for him? It shouldn't.

He'd thought of them all as friends earlier, but what friendship can be built on lies and deceit? And some of them have done little but lie about who they are.

His thoughts turn to Wolfwood again. Vash isn’t a fool for all he plays one, he can piece together the gun that no other man can carry and the coincidence that led to Meryl running over the only obstacle as far as the eye could see, the vials and the wounds that close like they’d been little more than a horrible, horrible dream. Vials that are much like the ones that had kept pushing Rollo further and further.

But what Vash also knows is there is kindness and goodness in Wolfwood - he’s seen it, felt it. And yet, Wolfwood swings between it and casual cruelty like a deadly pendulum. Does it slice his own heart open and leave it a husk to bleed out? Does it hurt?

It has to hurt.

In some way, Vash feels angry that Nicholas thinks that’s all he can afford himself.  

In some way, Vash feels angry that he has an infinitely heavy hand in Wolfwood believing just that. 

More than anything, he feels hollow now, like a hole burned through paper that barely clings together at the edges, smoldering still. One breeze away from turning to ash and being entirely free from the form that can only remember being of use. 

Meryl shifts in her seat, clears her throat softly several times. Maybe to draw his attention. Vash hopes she’ll assume he is asleep - he’s closed his eyes at some point. 

It doesn’t fool her. “I’m sorry.” There is a pause.

“You knew that person, right? I don’t- I just,” she stumbles over her words, then inhales deeply as if using the time to sift through her thoughts. 

“I’m really sorry, Vash.” She sounds like she’s genuinely hurting for him. 

It hits him, borderline physically. He doubles over with a choked sound. It’s condolences that he has no right to, condolences that narrow all the pain into one pinprick of energy that explodes in an awareness that for all his attempts, this loss is his and personal, and that he is the last person to truly and well grieve Rollo the person. 

The tears that had blurred Wolfwood’s silhouette as they had argued return and, in the cradle of her care, they begin to spill. He buries his face in his hands, tries to muffle the soft gasps for air with his flesh. He isn't allowed to cry, when all of this suffering is of his making, but he can't stop it anymore. Today, there is truly nothing he can do.

“Vash? Vash!” Her voice breaks with distress and there he goes, causing hurt again.

Meryl squeezes through the gap between seats, practically falls onto him in the process when her foot catches on something. Her hands clutch onto Vash’s coat and when she rights herself in the seat next to him, they don’t let go. Instead, she pulls and pulls until his body tips over like a sack and into her arms. 

There is an awareness the way he’s folded is incredibly awkward, but it is secondary to all other new sensations wrapping him up. The softness of Meryl’s jacket and the faint scent of grime and sweat that clings to it after today, the warmth of her skin where his face is pressed in the crook of her neck and the fast flutter of her heartbeat, her arms shifting around him to find a way to somehow hold more of him, succeeding. She rubs his back soothingly as she begins to rock just so. 

He had been right - the moment she touches him, Vash falls apart like a sand castle swallowed by a sandstorm. It hurts and it is like the most violently beautiful firework, a flourish of feelings that highlights just how often he has bitten back tears on his own. And it is as if his heart is pouring them all out now, as his quiet sobs turn into whimpers that collapse into each other. 

His arms wrap around her entirely, trying to anchor himself to her, as if the force of the storms in him, as if he himself, couldn’t break her in half easily. 

But Meryl feels firm as she holds him and though some of the sand is sure to trickle through her fingers, never to be regained, just like the life extinguished today, part of him knows already she will not let him be lost entirely as he breaks and crumbles.

So he cries, trying to make himself smaller still when the pain in his waist becomes too much and immediately, Meryl scoots back to let him collapse onto her more comfortably. Her hand slips into his hair, fingers running through gently, and all the simple touch brings about a new wave of tears. 

It is not like the hugs Rem gave in comfort, enveloping him in a sense of safety that he can no longer recall. Luida soothing herself as much as him in the aftermath of the bloodbath that had taken his arm. 

It's almost too much and it is all Meryl, sweet and unyielding in a way that briefly lets him imagine there are no pretenses between them and she would hold him just the same. He clings to it, to her, focuses on the physicality of her in his arms and holding him to not get lost in the storm of sensations entirely, and grieves what has been and what cannot pass. That graveyard stretches as far as the eye can see and he could spend days mourning in there, but not even Vash can cry forever. 

Still, he has no sense of time or even anything beyond the aching jungle in his chest and the circle of her arms when he finally lifts his head a little, having regained just enough composure. 

"There you are," she whispers, her hands coming to gently wipe at the wetness on his face. He immediately misses being held and has to fight back an urge to follow her touch when she pulls one of her hands away.

She digs in her pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, a little wrinkled but clean. "May I?" 

His expression must have been puzzled, clearly enough.

"Your glasses and just-" she gestures at his face a little awkwardly. 

Oh. It’s her recognition that he’s ceased crying that finally makes the realization dawn that he really ought to move away now, that there’s no longer a reason to remain clinging to Meryl. He shifts to pull away, one hand pushing at the backseat for some leverage. If his other arm still hangs loosely around her waist, that is nobody’s business. Maybe not even his own, just for tonight.

Immediately, Meryl wraps her left arm around his shoulders again and holds him down - at least puts in the effort to. He could get out with ease and even without alarming her, but the warmth of her touch weighs on him in an entirely different way. Vash lets it anchor him down.

"May I?" she repeats and again, he can't say no to her soft insistence. He nods, not trusting his voice.

Meryl removes his glasses carefully, her fingertips brushing over his ears and temples lightly and again he has to think how warm she feels. Not in the same way his own body runs at high temperatures, but there is always a spark of warmth left in the wake of her touch, her smile. 

The thought scatters when her eyes widen suddenly and there is a surge of panic in his throat that what minimal light is there has caught his eyes without the protective wear, reflecting in a way humans’ can’t and she will ask or push or scream-

Meryl does none of those things and meticulously wipes his glasses, smudged from tears and being pressed against her, instead. (Maybe he is just paranoid, to think he’d be exposed from a single moment like that.) When she is done, she puts them on the seat beside her where he won't accidentally crush them if he shifts and turns her attention to him, gently wiping his face. The fabric is a little rough, but she’s trying so hard to be tender with it. 

He thinks that if he ever braved mending the suncatcher, there should be a string of glass beads the color of low moonlight and shadow playing over her face, her smile in this moment, the midnight blue of her eyes at this hour. He memorizes it all the best he can, his eyes tracing over her features again and again, to keep it like a stolen photograph from an album he should not have had access to in the first place.

“Here,” Meryl presents the handkerchief to him when he lets out a gurgling exhale, his nose still stuffed. Crying, he finds, is such a humanly uncomfortable experience, and yet, it always catches up to him. Perhaps a little (a lot) like death.

This time, she lets Vash go when he moves to sit up to blow his nose several times, loudly. He wonders if she got a handkerchief after the last time they had shared the backseat and she had been the one crying instead. (Was it then that she had rubbed out the lines in the sand between them with her boot? Or was it him that had stumbled over them?)

Meryl tells him to keep it for later, when he thanks her and awkwardly tries to decide how to give it back to her and he tucks it away in one of his pockets. When he has his glasses back on in another moment, Vash feels…

Not fine, no. But like the pressure of the tangle in his chest has lessened, enough to let him breathe and not feel like every noise digs into his senses like a battering of sand grains anymore. He has numbed enough for the sandstorm to swirl its way to the horizon where it stays, ominous.

They both shuffle to opposite sides of the car and huddle down to at least attempt to sleep without anything else really being said. Meryl's breath evens out after an hour or two and eventually it lulls him to sleep, too.

Vash's dreams pull him to the surface often and he hardly feels any more rested by the time Wolfwood yanks the door open and announces breakfast is ready and sleeping princesses should get ready for the day. Meryl almost falls out of the car since Wolfwood opens the door she's been leaning against. Both he and Nicholas reach out to catch her and Vash feels like saying something scathing to him because he'd been the one to choose that door, but the way Wolfwood holds his gaze for a split second before pulling his hand away like it's been burned takes away any words Vash has.

Meryl lets Nicholas have a piece of her mind anyway, justifiably.

Breakfast is spent quietly and quickly, Vash only picks at his food despite Meryl's worried looks. He doesn't feel much like he deserves to eat and laugh right now. Wolfwood tears into his portion with almost pointed gusto. And then they're back on the road.

At some point, Roberto announces they are splitting paths like the smart man he is and Meryl's upset, protesting noises are kind of adorable, if utterly dooming, should she get her way.

“You are fine with that, right?” Roberto asks and he shrugs in response. He has to be. He is. 

When they come to the port, Vash hopes they'll part as soon as they get out of the car, but Meryl insists on walking him and Wolfwood to the docking point. He isn't surprised that Nicholas is coming with him, not anymore.

At some point, Vash had wondered if the other man was here for him or if he would stick with the reporters and protect them instead when the parting came. In those early weeks, after Nicholas and Meryl had started talking again and something had shifted between them, like a wind current pushing clouds together. It had been a comforting thought - that they'd be kept safe (and when it came to Meryl, maybe even happy) and Wolfwood wasn't a manifestation of his brother's will. 

But Vash knows Wolfwood is so much more than that, had known even then. The road the undertaker has been set out on and the man stealing Meryl's hat and yanking Vash's hood over his head are not the same. He wishes Nicholas saw that, too. 

As they stop near the embarking spot, Roberto starts to talk with some dock worker about the sansteamer and Vash winces inwardly at some inaccurate details, because he'd been there when it was first assembled and set to sail across the dunes and- But this isn't about the machinery at all, it's to let them say goodbye.

Vash isn’t good at those, the way he leaves is usually in the soft pre-dawn hours or while merriment in a saloon has reached the high point, and everyone's better off for it. The only people he really says farewells to are Luida and Brad and it is a promise to see each other again, no matter how much more scarred and battered he will be upon return. (Will he be keeping it this time, too?) 

He shuffles a little awkwardly in front of Meryl, rubs at the back of his head. She seems to be seized with similar uncertainty and he tries not to blame his crying fit last night for it. It doesn't go very well.

“About the article…” Meryl trails off, wrings her hands. She isn’t happy about how things have turned out. Maybe she wants to apologize. He can’t let her.

“I am sure it will be great,” Vash tells her and he means it. It will be far better than he deserves, even. 

He thinks that if there is an after, he would have loved to visit her some day, to see the excellent, sharp and just reporter she grows to be, in person. Share some laughter about their roadtrip over a cup of coffee at her favorite coffee shop she mentions at least once every three days. Something simple like that. But he won’t age while Meryl will and seeking her out is drawing a target on her stark white jacket’s back, so it is not something that can happen. If there is an after, he will find Meryl’s name in scraps of paper and maybe glimpse of her on TV when she becomes a news anchor like she aspires to. And it will ache a little, similar to the way his left arm does sometimes. A phantom ache of not something lost, but something almost had. But mostly he will be happy that she survived him.

“I will make them see the truth. I will clear your name,” she promises and he smiles, makes sure it doesn’t look sad. The truth is far worse than anything Meryl knows. 

“I trust you.” And he’s damned for it, or he has damned her. 

Meryl unclenches her hands suddenly and reaches, grabs hold of his (both). Her touch is a little clammy, a little desperate, like she’s trying to press her sincerity into him. “I promise to get to the bottom of this. I really do.” 

“Thank you.” There is too much to be expressed with just those two words, an essay’s worth of gratitude for the little things like haggling over a couple donuts so he can have his favorite treat, and so much more for the fundamental way Meryl is. The way she has seen him as someone good, enough to fight on his behalf in the one battlefield he is entirely useless on. Even if it is futile, even if he doesn’t deserve her defense at all, he appreciates it like one would an aspect of an art piece. It is just one of those things that make her Meryl Stryfe.

There is a cough behind Meryl and it catches him just enough off-guard to be alarming that he hasn’t noticed Roberto shifting his attention to them. Meryl jumps a little, but doesn’t let go before giving his hands a squeeze. They feel empty somehow, without her touch, and he doesn't know where to put them anymore, so he stuffs them in his pockets, right hand touching the handkerchief she gave him. Ah, he never got to wash it and return it. An odd, small debt that lodges in him like a splinter.

Wolfwood’s smirking around his cigarette, but it has more bite than teasing, unlike the ones Vash has grown used to. 

So much for avoiding long good-byes.

Vash takes a step back, then another and gives the reporters a cheery little smile and wave. Roberto returns it lazily, but Meryl is standing there with her fists clenched at her sides and a furrow between her brows.

“Have a safe trip back!” he calls and tries not to think about all the things that could go wrong. It doesn’t concern him anymore, the shared path ends here. To draw the line more clearly in his own mind, Vash turns and doesn’t look back. He can hear Wolfwood following him, though he stops for a moment and the noise takes away what Meryl tells the undertaker, and he is still on a warpath, it seems. 

“I thought you guys were friends.”

“No way,” Vash responds with enough cold dismissal to make it convincing to his own ears.

Wolfwood says something about him being cold and he grits his teeth in response. He can’t undo what has been done to Rollo, not even whatever hells Wolfwood has been put through, but he can try to understand, even through his anger. Yesterday, he would have given anything to bring Rollo out of the darkness his pain had enveloped him in. Wolfwood is still here, still alive and so much closer to the surface. So close that his kindness condensates like dew on leaves on everything he touches for more than a minute. 

Yes, he decides as they step onto the deck. Wolfwood deserves to be given a chance just as much. (Rollo’s hands had been drenched in blood, too. Vash knows that.) The road to JuLai winds far and long ahead of the two of them. And sometimes the most important path is measured in words, not steps. 

So, Vash starts talking.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vashmeryl #mashwood #in the fringes #rainy writes stuff #my fic

[nukyster-blog]

Adrift chapter 19)Threshold

.-.-.

Blocking out fear or masking pain had been Ivar’s second nature. But he lacked the ability to keep some emotions to himself. In an instant his cheeks were rosy and even a blind fool could spot the source of Ivar’s heated flush. 

‘By the Gods, why did I pick her as third-person, of all people?’ He questioned himself, unable to look further than the tips of his feet. Either way, his gaze would cross with one of his travel companions and both made him anxious and jittery. Ivar briefly wondered which of the maidens made him the most uncomfortable and eventually decided that the one kissed-by-fire victored over Piglet’s smoldering silence.

Which did not automatically mean he’d rather stay near Piglet. Not by far. 

The whole thing left him plagued and indecisive; torn. With every fiber of his being he despised how his body reacted to touch; to being touched. He vividly recalled Piglet’s face contorted with fear and terror when Ludolf assaulted her. And yet, he longed for the maiden. For both and one was willing. He was a cripple, how could he possibly turn down such an offer? 

Deep down Ivar sensed he should decline the offer; and yet he could not help himself and, anxious, he crawled towards the shallow creek to fresh up. 

The evening passed dreadfully slowly, Ivar occupied himself by setting rabbit traps around the forest edge surrounding their campsite. Piglet had troubled herself with making a fire, due to the dryness of the earth and forest floor she’d made it at least fifteen feet away from the ox-wagon, which Ivar thanked the Gods for. 

As night settled in, the guilt started to eat at him. He reached for the watersack of ale and, before crawling toward the fire, he made a detour toward the ox-wagon. 

“Piglet?” Ivar lowered his head to peek underneath the wagon. Piglet’s back faced him and she pulled her knees up once she heard him speak her byname. 

“Piglet, please speak to me?” Ivar detested how his question came out as a plea. He was at a crossroad, one he could not come back from and he wanted her to seize the chance of changing his mind. All he wanted was for her to turn around, roll her eyes and be called hamar. 

But Piglet remained frozen in her position and did not bother to utter a word, not even a crude one. 

And so Ivar passed the threshold of no return and crawled toward the campfire. 

.-.-.

He wasn’t drunk per se, but he’d drunk more than enough to feel woozy and to dull the sharp edge of his anxiety. The flames sent red sparks dancing into the warm summer breeze. He told himself the flush on his face wasn’t attributed to his shyness; but to the heat of the fire. 

She came and joined him; her hair still wet from the shallow creek. Without a word she reached for the watersack which he allowed her to take without a protest. He looked her over shyly as she drank and swallowed a thick lump. 

She was in the business of selling her body, and he was no fool; he knew whatever interaction there would be between them would simply be an exchange for her. 

Briefly, he wondered if it meant anything to him and he decided that it did. And then he pushed away all the crippling thoughts of being less. For one night he wanted to be a man and he did not care that she’d see him. 

They passed the watersack a few times before she raised on her feet. Ivar gazed up at her, mouth suddenly dry as he watched her reach for the buttons on her dress. Undoing them in swift movement and allowing the fabric to sink to the forest floor gave away she’d done this many times before; naked, composed and unashamed. 

Such a world of difference. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice shouted something about Piglet and for a mere moment he glanced over his shoulder, at the sleeping silhouette beneath the ox-wagon. 

His gaze was set back on the one kissed by fire, watching her part her lips. He swallowed audibly, afraid to meet her eyes and so he focused on her breast. Ivar could feel the band in his groin beginning to strain and his breath became shallow. She slowly moved to straddle him and he let out a strangled choke at the weight and warmth of her. He couldn’t think, lips ajar and heart racing. Finally he dared to blink up at her. She gazed down at him, hand reaching to stroke his cheek. And he let her, all he could do was focus on her touch and his face must have given away his desperation, because she kissed him. The sheer lack of control was overpowering and he wanted, no needed, a glimmer of it back. 

And so he collapsed against her, fervently kissing her back. Sinking into her mouth, he could not believe how aroused he was, inhaling her sent, smoothing his hands over every inch he could reach. His hips bucked involuntarily upward and it was almost painful how much he wanted this. Her hands worked fast, tugging at the hem of his tunic. Slowly she sank down onto him and his eyes screwed shut in igneous euphoria.

And then she moved and he let out a choke and a moan. There could not be anything more in the world that he needed more than the way she moved atop of him. Not even air. His hips bucked against her and he swore underneath his breath when she bobbed upward with the rhythm of his hips, not allowing him any control or relief. He stopped moving obediently, leaning forward, feeling the curves of her breasts on either side of his face. Her movements were so agonizingly slow and yet she was the kindest torturer. All he could do was focus on how she felt around him. He couldn’t breath and the sounds he made weren’t manly at all.

He didn’t care though, he didn’t care that he didn’t last long, or the way his tunic stuck against his hips. As came back from his climax he blinked at her. With pupils blown she glanced down at him, for a moment Ivar thought he detected pity but then she pressed a kiss atop of his lips and he decided not to search for abjection. 

Their exchange of conversation was brief.

“I- I- didn’t think I could- I…” clearly the lack of blood made it hard to articulate.

“-You were alright, mon cheri,” she cut him off, evidently pleased with herself, “you weren’t the worst,” she added while standing back up and moving back towards her discarded dress. 

Ivar didn’t know if that was meant as a compliment or a critique. The rush started to wear off and although he sat near the fire, cold crept into his system. 

“I still don’t know your name,” he insisted. 

“It’s Valerié,” she briefly said while buttoning up her dress, “and what’s hers?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of the ox-wagon.

Her question dropped down on him like a boulder and he failed to look over his shoulder.

“Her name is Piglet.”

“Piglet,” she snorted, “that’s truly her name?” Valerié exclaimed humorously. 

Ivar nodded, giving away Piglet’s real name was out of the question, he betrayed her enough for one night. 

“Please don’t tell her?” He pleaded softly.

“Don’t tell her what mon cheri? That we fucked?” She questioned unphased, smile turning into a little ‘o’ as he cringed at her words, “oh don’t tell me you two never…?” Her voice drifted away, giving him a once-over when he shook his head. She frowned at him, laughed and threw her gaze up skywards.

“You are an odd one, you know that?” She taunted but pressed her index finger against her lips: “but fear not, it’ll be our little secret.” 

.-.-.

A/N: Yes so…for the dear readers who’ve been waiting patiently for the slowburn between Piglet and Ivar to spark, well a fucking torch named Valeríe came in between. Apparently torturing Ivar isn’t enough, everyone shall feel bad in this story, even the readers at times. 

But hey, Ivar got laid!

Would love to read your thoughts,

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

@conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

@peachyboneless

@adhdnightmare

@khiraeth

@funmadnessandbadassvikings

@ dekusdante  @neondragons7

@bitter-post-millennial​

@noway4u 

 @tessakate

#ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar fanfic #ivar #ivar fluff #ivar imagine #ivar oc #vikings #Vikings History #vikings au #vikings fanfic #vikings edit #vikings fandom #alex hogh andersen

[pocket-ozwynn]

Offline Valor: Chapter 2

[Borrower!AU]

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word Count: 3587

CW: Blood, flashbacks of death & violence

Rowan the Crownbreaker, son of Clan Ash, knew he should feel more pain than this. 

His fingers twitched idly as he stood upon the rampart of cardboard and cobble. Through the open window at the far end of the room came a warm, arid wind that smelled of a storm. It filled the cavernous attic’s interior almost like a whispering omen from the Low Heavens. Rowan desperately wished he could close the window, but to do so would require a strength that none in Clan Ash possessed.

With no other option, Rowan opted to stand watch. He stood vigilant upon the wall for any sign of shadow that might cross the window in front of the warm amber glow of the monolithic light pole that stood as a lonely sentinel for this block of the sleepy titanic neighborhood. He even readied himself whenever he heard a cricket too loud, lest a mercenary ranger from the Forsaken Fane swoop in under cover of night.

Despite his resolve, his eyelids grew heavy. He bit his cheek and dug his fingers into the cardboard, hoping that a bit more tactility would keep him alert. He could sleep when the Lowlord lay in a pool of his own blood. 

He wasn’t worthy of rest, not yet. 

Be it the gravity of exhaustion or the absence of Ash’s typical merriment around their warrior’s sacrament, Rowan found his attention flitting down to examine the meager campfires near the base of the wall. He surveyed the loose circles of tissue paper tents and the faintly illuminated faces of the remnants of his family polishing off their crumm finalis. Typically there was laughter, singing, and dancing, but tonight the camp was silent as a grave. There would be no singing before the morrow.

As he took note of those who were alive and those who were absent, Rowan felt a pain like a dull knife carving deep in the chambers of his heart. It was a slow, methodical feeling. He hurt, but he felt like he deserved to hurt more. 

It almost didn’t seem fair.

Rowan spied his aunt, the Raidsinger Nail, slipping out from her tent and making her way over to speak with one of his cousins. Though the cousin sat outside the glow of the fires, he could only assume she was attempting to make last minute preparations for their final stand against Lowlord Yucca’s forces in the morning. 

The stairs creaked behind him. 

Rowan’s hand was a blur as fingers curled around creaking leather and plastic as he gripped the hilt of his dagger. He pivoted, the blade ready to fly from his fingertips-

-as he turned, a hand caught his wrist. Rowan grunted in surprise.

“A bit slow on the draw, nephew,” came the soft chuckle of Uncle Oleander. He released his grip and let Rowan’s wrist fall. “Rest easy, ‘tis only me.”

Rowan sighed. He sheepishly sheathed his blade. “My apologies, Uncle.”

“For being too slow? Or nearly slitting my throat?” His uncle grinned as he moved to join him upon the parapet. And though Oleander teased, Rowan couldn’t help but feel a bit of embarrassment at both his ineptitude and paranoia.

“All is forgiven, Rowan,” Oleander hummed as he laced his fingers and rested his arms on the wall. Though his lips were a permanent smile under his mustache, the glow from the campfires below cut strange shadows across his face that almost seemed to cast him in a dark, weary light.

“I see appetite has eluded you as well,” his uncle noted. “This kind of thing always leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I personally try to avoid connotations between merriment and death. But your aunt typically revels in tradition. So if the Raidsinger wishes to perform one last crumm finalis, to give our clan a little faith, then I see little harm in it. Faith can be a powerful motivator, after all.”

Rowan didn’t respond. He had his own personal distaste for the crumm finalis, but that all seemed so trivial at the moment. After a few seconds of the two men studying the camps below, his uncle cleared his throat.

“How do you fare?” he finally asked as he looked toward Crownbreaker. His tone was somber. “Nail was looking for you.”

Rowan could answer honestly. In truth, he felt vivisected–laid bare before an altar of rage and anguish. But despite the pain, he still couldn’t feel anything. How do you explain a paradox of this sort?

“I fare.” Rowan shrugged halfheartedly.

There was a beat as Oleander waited for Rowan to elaborate. When he did not, his uncle turned his full attention towards the Crownbreaker. With his hand now resting upon the saffron pommel of his rapier he asked, “Is it fear? Grief? I know this last excursion into Ash Haven might have been difficult for you…and you were one of the few who made it out alive.”

Rowan shuddered. His mind went back to Lowlord Yucca…the look of fury in his eyes…the hands at Rowan’s throat. Rowan couldn’t even think of the family he lost that morning, all he could feel was the Lowlord’s fingers digging into his neck

“No,” Rowan corrected quietly. He dug his fingers deeper into the parapet till he felt the cardboard bend under his grip. “Anger.”

His uncle clicked his tongue knowingly. 

“Anger can be stoked for the most righteous of causes,” Oleander admitted with a sigh. “But it is a hot coal and if one is not careful, it can easily devour if left unattended.”

Rowan flinched as his uncle put a hand on his shoulder. Rowan felt guilty for not being able to meet his eyes. He knew his uncle was right–he was always right, but the gravity of this conversation made it feel like this might very well be Oleander’s final lesson to him. 

“Be careful with how long you let that emotion dwell, Rowan.”

Silence fell over the pair as they regarded the titanic vista beyond the faroff window. Oleander stroked his mustache thoughtfully as rolling dark clouds started to choke the Heavens Low. Oleander drew breath and went to say more, but-

Cold water ripped Rowan the Last back to consciousness. 

He gasped and flailed. Panic replaced the air in his lungs as the chill robbed him of his breath. As he splashed around, his fingers managed to find a glass rim that encircled him. He gripped the rim till his knuckles went white. His knees knocked against a wall in front of him, and his feet settled on a floor of some kind. He steadied his breathing as he slowly regained awareness…

Not drowning then. Just standing in a vertical glass tub filled with cold water.

Rowan couldn’t be sure what was happening. His memory felt melted–it was hard to grasp the last few days, let alone what happened to get him in this position.

All he could remember was Uncle Oleander’s face…his words…

The storm.

The Lowlord.

The decimation.

Even as Rowan tried to come to his senses, he saw movement around him, before him, and above him.

When Rowan finally had the sense to look up, he recoiled and pressed up against the back of the glass tub. It all was coming back to him now, like ink to water.

Rowan had nearly forgotten about the titan that saved him.

The titan was a woman with soft pink hair that cascaded past her shoulders like soft waterfalls. Her features were smooth and her eyes dark and soft. She had grace and femininity that belied her mountainous figure.

In fact, Rowan would dare say she was rather pretty.

She pulled her hands back ever so slightly and fingers the size of able bodied men curled back instinctively; however, she still kept her hands hovering within grabbing distance of him and the glass tub.

“You’re…” The Titan seemed breathless. Her eyes were wide and kept darting with microscopic movements. “...you’re not dead. That’s, um…pog.”

As soon as that last word slipped out the Titan closed her eyes tight. Rowan wasn’t sure the meaning of, but it certainly wasn’t one that the Titan had intended.

“I mean, um…wow. Sorry, l-let’s try that again,” the Titan laughed awkwardly. She pursed her lips and swallowed. “You’re awake.”

Rowan slowly nodded. He was too exhausted to verbalize any sort of response. While out of his periphery he could tell they were in the kitchen, he refused to look away from her. 

He searched her face for any indication that might suggest she meant him harm. And despite his searching, he saw nothing that suggested ill will. The memory of her words–you can trust me–was an odd reassurance that filled his chest with an uncomfortable warmth. The moment he felt that, he tried to shove down. Every lesson of Oleander bubbled under the surface of his groggy consciousness like hot tar as he considered his next move and the echoes of his family screaming in his ears: do not trust her.

And yet… 

Rowan ran a damp hand down his face as he broke her gaze. He closed his eyes and tried focusing on the feeling of his calloused skin against his scruff. The sensation was oddly grounding. He sighed, then scooped up a bit of water to splash his face.

Perhaps sensing he was finally relaxing just a bit, the Titan pulled her hands back all the way and took a seat. Earth Below, even sitting, she easily towered over the kingslayer.

Rowan got a better look at the kitchen. It was a bit tidier than some of the other titan homes he had frequented. The walls were white, the cabinets were dark black, and the fixtures brass. A massive chrome coffin with two handles on one side stood proudly off to the side–it was a Frigid Vault. Rowan fondly remembered when Aunt Nail taught him how to throw up a hook and rope to get a secure grip on one of the handles. Within the Vault lay many wondrous feasts that were preserved by the icy magics of titanic understanding. 

But for once, Rowan wasn’t considering looking for food. The thought of eating made him nauseous.

He was up on the counter by the sink. Between him and the brass canyon was his cloak, his shirt, his daggers, a pair of tweezers fit for the fingers of a titan, and a tube of medicine salve that Rowan recognized from foraging runs.

Finally, he spied a large washcloth bundled up like a hill of linen next to his clothing and weapons. It had once been an olive green, but now it was stained with blood. A lot of blood.

He could only assume it was his. 

“Take deep breaths for me, okay?”

Rowan frowned as he listened to her voice. For some reason hearing such a gargantuan person make such a soft spoken request was genuinely disarming. He’d never met a titan before–never even thought he’d meet a one–so any expectations of what might sound or act like was based around the stories told to him. Her timbre was surprisingly clear and concise, and she sounded like any Borrower woman of his own size.

Eventually he relented, and tried calming his breathing with deep inhales and steady exhales. As he breathed he felt a bit of soreness in his left side that prickled into a twist of mild pain–it was enough to make him wince. Whether or not the Titan picked up on that, she gestured to the left side of his chest with a finger.

“I, um…had to take off your shirt. Had to see where you were bleeding and why.”

Upon hearing this, Rowan looked down. He still wore his boots and trousers, both of which were properly soaked through. His muscles glistened from the water and the lawn mower's marks stood brightly in contrast–it was a deep lattice work of scars across his pallid skin that he was still getting used to.

Opposite of the burned tissue that dominated the right side of his chest, he spied a strange patch that hugged his left pectoral. It went down to his abdomen, then wrapped back beneath his armpit and nearly touched his spine. The patch’s material was rather confusing to Rowan. It seemed to be some kind of malleable plastic.

“It looked like a stitch had popped,” the Titan explained as she absentmindedly smoothed out her shirt. “It probably came loose from your run in with Chu Cu.”

Even as the words left the Titan’s mouth, she puffed out her cheeks and looked off. It was as if some kind of realization crossed her mind. She ran a hand through her hair and looked in desperate need of a drink. “This is…absolutely f@$%ing insane...”

Rowan squinted. He wasn’t quite sure what that fourth word meant, but he presumed it was some kind of titanic vulgarity. 

After a prolonged moment of silence, the Titan threw her hands up in the air.

“PLEASE say something!” she blurted. Rowan jumped in the tub at the sudden din of her words. “You haven’t said a single thing! I’m trying not to just freak out here! You’re a little man who nearly got eaten by my neighbor's cat, I just cleaned up a lot of your blood, and fixed your stitching. So I would really like some help feeling like I’m not just totally losing my mind right now!”

She looked down at him pleadingly. Rowan looked up at her as he tried to figure out a proper response. Lazuli had been the one with the silver tongue, not him. How could he possibly hope to console a titan and explain to her what he was? 

As he attempted to gather his thoughts, a look of horror washed over her expression as she seemed to recognize how her outburst might’ve come off. She put a hand to her mouth then whispered brokenly, “O-Oh f@$%! I didn’t mean to shout...I-I’m so so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare y-”

At that, Rowan actually managed a chuckle. It was mirthless noise, and it seemed to catch the Titan’s off guard.

“Believe me, miss.” Rowan ran a hand over his dirty hair and shrugged. “Far more terrifying and monstrous things have left me unphased. And seeing as you are neither terrifying nor monstrous, you have nothing to apologize for.”

The Titan stared at him. Despite partially covering her mouth, he noticed her jaw hanging slightly though Rowan couldn’t be sure as to why.

“Y-You are confused,” Rowan pointed with a groan as readjusted himself in the glass tub. He winced from the accumulated pain he’d accumulated over the last few weeks of running. “I would be too, were the roles reversed…so I apologize for any untoward anxiety I might have put into your heart.”

The Titan just mouthed a three word phrase of disbelief that Rowan couldn’t decipher. She blinked and looked taken aback. “I, um…wow. Huh. I…didn’t expect you to be so, um…”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. The Titan cleared her throat and shook her head.

“N-Nevermind,” the Titan replied. “I’m just glad you’re awake and you seem to be doing okay. How do you feel?”

How did Rowan feel?

He felt carved out–hollowed. It was like there was nothing left inside. And truthfully, he felt exhausted.

None of that, of course, was the Titan’s fault.

“I am well enough off.” Rowan waved her off. “But I am grateful for the aid. You saw the beast attempting to eat me, and you stopped it. You saw I was bleeding and suffering from the sun’s heat, and you took me in and treated my wounds and put me in a…”

He paused, then looked down at the water and the glass, upright tub. “...I believe this is a bathtub?”

The Titan looked a bit flustered before correcting him. “That’s, um…that’s a shot glass, sir.”

Rowan processed that. Then a rogue smile tugged at his lips as a flicker of amusement danced in his chest. “You put me in a cup?” 

“Okay well when you put it like that it sounds like a really dumb idea, but I was panicking!” the Titan protested with a furious blush. “I wasn’t gonna like, drink you or anything! Th-that was just the first clean thing I saw that could hold water!”

“I know, I know,” Rowan reassured with a chuckle. “Sometimes physicians simply have to work with what they have at their disposal.”

The Titan furrowed her brow. “You…you think I’m a physician? N-No, I’m just a-”

“Regardless of what I ended up in, I hope you know how thankful I am for your charity, lady-titan. I cannot recount an instance in recent memory where a titan has expressed that degree of kindness upon seeing a Borrower like myself. So, again, I thank you.”

The Titan’s expression softened. She smiled and hummed, “Oh, um…yeah. For sure. Y-You’re welcome, little guy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

After a moment of awkward staring and Rowan standing in the cup of cold water, the Titan moved to stand. Rowan’s breath hitched as he was reminded of the Titan’s scale.

“I have…so many questions for you,” the Titan admitted with splayed hands, “but I don't want to overwhelm you. You’ve gone through hell, and I don’t wanna add to it. So, um…you just, ah…have a nice soak, and…um. You just shout when you’re done, okay? Take as long as you need, there’s no rush.”

Rowan felt a surprising wave of gratitude, but it wasn’t without discomfort. Time was not a luxury that nomads like Clan Ash could afford. So to hear the Titan wishing to simply table her curiosity till he had time to rest was perplexing. 

“Are you certain? I understand if you have questions, and I wish to answer whatever I can. If you wish to speak now, we can speak. This is not a grievous wounds, I am well able to spe-”

“I’m sure.” The Titan grinned. “Look, guy…I’m not gonna push you. You just rest and we can talk later. But, like…also, if you change your mind and just want to leave, I mean. Window’s open. But please if you do decide to leave, just give yourself an hour or so to cool off. Then make sure you get plenty of water in you, and please please stay in the shade when you’re outside. It’s a kajillion degrees, and I wouldn’t want you getting a heatstroke, okay?”

Rowan considered her words. “I appreciate that. Though I believe I will be staying, if only for a moment. I owe you an explanation in order to express my thanks for you saving me, gracious titan.”

The Titan grew visibly flustered at that. “O-Oh, I have a name ya’ know. You’re sweet but, um…gracious? And, titan? Too much, dude. I’m just a normal person–call me Zelly.”

“Zelly,” Rowan mulled over the name. “Sounds very regal. Are you nobility?”

The Titan–Zelly–threw her head back and guffawed. When she looked back down at Rowan she gasped, “Oh, you were being serious? Um. No. Definitely not nobility. Um…are you nobility?”

“Neither am I, thankfully,” Rowan wryly replied. He was reminded of polished silver and crushed porcelain floors. An open air throne overlooking the treetops. The touch of mercury. The smell of hazelnut. A friend who placed their diadem aside, and sat close to him as they sipped from pewter mugs.

The memory was like sweet vinegar to the taste.

“My name is Rowan the Last, Once-of-Ash,” he added somberly. “But you may call me Rowan.”

“Rowan the…?” Her voice trailed off. Zelly shook her head, as if opting to ask later. “Well, um…Mr. Rowan. You just get some rest, okay? I’m going to grab something from the fridge and, um, go decompress a bit.”

She turned and walked over to the Frigid Vault–which she had called a “fridge”--and effortlessly tugged on one of the handles and opened the Vault with ease. It was a feat that typically took several teams of Borrowers to do, yet she did so with one hand. Rowan could feel a shockingly cold gust of air, even from here.

“Do you want anything?” Zelly asked as she leaned back to meet his gaze. Rowan raised his hand, indicating he was fine.

As Zelly rummaged through the “fridge,” Rowan tried to close his eyes and follow the titan’s request to rest. But even as he closed his eyes, he saw the images burned into his eyelids. He remembered the sound of screaming, the smell of gunpowder, the taste of his own blood…

He remembered hearing the crunch of Uncle Oleander’s shoulder before he vanished from sight as he tumbled off the edge of the roof.

He remembered the Lowlord Yucca running Aunt Nail through with a cruel, gnarled blade.

He remembered when it was just he and Yucca standing on the precipice of shingles while the uncaring storm rained hot tears upon the bodies and blood around them.

He remembered when their blades met. He remembered when two became one, and the Lowlord lay in a pool of his blood.

He remembered how empty that victory felt. 

The dull knife carved deep. The pain pressed upon his heart. The grief was so immense that its weight made his ribs groan. No rest would come.

He would never be worthy of rest.

All left decimated, with only a single speck of Ash on the wind.

Rowan, once of Clan Ash, had truly become the very Last.

#g/t #giant/tiny #gianttiny #gt #Borrower!AU #Borrowers #Offline Valor #g/t writing #g/t community #cw blood #cw death #cw violence #ogtoc Rowan #ogtoc Zelly #ogtoc Oleander #wholesome giantess #Borrower x Streamer #Game of Thrones Borrower #g/t hurt/comfort

[lycantripuwu]

THINGS HAPPENED LAST SESSION

so we saved a raven with blue tipped feathers that we started calling Blue, Mirre is aware that Blue is a lycanthrope but hasn't brought it up out of respect. Rhil went down three times protecting Blue and is suffering from an internal injury and nearly died. but everyone survived!

So then we showed up at the Tser pools and the encampment! had our card readings.

the party took part in campfire story telling, Rhil told the history of her goddess, Jace told a story of Lathander and Mirre told a story about a man that shat himself to death and his ghost screamed until someone brought it toilet paper.

we finished up story telling, Rhil and Mirre went to Madam Eva to get their lingering injuries healed. Rhil with her internal injury and Mirre with his limp from being mauled by a ghoul.(it critted him twice)

Rhil felt something extremely familiar about Madam Eva, Who stated she had never met Rhil before, but maybe she had a grandma from the time she's forgotten.

Madam Eva healed up Mirre and chatted with him saying he had a long road ahead. Mirre stated something along the lines of "doesn't surprise me with the encounters we've had so far." Madam Eva responded with "Some meetings may even stroke your heart, just let the embers and flames guide you."

The go back to take part in the dancing.

One of the vistani named "Artori" that chose Rhil to dance with is apparently looking for Rudolph Van Richten and brought up the fact Mirre has his literal cane(Mirre is unaware of this) and asked her to keep an eye out for him. Rhil offered to help.

Jace gets overwhelmed by a bard dancer and couldn't keep up, Ireena danced too.

Just when we thought no one was going to dance with Mirre(hes a scary boy) he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see the most beautiful vistani woman hes ever seen and asked him to dance before pulling him up towards the fire.

They danced and while they didn't speak much, he was able to keep up with her and even nat 20'd a performance check and put a hand on her hip to pull her close. He learned her name was "Ezmerelda" at the end of the dance and she told him she would remember his name, then walked off and disappeared into the night.

The teasing from the party has been relentless and now they refer to her as "Mirre's girlfriend"

Night went on and Mirre and Ireena called it quits and went to bed.

Jace and Rhil stayed up, after having their own dance by the lake. sat down to relax, It took some coaxing to get Rhil near the lake since shes terrified of open, deep water.

after a while of talking, Jace stared to lean into kiss her. but got too nervous. Luckily Rhil rolled high and got him to stay to talk about it, They ended up kissing!!!

They went to bed, we ended the session on a long rest and level up! aaaa!!

Bonus: Mirre knows its Van Richten's cane/Rapier now.

#dnd #dungeons and dungeons #ttrpg #curse of strahd #ireena kolyana #Dragonborn #dusk elf #bloodhunter #rudolph van richten #ezmerelda d'avenir #madam eva #human #paladin #cleric

[foibles-fables]

new constellations [hfw, aloy/talanah]

EDIT: now a (re-titled) triple drabble on AO3!

[A short little something I threw together for Horizontober 2022 Day 29: Mark! Couldn't resist participating!]

Aloy’s lingering gaze doesn’t pass unnoticed. Talanah smiles at her—such an easy, comfortable thing—and breaks the long crackling-ember silence.

“Looking at this?” She points at a dark freckle near the corner of her nose. The mark stands bold against her skin in the ruddy firelight. “The Sun granted it to me when I was small, and it’s grown with me ever since. Might be funny to say, but—I’m fond of it. All of them, really. Here, watch.”

Slowly, almost reverently, she uses her fingertip to trace a path from memory: a near-perfect triangle of speckles scattered across her cheek, aimed straight at a fourth little dot below the corner of her eye. They’re patterned in a cluster like the stars piercing the clear night sky above them—a new constellation for Aloy to follow and learn.

“Clearly, we can’t all be as Sun-blessed as you are,” Talanah says with the lilt of a laugh. Amber eyes gleaming, she nods at the dense-dusted freckles strewn over the bridge of Aloy’s nose, the arch of her cheekbones, and almost every other place not covered by armor and leather and furs. And then Aloy wonders how Talanah’s same admiring touch might feel all over her own skin—taking her time, thorough, aching, charting every last unexplored point-to-point shape she can find.

The thought of it sparks a shiver from Aloy’s spine to her heart to her hands. Dancing flame-shadows provide cover, but they’re sitting close enough for movements to be sensed.

“No matter how many one has, though, I think it’s our marks that make us.” Talanah nudges Aloy’s shoulder. “Don’t you?”

After a moment, Aloy makes a soft noise of agreement—throat gone dry, ears burning hotter than their fading campfire, very glad that Talanah didn’t realize she had actually been staring at her lips.

#lord knows the marks on Talanah's face might actually kill me #horizontober2022 #horizontober #horizon zero dawn #horizon forbidden west #aloy #talanah khane padish #aloy x talanah #hawk and thrush #foibles_fables

[fineprintedsunsets]

MERCY'S AXE | GRAVE DIGGERS

This Is For Haunted Hoedown Day 2! | My Haunted Hoedown Master-List | Also Apart Of My Campfire Children Collection!

murder plot au + "what's your favorite scary movie?"

Synopsis: Doppelgangers are a problem when you mess with time, another problem Mercy has to deal with.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: this plays with the idea of creating doppelgangers while messing with time. killers. murder. Talk of real serial killers. graphic depictions of death. darkhiker!steverogers x oc

A twig snaps, the muddled sound echoing through the tall pine trees. Mercy is quick to notice. She clutches onto her bloodied ax, wrapping the wood handle in her grasp, spinning around the woods. It looks to be nothing but her, vast woodlands, and the bloody woman she’s just taken the ax to. “Hello!” Mercy calls out, gripping the weapon tightly to her chest.

Another twig snaps as a shadow crosses the tree line, dancing across the bark. Mercy huffs, watching as the shadow makes its way around the trees. “Come out now!” She quips. She is not scared of the lurking shadow, after all, it will be just another victim of her wooden weapon.

Her breath halts as the shadow stops, and emerges from the back of an ancient oak. His body is muscular and taller than Mercy herself.

She’s only ever had victims of the same height.

She knows this man was hiking by the way his backpack balances on his muscled shoulders, his black boats coated in mud. “Who are you, Stranger?” She mocks, seeing his brows raise.

He doesn’t seem the least bit frightened for a man about to have an axe split his skull. His blonde-brown hair perfectly fits his gentle features, his beard covering most of his face.

“Steve.” He replies, his feet never moving from where he stands in these vast woodlands. The breeze rings throughout Mercy’s ears, her own brown strands getting whipped in the wind.

The copper tang of blood fills the air, if Mercy wasn’t so used to it she would have been overwhelmed. Steve didn’t mind the smell either, which was rather odd. “Why aren’t you running, you see bodies often?” A ghost of a smile blesses Steve's lips as he nears Mercy, still unconcerned that blood spatters her clothes, a dangerous weapon clutched against her chest.

“What’s your name?” Steve asks, coming closer, just close enough to look into the eyes of the woman she’s just murdered, if he’d look up at her, he’d realize they are the same pupils Mercy adorns.

“Mercy, Why?” She bites as she waits on bated breath, watching the stranger, waiting for him to pull anything.

“What’s your favorite scary movie, Mercy?” He continues, clutching the straps of his backpack as he crouches down, looking at the large slash wound Mercy delivered to the women just minutes ago. Her face split in half, and the interior of her body smashed against the grass of the forest.

“What is this, Scream?”

“Answer me.” Steve gets up from his kneeling position, running his blue eyes over the corpse again before turning to Mercy, towering over her. One swing is all, that will be all it takes to bring this stranger down, and still, he does not seem concerned at all.

“Pearl.”

“Not that scary, just a girl who’s angry at her mother and is far too horny for her age.” Steve smiles, looking down at Mercy. She is on edge, she doesn't know this stranger, why he was hiking in the woods at six in the afternoon, or why he doesn't at all seem daunted by the woman with her brains scattered in the dense woodland grass.

“It’s more than that, Stranger.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” Mercy counters, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, never taking her eyes off the strangers. His features are toned, and his lips are pliant.

Not that she notices. She has far bigger issues to deal with right now.

“I watch documentaries.”

“What’s your favorite 'documentary' then?” She crosses her arms against her chest, not bothering to focus on the blood that drips from the ax as she holds it with perfect precision.

“Patrick Kearney, Freeway Killer”

Mercy huffs, smiling. “That’s ironic.”

“That so?” Steve raises his brows, his cheeks lifting up at the movement.

“What?” Mercy questions, placing her hands at her hips, letting her palm wrap around the base of the axe, the life-ending end pushing into the grass.

“I think it’s ironic that your favorite horror film is “Pearl”. You just took out your doppelganger with an ax.” Mercy freezes, the intrigued smile disappearing from her lips. Steve notices it too, which has him chuckling.

“Come on, Mercy. You didn’t think you'd get by with the ‘it’s my twin’ card, did you?”

“Who are you?” Mercy grips her axe tighter, watching Steve laugh, hearing his voice echo like a birdsong over the treetops.

“Steve.”

“How did you know?”

“I just did.”

“Let me help you-” Steve cuts Mercy off before she can ask another question. “Hide her.” Her nose scrunches in distaste, “Why would you do that?”

“You’ve been messing with time Mercy, dear.”

“That and an ax.” She huffs, glancing over Steve’s tall frame again. She could use his muscles, she wasn’t overly fond of dragging her doppelgangers out into the words, swinging an ax towards their heads, and dismembering the body.

Steve waits for her, his large fingers laying leisurely against his hip bone. “Fine, but if you pull something-”

“I'll end up six feet deep?”

“Bastard.”

A smile blooms, “Just Steve, Mercy Dear.”

“Grab a goddamn shovel.”

❂

He helped Mercy. Quite well actually. They had gotten done digging almost twice as fast than Mercy herself would have. Nonetheless, she was still tired once they buried the doppelganger in the ground, leaving her body to rot into the woodland's terrain.

Steve’s voice echos a laugh, “Don’t look so tired, Mercy.” She looks up, seeing Steve wipe away dirt from his pants, scoping the last bit of dirt into the now piling mound. “Why?” She asks, her breath coming out in heaves, her lungs exhausted and on the verge of collapsing.

“We're not done yet.”

“We buried her, what more can be done?” Steve joins Mercy at the edge of the dirt mount, situating his back against the makeshift grave, his breath heaves as his muscles peak against his shirt, practically like a second skin.

“You're not the only one messing with time.”

Her eyes bulged at his comment, her tongue twisted at his abrupt words. “We have to bury your doppelganger too, don’t we?”

Steve's brow furrows, a smirk playing on his pink lips. “Should I have mentioned that before?”

“Yes. Steve.”

“Yes, you should have.”

#marvel #masterlist #fanfic #oneshot #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedownmasterlist #hauntedhoedownday2 #inklore