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itsphoenix0724 · 4 months

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Can You Kill A God? (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: No one will ever forget why you are Death's queen ever again.

Based on another fic I wrote which you can read here

Warnings: Gore, blood, the reader is a little sinister but I love it, SMUT (unprotected sex, breeding kink?, oral: m and f receiving)

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I've been really missing Death!Az and Life!Reader recently. Also, I've had an obsession with Get In The Water from Epic the musical and this is what spawned. I did set in Ancient Greece so I did mention a Greek city. Happy New Year!!!

It started as a petty slight. Some stupid mortal king had said they feared Death more than War, so the god had raged a challenge. Your husband doesn’t normally involve himself in other matters, he had no need.

Eris was irrelevant to him.

Of all the other gods he is the only one who was inevitable, who would be permanent despite all odds. Azriel didn’t even feel the need to acknowledge the God of War, but he had started harming your creations, which was unacceptable in his eyes.

The souls had come into the underworld brutalized, they curled into your lap as you wiped their tears with the gossamer of your gown and told you that they had been sent as a message. You shed your own tears as you escorted them to eternal paradise and Death’s eyes went dark with promise as he cupped your jaw.

Then he prepared for battle.

You had to return to the overworld soon, the last phases of winter thawing into springtime greenery. He would sort this mess out before you leave his protection realm. Azriel gathered his allies and they outfitted themselves for combat. He took care to strap the armor to your chest, the gauntlets on your arms, and around your calves, kissing his devotion before securing every piece of metal. You did the same to him taking extra care to protect his heart.

The sight of you almost sent him to his knees.

There are still flowers wound through your hair, nightshade and belladonna make a deadly crown, and the golden glow that seems to permanently surround you bounces off the obsidian steel of your armor.

The battle had been bloody and long, it felt as if you’ve been here for days. Your dress was torn, the cloth shredded around your feet. Blood covered your entire front, caked and cracked into your skin.

You cannot kill a god.

But that doesn’t make the battle any less gruesome.

Nothing would touch you thanks to Death looming over your shoulder. Every attack that may have hit you was deflected by your husband and vice-versa until the God of War catches onto this little tactic and baits Azriel by attacking you. Az had jumped in front of you, a wall of shadows blasting the God of War back a few feet at the risk of wounding him.

But Death had fallen, red blood spilling sickly and sweet onto the fresh spring grass. It reminds you of a splitting pomegranate as the red seeps out and stains the dirt, every god in the field halts their battle and watches

You fall to your knees in front of him, vines starting to curl around him as your magic begs to erupt from your chest to protect what’s yours. Eris gloats from his spot hovering in the air, laughing at Azriel struggling to breathe around the blood coming up his throat. The thorn vines wrap around Azriel to ward off any who might try to weaken him further as you rise to your feet.

“Flower,” he wheezes around a cracked rattle in his throat, shaking his head and trying to sit up. You shush him gently pouring golden light into his chest that does nothing. You are not the Goddess of Healing, life will never stop death, so Az will have to heal on his own. War still mocks your shushing, your tears, calling your magic pathetic.

The earth beneath you starts to rumble.

You are the Goddess of Life, the Goddess of the Earth, the World Shaker, and you will make every God here remember why you are Queen of the Underworld.

Rising to your feet, the earth grumbles and shudders under the very force of your erratic heartbeat. War made a mistake waging this battle in Sparta, his arrogance will be his downfall. Your entire body shakes with rage as you stare at Eris from his spot in the air.

“Get on the ground Eris.” Your voice rumbles in time with the splitting of the earth and War widens his eyes at the splintering ground. Yet, his overconfidence keeps him hovering out of your reach.

“Go home, Little Goddess” He drawls, “You’ve been beaten.” he spits at you with venom in his eyes—a dark, dark laugh bubbles out of your chest like molten lava.

“If you don’t come down here I will collapse every wall in your city, and kill everyone in it.” You glare up at him, and he laughs shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t believe me?” You quirk a brow and the rise around the city starts to shake. “Tell me God, what happens when every last worshiper of yours is dead?” His eyes widen in fear then.

Because that is how you kill a god, you force them into the darkness of being forgotten until they waste away like little more than salt in water.

Faster than a breath thorn-covered vines shoot from the earth and surround War kicking and screaming, golden light begins to glow brightly from your eyes as your fury hauls him to the ground.

People seem to forget that Death is the calm acceptance of something coming to an end. Life joins this realm wailing its existence to the stars, Life can be a very violent thing.

You will break him beyond repair, you can’t hear the sounds of Eris choking on his blood, the only noise in your head is the dull thumping of a war drum. He fights back with as much power as he can muster, but you’re barely trembling with the effort it takes to hold him there. The sinister in your smile reflects in his shining, terrified eyes.

How pretty would it be if lilies sprouted from his lungs?

Someone may be calling your name but you can’t hear anything, the tunnel vision threatening to collapse you entirely. You might not be able to kill him like this but regrowing all of his organs certainly would take some time. Feeling the golden power writhe and wrap around his heart, begging you to let it off its leash and crush, but it’s then that you feel the cooling darkness wrap around your shoulders. Death sweeps his chill gaze over War after rising to his feet. You still hold the line firm, one arm shooting out to block Azriel from any further advancement. The light in your eyes still refuses to dim, but Az wraps a hand around your jaw delicately turning your face toward him.

“You’ve made your point My Love,” the steady weight of his hand calms the rising heat in your blood. “It’s time to let him go.” Azriel didn’t particularly care if you ripped Eris apart and scattered him to the seas, but he knew the guilt would threaten to drag you into the abyss entirely. The light dims, and you drop your hand. Eris falls to the ground like a puppet dropped from strings, coughing blood like shiny red rubies onto the grass. You’re only looking at Az, the wash of reassurance running over your body as you finally process that he’s whole–that he’s standing.

He’s alright.

Death doesn’t deign to even look at War as shadows come around you like dark silk, and you’re back in his realm. He finally sags into your arms as he lets the facade drop, the real pain and exhaustion catching up to him. Az thinks you might call for a medic, but it feels like someone is holding his head underwater. The silk of the sheets feels distant against his skin as your hand strokes his face, and he finally lets his eyes slip closed.

Azriel sleeps for four days.

He wakes in your bedroom, your presence absent, but a pitcher of water remains on the bedside table. The armor he’d donned for battle had been stripped from him, replaced by a black chiton that fell loosely around his chest and hips. He chugs half the water in one go as his power reaches out frantically for you, his heart settles when he feels like your golden aura, and he rises to set off looking.

He finds you beneath an ever-blooming willow tree in Asphodel fields, reading animatedly to a group of children, the golden reeds bellowing in the fresh spring air. They scatter as he leans against the trunk, giggling and laughing as they chase each other into the meadow. You’re overjoyed when you see your husband, throwing his arms around him and crashing his lips to yours.

“Are you all right?” You mutter, gently pushing back the curtain of black hair that had fallen into his eyes. You’re so delicate with him, Azriel feels his heart skip two beats in his chest.

“I’m content,” He hums lazily dropping his nose into your hairline, the lingering smell of lilies floods his senses and calms his nerves as it always does. He nudges his nose to your pulse point before biting gently at your fluttering heartbeat.

“Azriel,” your voice reverberates into his chest, twinning heartbeats thudding together. “You’re still injured.” he continues his exploration of your neck, nipping his displeasure at your attempt to coddle him. Your body shudders as he finds a sensitive point, and you can feel his smug smile at your jugular.

“Let me worship my Goddess in peace,” he rumbles relishing in the feel of your skin and the golden warmth of the fresh sun. He drops to his knees in the dirt, pressing devotion into the curve of your knee as your back thumps against the bark of the willow. He smirks as flowers bloom around you in time with your bashfulness, red poppies matching the pretty flush on your cheeks.

“The souls,” You whip your head from side to side as he runs his hands along the sensitive skin of your thighs. He tilts his head in contemplation, hazel eyes reflecting the warmth like molten gold.

You feel his power ripple around you and a blanket of silence covers the area. Everything goes quiet, no birds chirping or animals running through the surrounding forest, even the rustling of the grass in the wind falls silent under his command.

“No one will bother us now,” Azriel muses, continuing his travels, you squirm under his attention as he climbs higher and higher.

“You’ve been asleep for four days,” You barely get the words out as he runs his thumb delicately over the apex of your thighs, enjoying the feel of you under his hands. “You should really eat something,” He growls his frustration as he bites a dark mark on the sensitive skin.

“I’m trying too, if you would stop interrupting me.” His eyes turn almost black as he focuses his attention on your core again, brushing aside the scrap of silk covering you. Az lets out a guttural moan as your scent floods his senses. He dives in then, feasting on you like he needs it more than air.

He’s wasted precious time with you since he’s been asleep, winter is caving to the sweet spring, but it seems the cold is listening to his prayers and holding on just a little longer. He licks straight to your center, tasting the honeyed sweetness as it floods his mouth. No matter how many centuries you spend together you are always still so responsive to him, you’re twitching and squirming against the tree just about to tumble over that edge when you yank his head away to pull him to his feet. His eyes are glazed over and your slick is dripping down his chin, you haul his mouth to yours tasting yourself on his tongue. All of a sudden his back is against the tree and you sink to your knees before him, tearing at the laces of his pants.

It seems that you’ve missed him as well.

You look up at him through batting lashes, and Azriel strokes his hand along your jaw in adoration. You take him in your mouth and Az feels like molten iron has been poured down his spine, white-hot pleasure blinding all of his senses. Death’s knees begin to buckle under Life’s ministrations, the smug look in her eyes adding to the crumbling of his resolve. He has always laid everything he is at your feet, intimacy is no different. You stroke the rest of won’t fit in your mouth in time with the bobbing of your head and he feels weightless.

Your tongue strokes along a vein on the side of his cock and he explodes almost embarrassingly quickly. It appears that four days had taken more of a toll on him than anticipated. He scoops you into his arms and in a blink you’re in your bedroom. The absurdly large bed stretches across the expanse of the room, the open windows letting in the sun. Azriel tosses you on the cool silk sheets as he stalks on top of you. His lips collide with yours again as he slowly draws one hand up your thigh and draws your underwear down, throwing it somewhere behind him. He thrusts into you in one long motion, and the searing pleasure sends a rumble of power that shakes the very foundation of the palace.

“Calm Flower,” he whispers as he hits the spot inside of you that threatens to launch you into oblivion. “You’ll bring the walls down around us.” You let out a laugh that bubbles into a moan as he continues his languid drive into you over and over. Eventually, Azriel starts to ram into you as his restraint falters like a splitting thread, toying his fingers over the apex of your thighs with musician’s grace as he bites at your neck. He flips you over at lightning speed, your ass in the air as he drives your further into the mattress, your moans muffling into the pillows as your try to keep up with the relentless tempo. You finally tip over the edge right before Az spills himself inside you, your combined release makes him let out a roar so loud the birds flee from their nests in the trees.

He watches himself spill out of you, thrusting it back inside with two of his fingers.

You whine in overstimulation as he crooks his fingers inside of you, he lets out an amused huff as he gently strokes your shaking thighs. Azriel waves a hand, and you hear the water in the bathtub start to run. You stroke a gentle path through his night-dark hair as he leans into your touch.

Yes, spring may be coming soon. The time with your husband dwindles to sparse moments in a dying winter fire, but as Az scoops you into his arms to take you to the bath you enjoy every single moment you have left.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #acotar fanfiction #acosf #azriel spymaster #azriel smut

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voidpetrova · 3 months

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shoulder to cry on — obx men x reader

ONE-SHOTS

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, drug abuse mentioned, child abuse, assault is mentioned, previous relarionships mentioned, pining, slight unrequited love, death mentioned, suicide mentioned — hurt/comfort

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: comforting the obx men during their time of need, helping them heal and cherishing the fact that you're their rock

✧.*

sometimes, the pain of growing up with too present of a father figure is just as harmful as the lack of one. JJ MAYBANK grew up without a mother, she had left him and luke many years back, while jj was just a kid. he didn't deserve it, he didn't ask for it. he had yearned for the love of his mother, the love he would never receive. he was sure his father blamed him for it, for her leaving and never coming back. every fuck-up of his was just another reason for luke's resentment.

luke had his moments, ones where a switch would flip, and his son was the apple of his eye. it was an artificial pride, jj knew it, too. but it never stopped him from smiling, from the temporary joy that filled him to the brim, the fabricated chance that his father was proud of him.

every one of the pogues had seen the aftermath of their arguments, but no one really tried diving deeper into them. no one thought to do something about it, to take action. they all had their priorities in the way—the treasure, ward, the cross—things that jj helped with, but when would the favor be returned? he cried, body trembling with broken sobs, the thought of his pain going unnoticed rubbing salt into the wound. it didn't go unnoticed.

“c'mere, baby,” never in his life did he see himself breaking down in front of anybody, let alone a girl. he didn't harbor enough trust to let loose like that. it was his way of thinking, until you came along. you were the ray of sunshine that finally peaked, bursting through the clouds and the façade that he had so carefully put up. you were his anchor. “i'm here now.”

you were there, you really were. he sobbed, the cold tiles of the floor brushing his bare, bruised legs. he reached out to you, his breathing heavy. tears slid down your cheeks as you took him into your arms, wrapping them around his back as you pulled him in closer than ever. you were his real home, the person he felt safest with. “gonna come live with me, let me take my boy in,” you rambled through tears, his face buried in your neck as you listened to him. you listened to the way he sobbed, and you knew all he had longed for was unconditional love. “i love you, j, i'm so proud of you, so proud.”

all he could do was cry. you would take him in, your parents would take him in. all he felt was love, despite the years of craving it. he nodded through his sobs, and for a while, you sat there. you sat there with him in your arms, stroking his hair while you both cried. in the end, it was okay, because he knew he was safe.

✧.*

nothing ever went to waste. no amount of hard work; blood, sweat and tears—none of it ever went to waste. it was a fact JOHN B needed help accepting. it wasn't that he didn't want to accept it, but he couldn't. every obstacle he had come across sent him into a spiralling abyss of insanity, and he needed help finding his way out.

the time he had spent following his father's tracks, the time he had spent as a refugee—away from you, away from his friends—, the time spent on trial and in a prison cell, none of it ever went to waste, and he never could've done it without you. he had his moments, episodes where he would lose it. it all became too much for him, but the moment came when he watched ward's legacy come to an end, watching his boat blow to pieces. it was all over.

you were the one that caught him when he had collapsed, falling to his knees. you fell right with him. it was all over, it was, finally, all over. he couldn't find it in his heart to believe it, to accept it. he ran a hand through his hair as tears rolled down his cheeks, his breathing elevated as he watched the frenzy of flames in the water.

“it's okay, it's done,” you had brought the words to life as you searched for his attention, hands cupping his cheeks and wiping his tears away. it was all over, a brief, temporary but, nonetheless, existent peace was in store. “you did so good, john b, it's over.”

he knew it was all over the minute he heard it from you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you in. he found all the peace he needed in your presence, your warmth. knowing you had been there the entire time, knowing you would always be there. it was all he needed.

✧.*

papers were scattered across the floor, the room dark and quiet. he didn't need the silence, it was the last thing he wanted. his thoughts ate him alive, sweat trickling down his temple as he sat on the floor, hands pressed against his ears as if to mute the voices in his head. the voices told POPE HEYWARD that he would never amount to anything, that all of his work went to waste. he would never be significant amongst the pogues, not as much as jj and john b. he would never be significant in his father's eyes, in the eyes of the future. no scholarship, no future. nothing. as if there was nothing in store for him.

the only source of light had come to life when his door had cracked open, the light in the hallway embracing his features, his red eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. his father had let you in, guiding you into his room almost immediately, a worried expression on his face. you frowned when you saw him, running to his feet as fast as you could.

“pope,” you began, pausing to scan the mess in his room. the scattered papers, the broken pencils and books that had been torn apart. “talk to me, baby, what's the matter?” he couldn't meet your gaze as he shook his head, allowing the tears to fall freely. all he wanted, more than anything, was a chance at life.

when he finally began breaking down, he didn't fight back as you pulled him into your arms. you felt him tense up, but the feeling lasted a split second, no longer. “there's nothing for me out there, is there?” you could barely make out what he was saying through his tears. your warm hand stroked his cheek as you shook your head, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“got such a bright future, pope, i promise,” you whispered, and it meant something to him. all the pushing, all the fighting he had been doing just to be important. he wanted to find his place, wanted to make everybody proud. “just don't forget me when you're out studying in new york, when you're rich and famous, living in a villa.” he laughed through his tears, and you couldn't resist joining.

despite joking, there was a hint of seriousness in your words. “i won't, i promise.” his words had come out more clearly the second time around. you placed another kiss onto his forehead, “you've come so far, pope. i'm so proud of you, you're gonna be great.” it meant something, more than when people pushed his limits, his capabilities. it was enough to know, at least someone, thought he was doing enough.

when you separated from his touch, he felt his heart stop, his eyes searching your return the following second. you offered him a soft smile as you showed him what you were doing, picking up what had been discarded and thrown around the room. the papers, the books. picking up pieces of him, putting them back together.

✧.*

things had a way of falling into place the same way they had a way of falling apart. sometimes, fate was nice, and decided to show a way out. an exit, despite the previous challenges that awaited completion. RAFE CAMERON was lost, he had no way out, it seemed. a glass child—an abusive, narcissistic sociopath, that's what he was, right? everyone knew him as an aggressive, spoiled cokehead. no one thought to ask why? how?

bags of the white powder remained on his table, sealed shut, two weeks after ward had killed himself. sometimes, he found himself contemplating taking a few lines, knowing his body had grown accustomed to them. two weeks, he had been clean for two weeks. he couldn't have done it alone, he knew that. waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare with a dry throat, in cold sweat. it wasn't something he could fathom doing alone.

“it's not your fault, rafe,” for the first time in a long time, he was quiet. for the first time, he was the one doing the listening. he listened to you, he had to. “you did so good, baby. you protected him, your family. it wasn't sarah or rose, it was all you.” every little sacrifice, every little thing he did, was him ripping a piece of himself off to save his father. all he ever wanted was to matter, to be his son. not a pawn or a disappointment, he wanted his validation. when ward died, everything seemed to go with him, his love included.

tears clouded his eyes and he sniffled, throat growing thick with tears as he listened. “he's gone, rafey. he's dead, and we can't bring him back,” you sat yourself next to him, fingers desperately grazing his face as you brushed away the tears that fell loosely. “but he died loving you, and you know it. none of this would have been possible without you. he died proud, knowing his son saved him. none of us could do it, it was all you.”

it was everything he needed to hear. he couldn't imagine crying in front of his girlfriend, any girl, as a matter of fact. it was different with you. you didn't tell him to man up like barry did, you didn't tell him he was alright, even though he wasn't, like ward had. you listened, you comforted. you took him into your arms as he finally began to cry, using your free hand to throw the powder-filled bags into the bin next to the sofa. he cried, like never before. there was no limit with you.

“good job, rafey. did so good for him.” he didn't care about the coke, he didn't care about the withdrawals. he didn't feel the need for any of it, not while he was with you. you kissed his cheek as you pulled him in closer, letting him stain your shirt as he continued to cry. you would let him come to you during any time of need, you needed to keep him afloat when he needed it the most. and he loved you for it.

✧.*

you had healed a heart you didn't break. maybe you were his guardian angel, maybe you were sent by a higher power, maybe you were what sealed his fate. TOPPER THORNTON knew he had his phases, specifically, the period he spent chasing a girl who wanted nothing to do with him. he wasn't her destination, he was just a stop along the way. he was good to sarah, he always let her come back to him when she wanted nothing to do with john b. after every argument, he accepted her temporary presence, even though he knew she'd always go back to him. he accepted the love he thought he was meant to receive, before meeting you.

he had stopped letting her come back, he let you heal his heart, even though it wasn't yours to heal. he let himself fall apart. for once, he was someone's to fall apart and put back together. he couldn't play the savior anymore, it was all you. it was you who treated him to dinner, who made promises—not to break, but to keep. you were the one who distracted him from his mother, his past, the peer pressure and mistakes along the way.

“they don't define you,” is what you'd tell him. it took convincing, it took repetition, but it stopped going in one ear and out the other. he finally realized it once he har started floating adrift, straying and going towards rafe and kalce, who had him coked up, in the presence of girls who wanted him drunk with his wallet full. each time he came back, drugged and drunk, you waited for him. it began to dial down, he had started declining the offers. getting himself back, with your help.

you knew how thankful he was, and you knew you couldn't leave him be. when you prepared him breakfast in bed, you knew that all your work could go down the drain at any moment, but you didn't care. you never stopped. it was worth it, to you. it was worth seeing the way his face lit up. for once, it was him receiving love, as much as he gave.

✧.*

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tiredmetalenthusiast · 1 month

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Emotions and promotions (Price x reader)

On a roll with @glitterypirateduck Price challenge! Scenarios used 31. ‘A confrontation takes place’ and 48. ‘A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset’:

Warnings: Cursing, yelling, crying, verbal and physical assault, threats of harm, writer is not very knowledgable on the inner workings of the military.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had entered Price’s office after knocking and receiving the go ahead. He gives you a confused look as you set the folios and papers down on his desk, “Why isn’t the doctor on site bringing me the paperwork? She’s here isn’t she? Could swear I saw her an hour ago.” You tense up as he leans forward, hands folded as he stares at you expecting an answer.

“She was busy with patients. No need to worry Captain.” Not wanting to unload your woes on your captain but judging by his unwavering gaze he isn’t buying it. You shuffle the papers into place nervously and began at the top of the pile, explaining that the soldier in question was injured too badly during his last mission and will require a fair bit of rest. He nods and reads over the paper.

“You know you can talk to me, sergeant.” “Yes I know sir. There’s nothing to talk about.” He signs the paper and places it off to the side face down. “Clearly there is. It’s showing on your face. A couple of recruits have mentioned you and Dr.Alice having a few choice words.” You place another paper in front of him and reads it over, waiting for you to explain. “Just a…misunderstanding, Captain. That’s all.” “A misunderstanding that lead to you mumbling about wanting to put laxatives in her coffee? Interesting.”

”Did she call and make a complaint about me, sir?” He signs off the paper and you hand him another. “No she didn’t, but Soap and Gaz have both mentioned some tension. So tell me about it.” You sighed, eyes welling up a bit and you quickly wipe at them. You go on to explain how she acts, showing off her assets, flirting with the men that come in instead of doing her job, forcing all of her paperwork onto you and making you deliver it. You often have to stay after hours filling out HER reports and have lost sleep, which Ghost had noticed and brought to Price’s attention.

He nods and makes a quick phone call. You briefly hear Ghost’s voice over the line as Price tells him to meet up at the medical ward, explaining the situation. He hangs up after getting a confirmation. He turns back to you and you straighten up, “How qualified are you as a nurse?” “I was a doctor before I joined the service, sir.” “Great, you’re about to get a promotion. Follow me.”

You follow him out the door and within minutes you’re waving to Ghost who waits at the door to the medical ward. He opens the door for Price and you three enter to find Dr.Alice sitting at her desk asleep. Price nods to Ghost who proceeds to yell in his lieutenant voice, thoroughly spooking the woman awake. “O-oh Captain Price! Lieutenant Ghost! H-How can I help you both?”

”You’re being removed from your job. Effective immediately.” Silence hangs in the now charged air. “Excuse me? I’m being what?” Ghost steps in front of Price, “You’re fired. Pack up your shit. You have an hour to get off this base before you are escorted off. Captain’s orders.” “ON WHAT GROUNDS?!” She turns on you, trying your hardest to look small and invisible before she lunges.

”WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM YOU LITTLE BITCH?! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS YOUR JOB NOT GO OFF AND FUCKING COMPLAIN TO THE CAPTAIN!” Ghost catches her, holding her back from tearing your face off as Price moves you behind himself. “It’s come to our attention that you are, in fact, not doing your job. Making the nurses pull your weight, flirting with the men instead of tending wounds, abusing your nursing staff, and a long list of other things.”

She screams and thrashes against Ghost’s hold before running out of steam. “You have an hour. Ghost make sure she cleans up and leaves.” “Rog.” Price turns to you and holds out his hand, “Congratulations. You’re now the new doctor on base. I expect great things from you sergeant.” You shake his hand, thanking him profusely but before you could follow him out Alice lunges again, taking hold of your hair and pulling you to the ground.

“SO WHAT YOU WENT AND FUCKED THE CAPTAIN FOR A PROMOTION?! I’LL FUCKIN KILL YOU!” You yell as you struggle to get away from her, her fist making contact with your cheek. “ENOUGH! Ghost, apprehend her!” He grabs Alice, getting an elbow to the gut in the process but manages to remove her from your shaking form, Price helps you up and looks at the bruise forming on your skin. “Now you have assaulting a fellow officer added to your list of reasons. Take her to processing, she’s on the out.” Ghosts nods and leads Alice out the door.

”You broken?” “No, my face just hurts a lot now. Thank you Captain.” Price nods, “Let’s go. You’ve got more than just medical paperwork to do now.” You attempt a laugh but stop at the sting in your cheek, following Price back to his office.

#~Harley finally writes something🫣#ocaptainchallenge #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #john price cod #captain price #captain johnathan price

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fatuismooches · 8 months

Note

Just thinking about reader getting hurt while out doing commissions or something and Dottore absolutely seething silently... Reader is just out gathering materials, nothing unusual. Until some random fatuus come along. Now I like to imagine Dottore tries to keep their relationship somewhat secret? For they're safety and simply for privacy, so most people don't know that they're Dottore's lover. Now, they didn't exactly expect some random agents to come up to them, and especially ones that don't seem so friendly... (I mean, maybe standing around in the cold all day doing nothing gets you rather bored and tempermental...) They probably try to talk it out politely, but the agents simply don't give up, either out of boredom to annoy someone or they accuse you for sneaking around (Since they look like a normal citizen.) Of course, being Dottore's lover, they're by no means weak. But one of the agent's still manages to land a good hit on them with an electro delusion, and they're on the ground before they know it (I doubt being struck by lightning is very nice...) Thankfully the other agent's saw the commotion by the camp and came over, fatui agent's don't typically beat up their own citizens without good reason... Fastforward and they're being held in a medical ward. One of Dottore's subordinates recognizes them and immediately informs him. (To which he is seething. The scalpel that was in his hand was bent backwards from how hard he was gripping it.) Everyone can only clear the path for the harbinger as his footsteps echo through the halls. He insists on taking care of they're wounds, and despite all the atrocities he's ever committed with his hands, those hands are so gentle on them... He will find out who hurt them, no matter if they want to tell him or not. And this doesn't apply to just being physically harmed. Someone made them cry? He'll strangle whoever did that and make it hurt. (All while the clones comfort you of course! <3) And I also think in the akademiya he was the same, but his anger wasn't really as quiet... He would chastise you whenever you got clumsy in a fight and end up injured, scolding you and insulting you while patching you up (He is horribly worried about you getting fatally injured, he just has no idea how to express it without being mean) Some so called scholar won't leave you alone about extorting you to do their work? He'll dig up dirt on them and ruin their lives. (He will deny having anything to do with it.) (This is so long... I really didn't mean to, but I'm really bad at getting my thoughts out in a short manner. I hope at least some of it is coherent, your Dottore works always makes me bounce off the walls <3)

ADWUIDEUD OEEDN ITNDDD WHTAT THI IS MAKING ME BOUNCE OFF THE WALLS TOO??? I don't even know what to add, it's already so good 😫

Unlike Dottore, you can't stay cooped up in a lab all day, you like to get some fresh air (even if you're getting hit by some angry snowflakes) while running some errands for him so the clones don't have to bother doing them. Most people just thought of you as his average assistant, which was good considering Dottore doesn't have the time or patience to deal with the gossiping or rumors regarding him and especially not you (also definitely not the other Harbingers...)

Unfortunately, that has a drawback, which is the fact that some Fatui liked to mess with you since they thought you were a mere easily replaceable assistant. You've dealt with some in the past and sent them on their way, not telling Dottore because you wouldn't want to waste his time with unimportant things like this. This time, however, you weren't so lucky... fighting in such a snowy and slippery landscape was not your expertise... and you ended up with a rather nasty wound. You've gone through worst, but it still hurt, you know?

When Dottore is interrupted from his research, he's initially upset but as soon as the words fly out of the agent's mouth in a hurried and terrified manner (because everyone is scared to even be in his presence much less report to him) it appears like all of that annoyed energy is gone as he asks the agent to repeat himself. And it feels like the room has dropped in temperature, the Doctor's face expressionless as he easily snaps the scalpel, the clanging of it to the floor making the agent's face pale. Dottore doesn't even waste time killing the agent as he simply leaves to go to you. (That subordinate is crying himself to sleep later 😭)

Literally all noise in the camp stops as soon as the 2nd Harbinger comes, he takes one look at you and just takes you out of there (his lab is far more equipped than this pitiful place) It's been a long time since Zandik tended to your wounds, you usually never get hurt since you're quite careful or you always have a clone, so it's a bit nostalgic and heartwarming to feel his hands being so tender... cleaning and applying a salve... wrapping it carefully himself, etc 🥺 He won't press you for answers, because he'll find out he did it really quickly anyway and kill them with no remorse or emotion (he's such a silly!)

UGHHHH AKADEMIYA DOTTORE MY FAV <3 100% correct nonnie 🤭 His lecturing and scolding you hurt you MORE than the wound 😭probably 😭 He would go on and on about wtf were you thinking, you shouldn't have done that, you need to be more careful. Only this is how he expresses his worry since he doesn't know how to cope with caring about someone this much so he just resorts to mean words in hopes you can somehow translate "do you want to die, fool? how can you jump in there like an idiot?" to "you scared me and i don't want you to do that again, i don't like seeing you hurt"

Zandik is a good liar... until the topic of ruining someone's life comes up! You just know he had something to do with it. But... the idea of him sacrificing sleep to make the life of your harasser miserable, instead of using the time to do research, that's how you know you've got him 🤭💖

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #i am absolutely so in love w the idea of dottore going even more batshit crazy when his partner is hurt #bro would literally not let ANYTHING slide #even if someone merely looked at you in the wrong way or distastefully ur done. wiped from existence.

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loeyslover · 5 months

Text

mind games

warnings: mental health problems, self harm, suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms, delusions, yandere behavior, obsession, psychological manipulation

mind games - sickick

growing up you knew your calling in life was to help people, to put the pieces of ones' broken fragments back together to fit what they used to be. you made the perfect fit for psychiatry, your heart finally finding where it would be useful once you were placed to work at the psychiatric ward.

trained to be stoic and indomitable in the field to avoid unhealthy attachment to patients, you thought you'd have no difficulty doing what your job required you to do; to hear what your patient was enduring mentally and prescribe the medication to unfocus the unhealthy thoughts. but you never once thought all that training would go out the window when you met him.

osamu miya, the deranged and psychotic, yet somehow charming male you'd been assigned. you'd spent hours listening to his thoughts and feelings finding them complex and thinking they needed to be deciphered, and maybe that way you could cure him. do what you were trained to do and stop the voices from plaguing his head, but somewhere along the way you succumbed.

you'd heard the stories, the way he'd scare off nurses and doctors, all whom had the same intentions you did. yet somehow you were different, you stood out amongst all personnel whom'd treated him. you made him feel a sense of peace in the grotesque place he'd reside in.

"again, samu?," you questioned, eyes landing on the fresh slices on the white skin of his forearms. "you've got to stop doing this, one of these days you'll slice too deep and never come back," you said, approaching his form with a first aid kid in hand to bandage his wounds.

the habit of his to slice through the flesh on his arms left scars littered all over the pale skin and left you with no choice but to come bandage him up each time it happened. he replied with the same answer each time you asked him about it, "the voices made him do it", they scattered whispers in his mind about the need to mutilate his own body to feel relief, to find escape from the hauntings in his mind.

but osamu had ulterior motives to hurt himself, he did it to feel the soft skin of your fingertips graze against his to heal him. to feel you kiss his scars and ask him to stop what he was doing. he'd never once felt so cared for and seen, so desired and loved for, but you awakened this inside him. the need to keep you all to himself, to seclude you away from the dangers of the world.

"i''d never go too deep darling," his orbs look into yours as you wrap sterile gauze around his cuts, "i don't know what exists after death, but i sure as hell know you're not there". your cheeks redden into a deep crimson shade, "then quit it, you're driving me crazy with worry every time you do this".

"i'm serious samu," you frown, "i'd hate to lose the patient i've done the most for, and i do it because i see through your facade, I know there's a good person deep inside of you".

"there's another side that you don't know," his voice deepens, his wrists wrapping around your own, a tight lock keeping you immobile. "I can't wait to get you all alone," a smirk spreading across his face as the fear pooled in your eyes, "watch me turn your mind into my home".

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu #miya osamu #miya twins #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #tw yandere #tw manipulation #yandere osamu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu Drabble #osamu x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

Note

Hey I’m the anon that asked if you write for Tekken 👉🏻👈🏻 I always like the grumpy x sunshine trope, and I was wondering if you can write headcanons for Kazuya with an s/o like that? Very soft, sweet, affectionate, I feel in a way it would also be funny 😆

Idk if this is what you wanted but I have it my best shot. 🦦

Not me back on my Brutus and Pixie agenda (seriously it’s my favourite thing to reference at this point.)

All I’m going to say is; it’s not easy showing kindness to a man who had been so vastly removed from it from a young age, and the only memory he has of experiencing such kindness was from his mother; which in of itself was merely candlelight in comparison to the suffocating darkness.

So needless to say if you keep at it, not showing agitation or anger towards his inability to see your acts of kindness towards him as just that; pure acts of kindness. Then Kazuya will slowly -baby steps mind you, extremely small baby steps- begin to believe it to some extent.

Everyday is an uphill battle but you were willing to fight it forever without ever showing an ounce of fatigue if it meant earning Kazuya’s trust. Something that he one day noticed and will- in his own unique way- show his gratitude for sticking by him for as long as you have.

Let’s hypothetically say he came back injured, you naturally wanted to help him but much like showing affection or acknowledging how he felt towards you, he will have those walls up again faster then you could blink. It’s just natural for him this way to never pay any mind to the ‘weaker’ side to himself and reject any and all notions that could possibly end up in him becoming ‘soft’ and ‘pliable’ for those who might have it out for him.

So imagine the feeling of achievement you’d get the moment Kazuya let’s you tend to his wounds, listening silently as he slowly began to open up to you, even if it was a little bit, it was still something to celebrate for the both of you; especially when going forward into this relationship where you’d gradually bear your entire heart to the other, letting them see the most vulnerable parts of yourselves and silently praying that the other doesn’t destroy you with it in the future…

And imagine how nice it was to be hugged by a pair of strong arms, held against a firm chest by powerful hands and just finding yourself melting into him…smiling softly at the fact that Kazuya wanted to hold you out of his own accord. Feeling protected from any and all harm that could come your way. It was enough to make you want to cry but instead you smiled brightly and told him how utterly proud you were of him for taking the first step, for taking a chance on something he was once so vividly against.

This man looks like he’s never be told that someone was proud of him ever in his life. So hearing someone who had nothing but the most wholesome of intentions with him say it? He’s not going to know how to react, but from the way his grip on you would tighten slightly told you more than enough as you reminded yourself to keep reminding him how proud you were.

Is it a stretch to say that he would be protective? Especially towards the person who had shown him their truest self and shown him how being in love and being loved don’t inherently make you weak or lesser than, boldly proving him -a man dead set in his ways- wrong on several occasions and him not feeling an ounce of anger but instead a weird sense of relief? So Kazuya will want to keep you away from the shadier side of things in the instance that he might not always be there to ward away unwanted attention.

He may not say it aloud but then again why would he when his actions were loud enough for you to understand their intentions, no matter how few and far between they might be but at least you knew that he would stand by you and keep you protected by any means necessary.

He just has a fear of loosing the one good thing in his life because of who he was; For if he were to loose you then everything he originally believed would then become truth, that it would become reality.

The fact that you were both opposites would be made apparent in everything that you did but that’s what made your relationship work when in any other circumstances it probably wouldn’t. However it only made your appreciation of the other stronger than before.

It’s not perfect, not that I’m saying it ever was, but ultimately the hardships are what made you treasure your relationship with the grumpy man even more. You didn’t try to change or ‘fix’ him because that was not your job, you’re not fixer and you knew that as much as he did and instead you -with your unwavering kindness and gentleness- had let him taken his time with getting to a level of comfortability with you where he knew he could relax beneath your touch instead of flinching away.

You soothed his scarred heart whilst also loving it unconditionally without feeling the need to change it to fit your fantasy.

#tekken x reader #tekken x y/n #tekken imagines #tekken imagine #kazuya x reader #kazuya x you #kazuya imagines #kazuya imagine #kazuya Mishima x reader #kazuya Mishima imagines #kazuya Mishima imagine #kazuya Mishima x you

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liketwoswansinbalance · 6 days

Text

In Unrecognition of Rhian…

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

⸻

This fic was inspired by a comment about a stained glass window on this post by @wheretheoceanglows! Many thanks for the thought that jumpstarted this!

Summary:

Since Vulcan murdered Rhian, Rafal has not let himself grieve.

⸻

Something was out of place at the Good School and Hedadora did not like it one bit.

A week ago, she had been summoned by the remaining School Master to serve as Dean of Good, and as she had approached the Good School, on the day of her arrival, more and more oddities had come into view.

It wasn't the Stymphs nested atop the coruscating, glass towers, sitting vigil like watchmen.

And it wasn’t the newly-erected, wrought iron gates, proclaiming to all the Woods: TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED.

It wasn't even the acrid smoke, billowing from the silver tower that stood like a sentinel over the bay, either.

It was the body strung up in front of the School for Good.

Over the entryway that read: THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD ENLIGHTENMENT AND ENCHANTMENT in shining letters, lovingly polished to a mirror-like sheen, hung a haphazard, iron contraption that held a corpse which rattled about in the wind.

A plaque affixed to the base of the gibbet, beneath the gruesome display read: HERE, FOR SHAME, HANGS THE VILE TRESPASSER VULCAN OF NETHERWOOD. LET HIS FATE BE A WARNING TO THOSE WHO DARE THREATEN THE GOOD.

To Hedadora, the victim’s grisly, charred corpse was unrecognizable, dressed in tatters like a drunken pirate with a now-scraggly beard and bare, dangling, gangrened feet. A singular, rusted, stab wound through its heart had rusted over nearly as much as the weathered cage that contained the man.

Hedadora shook her head, thinking it was a mirage. This was highly unorthodox and quite grotesque for any Ever’s delicate constitution. Surely, that did not belong here.

It was rotting for Heaven’s sake! And the breeze was tainted by its ungodly stench, only exacerbated by the midday sun.

And not a single Ever looked as repulsed as Hedadora had felt! Not one pupil had spared it a second glance.

The bedraggled Evers milled about in a shiftless, permanent fog in black on their way to classes and paid the exhibit no mind. Evers? In black? Ah, yes, she’d heard word of the Good School Master’s death. Those poor, bereaved children!

And that thing likely hadn’t been taken down in weeks, Hedadora presumed. It seemed bolted there, built to last an eternity.

This castle was in dire need of a woman’s touch. But who was she to decide what did and didn’t belong? Well, she assuaged herself, once she was Dean, things would certainly change, that much she knew.

As it turned out, the Evers themselves had become inured to their once-regular feelings of repulsion. They accepted this hideous blot to their otherwise resplendent environs.

But, more than them, the Nevers knew why it hung there—they were finely-attuned to such messages by now in their young lives. Clearly the offal served to ward off newcomers. Harm a single soul on the premises and you were fated to die, uninterred, made into a spectacle for all to gawk at, trophied and mounted.

All this, and Hedadora still hadn’t met the man behind such an operation.

Naturally, rumors were bandied about—that he donned an iron mask, that he burned people alive, even in this apparent utopia, but finally, after training for a total of a week with Professor Mayberry, her soon-to-be predecessor, Hedadora was scheduled to meet the Evil School Master.

⸻

The week prior, Rafal had told himself that his first order of business was to find a competent substitute.

The day after Rhian’s death, Professor Mayberry, had returned to ease the tension and help the transition of power along, until Rafal found someone else to hire. It was the least she could do, she’d confessed tearfully.

Then, Rafal came across a list Rhian had left on his desk. The name Hedadora had not been struck out, so Rafal decided to allot the woman a trial run once he was able to contact her. Probably, she was the candidate Rhian would’ve hired.

When Mayberry left, Rafal stared hard at the calligraphic hand, about to crumple the list and toss it into the wastepaper basket. Instead, he hastily stuffed it into his pocket.

⸻

After Mayberry’s reappearance, no one had seen Rafal for weeks on end.

The Nevers could only verify his presence as they caught onto a new system he had put into place.

None of them, not even Humburg, had been notified, but they were able to intuit what was going on.

Each class, their smoking ranks snaked around the silver tower in an orderly train, and floated up to the tower window, entangled around a glimpse of a beckoning, pale hand.

Yet, no one could tell if the ranks were indeed being evaluated. The leaderboard hadn’t budged in days.

The numbers were always thrust back, burning and dripping with obscure, opaque pitch, driven into the ground by their weight, boring steaming holes into the ground as they guttered out like smoldering meteorites, burrowing their way to Hell.

Every time, the blackened fields were left pockmarked with craters as fearful Nevers jumped out of the missiles’ paths.

⸻

The day of Hedadora’s evaluation, willowy Nymphs flitted around in a nervous circuit in Good’s grand foyer with decanters of chilled, raspberry cordial, croissants, and rosettes of whipped butter. Silver trays held tiny saucers of black olives, pomegranate seeds, poached quail eggs, and luminous, pink, champagne currants.

Students clinked flutes of cordial, and the fairies chirred amongst themselves, but none was more apprehensive than Hedadora herself. She could only will herself to do her best, and hope to be looked upon favorably.

In an instant, the room hushed as the elusive School Master of Evil entered the foyer, appraising Hedadora’s cloud of white hair and pink-rimmed glasses.

He was positively saturnine, Hedadora noted as she saw the sunken shadows beneath his eyes.

Rafal picked up a pitted olive from a dish. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Hedadora sensed a lull, and decided to begin by pitching her best ideas: remodeling the Good School. Perhaps that would sway the unyielding figure before her.

Thus, she spoke of removing the horrendous gibbet to cultivate a more inviting atmosphere, widening the stairwells for easier access to the higher floors and the Library of Virtue, adding a statue garden to the roof, curtains so the students wouldn’t be blinded by the glass walls’ glare, fixing rounded finials to the pinnacles so the darling, little birds wouldn’t be impaled by the sharp spires of Good’s highest turrets. Just simple, minor architectural changes, as, oh dear, oh dear, the current state of Good wouldn’t do at all!

Rafal stared point-blank and said nothing.

Hedadora continued to prattle on brightly, about adding wall sconces and perhaps fresh flowers in them, reaching towards the glorious sun, like all living things did!

Not the Night Crawlers, thought Rafal. Not himself either.

The flowers would remind the students to always reach for the light and strive to be as pure and Good as they could possibly be.

Ridiculous, thought Rafal.

Undeterred by the School Master’s dearth of a response, Hedadora forged on valiantly. As it was, the design of the place was impractical, and the sheer vanity embedded in every cornice was clearly evidence that some frivolous magpie of a person, who only cared for surfaces and shiny things, had designed it without regard for those who actually inhabited the place.

“Out,” Rafal croaked hoarsely.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Hedadora wrung her hands.

“Out. Out from my Schools.” Rafal fired her on the spot.

“You’re being unreasonable, Master Rafal!” Dean Mayberry cried out on behalf of her replacement. She hadn’t spent an arduous week training Hedadora only for her not to fill the role!

Good fights for each other. We can only fight for ourselves, rang in Rafal’s head. Just as he’d last told his Nevers the last time he’d personally taught them.

He had no one to fight for, Evil as he was.

“Out,” he repeated.

⸻

Then came the day of the unveiling. Both Schools were gathered in memory of Rhian.

Onstage, Rafal nodded to Kyma at his side, and the Evergirl pulled a gilded rope, drawing velvet curtains back to reveal a stained glass window in which Rhian was haloed.

The Good School Master’s lithe, white-robed figure was set against panes of champagne and rose and golden-hued glass, with winding, golden, flowered vines encircling his likeness, the tableau resembling a page from a sumptuous, illuminated manuscript.

The golden light of the setting sun set the window aflame, blazing with color as the day approached dusk.

Rafal’s eyes watered, irritated by the excess light, or perhaps the cause was the copious number of flower arrangements festooning the halls.

He turned away from the window, eyes dull and dimmed to a deadened gaze.

Tears streamed down several Ever’s faces, as they split into piteous, extravagant sobs, derailing the assembly.

No one would get anything done if they were still mourning Rhian, Rafal realized. Perhaps he’d decided wrong when he’d commissioned the window. It was a reminder of the loss.

Rhian this. Rhian that. Rhian was dead.

His audience still faced him, the Evers and Nevers nearly indistinguishable in funereal black, eyes downcast.

After a long while, they quashed their sobs, some Evers shuddering into handkerchiefs, giving way for Rafal to speak.

He began expressionlessly, as if delivering a rote recitation from the Handbook’s student code of conduct. “Today, we are gathered here to remember my br—”

Rafal stopped, his throat suddenly dry. Nothing came out. His voice had caught on a gargantuan lump. He swallowed, then swallowed again, throat bobbing.

“We are here to—”

A student coughed.

The Evers leaned in and peered at him strangely like he was a novelty show.

Not a sound escaped his throat, like a noose had been wrapped around his neck.

The Nevers murmured amongst themselves, concerned.

“Goodbye,” Rafal muttered.

The Nevers stared dumbfounded. That was it? This was what they had slogged over to Good for? All that fuss for nothing?

Rafal stalked off the stage, past Kyma, past the gleaming window.

Humburg rose from his seat and started to waddle forward, stone-faced, but Rafal left too quickly.

Black robes snapping behind him, Rafal strode down the aisle past his Dean, past the gormless, huddled, sniveling, ebony-clad mass of students. They cleaved apart, as if by a knife, clearing a path for him straight to the doors.

He slammed the doors with such force that a deep fissure bloomed from a hairline fracture in the glass floor, riving the assembly room into two down the middle. The doors juddered along with everyone’s skulls.

“…Rhian.” He finished his sentence as the doors settled with a thud.

He took off, heedless, tearing through the fog at breakneck speed without a destination in mind, and nearly impaled himself on a lethal, spiked pinnacle—had Hedadora been right about the birds that day?

He landed on a steeply-angled slope of one of Evil’s turrets, sitting himself on the edge of an eave, cloaked in the shadow of the spire.

The golden light of the sunset did not suit him. It was too warm, too lively. He looked out of place.

A place for everything and everything in its place. Even children recognized the reason embedded in such a statement.

Most things you could find a place for.

First, rearrange, when something new strutted in, and installed itself, intending to take over.

Second, remove, when something old broke, when it was vulnerable and defenseless. Or rendered itself useless and weak.

And third, replace, when there was nothing else to do, when the old thing could no longer fill a gap. Because he had let it break. And it would never return.

Out with the old, in with the new. That’s how the world worked.

And that’s what he’d do. Rearrange, remove, replace.

It would probably take a few generations for each new Dean to die. Or retire.

Then, he’d simply find another.

And another.

Seeking out replacements was a job he’d never anticipated having to waste his time on. All he could do was continue, wait for another day, and the next, and the next.

Rafal pulled the list out of his pocket. There was only one name he wanted to see. One candidate who would’ve surpassed all the rest. He didn’t want another Dean.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

He balled up the list.

But what if it was the other way around?

What became of a place when it lacked its thing?

He watched the Stymphs, ever his wardens, watching over his new, Good wards. That figure had doubled overnight while another had been halved.

He thought back to the rankings, the spell he’d cast. Why couldn’t other things put themselves in order, slot neatly into place?

The dusk’s frosty, moonlit pallor illuminated the Evers’ castle, which glowed whiter as the sky darkened.

He watched Vulcan’s body sway in the breeze, trussed up in its creaking, rusted cage, threatening to fall, to succumb to the elements. It would, one day. But that was something he could set right.

He stared into his tower window, and there was the Pen, scratching away at another tale.

And through one of the door frames, he glimpsed an empty, undisturbed bed.

There was only one thing not where it should be.

So there he sat, in the cold, refusing to return to his rightful place all through the night.

The wind washed over him, and he remained, cold as a corpse like always, waiting for the darkness to descend.

⸻

Songs I associate with this fic:

"Marche Funèbre" - Chopin

Fits Rafal's internal state, part of the time, when it's plodding and routine. Also, there are some sections that sound outraged.

"Idea 22" - Anya Nami

The lyrics toward the end make me think of the burning rankings:

This second of life

Feels like forever

This world has failed us

So let burn

Let it burn

⸻

Note:

I'd love to know your thoughts, feelings, or reactions!

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schizopositivity · 1 year

Text

what to expect when being admitted to a psych ward (this is from my own personal experiences of being admitted to a mixed involuntary/voluntary facility and a valuntary facility, both for adults, both holding people of all genders):

•when being admitted they are going to ask you a lot of personal questions (mental health history, drug use, triggers, etc), sadly you will have to get used to talking to strangers during your stay

• when they tell you the name of the facility try to remember it, you might be asked where you are later to check your awareness

•they will take your picture for the records

•they will confiscate your phone (this is to ensure that you cant take pictures of other patients)

•they will confiscate all other belongings you have on you and keep them until you are discharged

•they will confiscate your clothes and shoes and have you change into scrubs and the famous grippy socks

•you might be strip searched to ensure you arent hiding anything and to take note of any distingushing birthmarks, scars, tattoos, etc (in my experience this was done by someone who alligned with my sex assigned at birth)

• you will probably have a physical medical exam or just talk to a dr about you medical history and what accomidations or meds you may need during your stay, you may be subjected to blood and/or urine tests

•the doors will be locked and you wont be able to walk out anytime (even in voluntary you have to go through the discharge process before leaving)

•if you use nicotine, depending on the place they will either provide you with nicotine patches/gum or allow you to have cigarette smoke breaks (you have to provide your own cigarettes or have visotors bring them to you and they dont allow vapes because they cant monitor what is in them)

•obviously no recreational drugs or alcohol is allowed

•the place itself will feel bland and clinical (think hospital but devoid of anything you could hurt yourself with)

•you will probably have your vitals checked everyday like compression arm cuff, heartbeat finger monitor and temperature taken

•you might have to wear a face mask at all times in the facility

•if you have a wristband from a hospital you can ask staff to cut it off for you

•you may or may not be roomed with other people (i was roomed with a female since i am afab nonbinary, idk how they room binary trans people)

•the bathrooms will either have a curtain or a door you cant lock (this is for your safety)

•depending on the place and your risk, you will be monitered by staff (in the mixed facility they had to physically see me every 15 minutes, just come into the room and check off a clipboard)

•there will be a front desk that is staffed at all times, feel free to approach and ask for things, ask questions or even ask if they want to play board games with you

•there will be a schedule for meal times and activities, it will be the same every day

•the food will be cafeteria food, think hospital or school cafeteria or possibly worse, they will already be aware of any medical dietary needs of yours but from what ive witnessed they do not do the same for religous or personal dietary needs (like a friend i made in the ward asked if the food was hallal, the staff didnt know but encouraged her to eat it anyway) they will also let you opt out of the prepared meal for something like a sandwich or snacks

•they will also have snack times in addision to the meals, but if at any point you are hungry, ask staff and you might get an extra snack or sandwich

•there might be coffee, it will probably be decaf, and the hours they serve it might be limited

•there might be patients who scream, cry, swear or have psychotic breaks

•there might be patients who are detoxing that might gag, puke or cough repeatedly

•there might be patients with visible self harm/suicide attempt wounds or scars

•there might be patients who are violent and/or sex offenders (the staff should keep you safe, but a patient hurting you is a possibility)

•if you have an outburst or hurt yourself or others, you might be physically handled by staff, given sedatives agaisnt your will, placed in solitary confinement or all three (this should only be done when nessasary to keep you or others safe, if the staff do this without reason or otherwise abuse you, you should report it to police when you have the chance)

•if you cry you will probably be left alone, staff might ask if you want to talk to them

•there will be cameras inside the facility but not in bathrooms, and depending on the place not in bedrooms either (this is for safety, so in the event of abuse there will be proof, i witnessed a patient to patient assault in the ward and the police used the footage to convict the perpatrator)

•there will be landline phones you can use, there may be limited phone hours, and they may limit your time on the phone, the phones are placed by the front desk so staff will be able to listen in on your conversations, they will let you write down phone numbers while you still have your phone during intake so that you can have the numbers later when making phonecalls (in my experience the time limit depends on the staff thats around so some will let you talk as long as you like)

•the phones you use will not allow you to call 911, if you are having a medical emergency you should inform the staff if possible (they will treat you or take you to a hospital if nessasary), if you need to report a crime you should ask the staff to call the police or otherwise file the police report after discharge

•there will be communial TVs with limited hours, you will need to ask the staff to operate the remote (one ward only had cable and the other one only had DVDs and us patients took turns choosing the movie)

•there will be daily group therapy, depending on the place it could be manditory (in the voluntary ward i asked why i hadnt seen any group therapy like the schedule said, and they said no one was asking to go, so i asked and i was the only person in the group therapy lol)

•they might have activities like yoga, art therapy, craft time, music time or other things (if you see it in the schedule you can ask them to tell you when its happening)

•there might be outside time in a fenced off area or there might be no outside time at all (this is for safety)

•the windows might be frosted, tinted or have a dotted film over them (this is for privacy)

•there will probably be activities that you can always access like coloring pages with crayons and/or colored pencils, puzzles, board games and paperback books

•you will get your clothes you came in back probably the next day, they might wash it

•visitors can bring you clothes but it has to have no strings (like drawstrings or shoelaces) no metal bits, and no graphic or offensive prints on clothes

•jewlery is not allowed unless its a piercing

•visitors can bring you books as long as its paperback, and journals as long as it doesnt have a metal spine, and other safe activities like paint by sticker books

•visitors cant bring blankets or towells, that will be provided by the facility

•anything visitors bring has to be checked by staff before they can give it to you

•you might not be able to recieve calls unless the person has an access code that they will provide for you, so you have to call first

•there can be meetings with visitors, it could be limited to certain days of the week or certain hours, your visitors may be subjected to a search, and your visiting time might be monitored by staff

•you will be given your psych meds as normally perscribed, they may have you open your mouth and lift your tounge after you take them to show that you actually swallowed them, you might be able to meet with a perscriber to get a med change

•you will probably have short daily private appointments with a counselor, this wont be as in depth as therapy but rather a way to check your progress, it could even just be like "on a scale form 1-10 how depressed are you?"

•you can still have any phone/telehealth appointments you already had planned, just inform staff and you might be put in a private room with a computer

•ask staff for things! like deoderant, toothbrush, toothpaste, blank paper, to print out an image of something that can cheer you up, honestly anything just ask

•ask staff if you want to shave, clip your nails, or apply makeup, you will probably have to do it in front of staff at the front desk

•for showers ask staff for towells, shampoo, conditioner and maybe body wash (the shower usually has a soap despensor in it) the shampoo and stuff will come in little cups, also if you can, ask for extra towells to place on the floor for when you get out

•your shower time might be limited, the shower probably wont get very hot (to avoid people burning themselves) and it will probably be a timed button that sprays water for 30 seconds at a time so youll have to keep pressing it to shower long enough

•the bed will probably not be very comfy, like thin foam matresses and scratchy sheets

•you can ask the staff for over-the-counter meds like ibuprofen, laxatives, sleeping pills, etc

•the days will feel long, try to keep yourself occupied with activities and phonecalls

•i encourage you to talk to the other patients! you can connect and relate to people in simular situations, older mentally ill people with experience, and just to make friends while youre there (ive even witnessed two men agree to have a romantic relationship only during their time in the ward, they called eachother "hospital boyfriends")

•i encourage you to journal about your experience and feelings while youre there

•how long youll be there really depends on your situation, although both times ive gone they said the usual stay was one week or less and thats how long i stayed both times

•they may require you to do certain things before you are allowed to discharge like get a med change, improve your mood, set up appointments with drs or counselors in the future, get stabalized on meds or show recovery in other ways

•even if you are voluntary, you will need to go through the discharge process before leaving like signing paperwork, collecting your belongings, setting up a ride to leave, and confirming that you have somewhere to go (ive witnessed staff hire taxis, and help people apply and get into shelters)

i dont say all this to scare you or keep you from volunteering yourself into a psych ward, just to warn you about things so that you dont have to be shocked by a totally new environment all at once like i was

everyones experience in psych wards is different, every place is different, i didnt cover psych wards for people under age 18, or gendered wards, or addiction recovery wards or otherwise specialized wards because i have no experience there

but despite the bad parts, my time in psych wards has seriously helped me, it kept me safe from myself when nothing else could, literally saving my life twice, it gave me very important med changes, and it gave me experience with other mentally ill people, like the older woman who told me "as mentally ill people we cant always trust our insticts" and other advice that has helped me

it may feel bleak, it may make you feel trapped, you may feel like you dont belong there, but the bottom line is this is place meant to help you, even if just in the most basic form of keeping you safe, housed, fed and properly medicated

and remember youre still a human, you still have rights, if anything unjust happens to you there you have every right to report it to the police

#psych ward #psychiatric hospital #asylum #insane asylum #ik those are outdated terms im just tagging so people can find this #mental illness #nd #mental health awareness #mental health #mental health advice #tw psych ward #tw hospital #long post

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sofasoap · 1 year

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Ner Kar'ta

Pairing : Din Djarin x f!reader.

Summary: Din claiming back what is rightfully his.

part 6 and finale to Heartbreak

MAJOR Warning : Bit of spoilers for Season 3, turn back now if you haven’t watched it.

N1 is cool, but it is too small. Din got something else.

Mature theme. strong languages. All mando’a are from the good old google, soooooo might be full of mistakes. And the timeline and lores might be a bit funky. It’s AU. just… roll with it.

English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes.

A/N: I really want to thank @groguspicklejar , @deakyjoe and all the readers to push me to write this series, I had a lot of fun writing this. Never would I thought from turning from Din fanfic reader to Din fanfic writer. One of my new year resolutions was to be more creative either to start to write or draw. So thank you, again, for pushing me out of my comfort zone.

MASTERLIST for the previous stories to this 6 and half part fic.

Bird chirping, sounds of waterfall in the distance slowly waking you up. You buried yourself deeper into your silky bedsheet and duvet, trying hard to fall back to sleep. Not often you get to sleep in such a nice comfortable bed since you went on the run. Turning a little, searching the warmth of your riduur.

A stinging sensation followed by a dull headache pulls you back into awakeness. Slowly opening your eyes, you were met with an unfamiliar yet familiar ceiling, one that you wake up everyday since you were young. Shocking realisation hit you.

YOU ARE ON NABOO.

“... I have new information from Bo-Katan where the living water might be in Mandalore. There might be a chance it’s actually safe. The curse might be a lie after all.” Din murmured into your hair.

“I was planning to make a trip there before Karga called me unexpectedly about the bounty.” He pulled away from you a bit, “I don’t want you to leave my side but I have to do this on my own, I have to redeem myself.” Although you don’t really agree with his fixation of redeeming himself and angry with his own Covert is so readily to abandon him after what he has done for them? Deep down you know this is very important for Din, you just have to let him do it. But something is nagging you, nudging you that it would not go all smooth sailing as he wishes, So you encourage him to take his son with him. “Take Grogu with you. Show him Manda’yim. Beside, I am sure our little ad’ika would love to go on an adventure with his buir.” our ad’ika

You will be safe here with Fett under his protection. So he thought. So does everyone else. Who would be bold enough to harm the Daimyo’s personal ward? How wrong they were. Din should know your parents wouldn’t put the bounty on you with only one guild. Their desperation trying to get their last chance of getting their golden pelikki back?

You were grabbing dinner from the cantina for both you and Peli, as per usual, same old routine, when the bounty hunters ambushed you. “Your riduur put up a good fight.” Fett apologised when he handed the vibroblade that you dropped back to Din, “ We found two dead bounty hunters in the alley, fatal stab wounds right in their neck.” Din smiled sadly. Pride swells in his heart. He knew you wouldn’t give in so easily. But guilt took over his heart . He should have left Grogu with you on Tatooine. Grogu would have saved you with his power. But he barely survived his redemption journey himself with unexpected enemies. A karking mythasour. If it wasn’t for Grogu and Bo-Katan’s help, he wouldn’t be here. “ I am sorry Vod, I broke my promise to you. I didn’t expect them to be so bold to intrude into my territory.” Din shook his head. “ No one expected this, what happened has happened. At least we know she is still alive.” She better be alive, Din thought. The only hope he had was the bounty specifying you HAVE to be brought in alive. You were no use to your parents if you were dead. He only just got you back into his life, his clan of three back together again. He can’t imagine losing you again, FOREVER.

Think Din, THINK.

Sad cooing sound brought him back to reality. Grogu looked up at his buir, ears down, as if asking where you were, where is his other buir, while tapping on his darksaber. He’s got an idea. Not the one he really wants to do. But he has no choice but to save his riduur, his heart.

“I thought it might be time for you to wake up.” Your nanny fussed as she helped you out of bed. “ I am sorry about the new scar on your face. I have put some bacta cream on it, hopefully it will heal up in the next few days.”

You look around your bedroom. Nothing has changed. The decoration, the bookshelf, wardrobe. Seems no one has touched anything since you ran away that night.

You knew your parents wouldn’t give up so easily. You let your guard down too much thinking under the Daimyo’s protection you will be safe within the city limit. Should have known there are always the unexpected factor and the bold ones that will go for the big money bounty in desperation. They ambushed you in an alleyway near the cantina, you have forgotten your blaster (again) back at the workshop, but you were glad you carried Din’s gift on you all the time. You manage to fend off two of the bounty hunters, when the third snuck up behind you, jabbed you with some sort of tranquilliser agent, and you blanked out afterwards. You touch your face, feeling the fresh scar added alongside your old one. You sighed and thought to yourself sarcastically, good thing you are married. Din never cared about the scar on your face. You remember on your wedding night, after both of you coming down from the blissful high, he gently caresses the scar on your face.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of your scar. The Mandalorians are proud of each scar they bare. Proves of battle and triumph from the struggles you have been through“

A nudge from your nanny brought you back into reality again. She pulled out a dress from the wardrobe. “Your mother has organised the suitor to meet up with you today.” She mentioned as she help you to put on the dress. “The diplomat’s son?” Eyes widen, you begin to think how many days you have been knocked out or your parents' efficiency in organising meet-ups is faster than speed of light. To sell you off to the highest bidder.

“ Yes, it seems they really want you to be their daughter in law.” You rolled your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. You have disappeared for so many cycles, one would have thought they would have given up by now and moved on to find a more appropriate socialite to marry.

Looking at yourself in the mirror. As much as you despise the woman who has given birth to you, you have to admit she does have very good taste in fashion. Subconsciously your hand goes towards your stomach. Feeling of flutter emerges from your heart as you place your hand there. “... I am glad to see you again, ad’ika” your nanny whispered as she put on some hair accessories and a veil over the side of your face, to cover up the scar. “ I am too, I miss you a lot while I was away. I hope the family has treated you well.” You see your nanny’s sad smile in the reflection of the mirror, that says it all. They wouldn’t have forgiven her lightly for letting you run away that night. “ … I can’t stay. I can’t follow my parent’s wish to marry the diplomat’s son.I .. I am already married. To a Mandalorian.” you confessed after a brief silence. You see your nanny’s eyes widened with surprise and start laughing softly. “ OH my child… all the stories I have told you about our people really made an impact on you, didn’t it?” Finishing off the last bit of the make up, she turned you around, holding your face, lightly. “ I hope he’s been treating you well?” “ Well… he was being a big di’kut but eventually redeemed himself.” She laughed at your choice of description of Din. “ I am glad. I am glad you found your happiness.” wiping away tears in her eyes, she pulls you up from the chair, giving you one last over before heading out of the room for the meeting you've been dreading for.

Walking down the corridor, you took note of possible escape points and routes. You know chances of you slipping away this time round is pretty slim. You know how good the security system and guards are around the estate. If anything they would have changed and upgraded the codes since you were last here.

Cyar’ika.. I miss you.. Please come and get me soon.

Your father sat on the chair, nursing a glass of Blossom wine, while your mother pacing up and down the large parlour room, waiting anxiously for the guest to turn up. They haven’t changed a bit, you thought. The tone of mockery after you greeted them, not even bothering to ask after your welfare, the time you spend on the run. Fusses over how you should be behaving after the “ very important guest who can change the future of the family” shows up. Same old same old, like nothing has happened. you thought, setting a bounty on your own flesh and blood and eagerly selling her off again. All of sudden the servant slams open the door to the parlour. “My.. .My lord and ladies!!” , they panting away. “What is all the fuss about??? Is the guest here yet?”

They shook their head.

“There's an unexpected visitor, he.. He said he’s King of Mandalore and.. And demands his wife to be returned to him at once!” Your heart soared. DIN. Your riduur has come for you. But… what is the deal with ….

Right behind the servants, you see A WHOLE GROUP of Mandalorians, with Fennec and Boba Fett, led on by Din, marching down the hallway straight for the parlour. All the servants dodge out of the way in fear, giving way to the group.

You heard your nanny’s light gasp beside you, that is when you noticed the darksaber in Din’s hand. Instead of his tattered cape, he is wearing a full length dark coloured fur cape. Regal was the first word popped into your head as you took a good look at him. You were in awe of the aura he is emitting right now, leading his people to come and demand your return. You didn’t think it could happen again but you have fallen in love with Din all over again. A joyful coo and scream caught your attention, you noticed Grogu jumped out from Fennec’s arm and proceeded to leap towards you. You rushed forward and scooped your son up into your arm. “Oh ner ad, pehea Ni mirdir gar.” (Oh my son how I missed you). You hugged him tightly.

“ What is THAT disgusting thing you are holding?!!” your mother shrieked. You turned around,facing towards your mother, glaring at her, “ His name is GROGU, he is MY son, my ad’ika. And mother, father, I would be watching your mouth in front of my husband.”

“ Your.. Your husband?!”

Smiling sweetly, you tilted your head, “ Yes, my husband. The King of Mandalore. Didn’t you two always want me to marry into a high society? Now you have your wishes granted.” Turning around again, you held a hand out towards your nanny, pulling her along as you stride towards Din, head held up high. Stopping right in front of him, making an exaggerated curtsy as you jokes, “ Quite an entourage you have brought with you, my Mand’alor.” The large tall Mandalorian in blue armour elbowed Din when he just stood there, not replying, just staring at you through his visor. Din was awestruck by your appearance as soon as he burst into the room. There you were, standing in front of the room, sunlight streaming in through the window. The breeze blowing the veil that was half covering the face, and the beautiful white backless long sleeve dress, with a silver neckpiece holding up the dress. It accentuates your figure perfectly. His riduur, his Queen.

Your parents were still screaming and demanding an answer in the background, Din pulled you beside him, raising his darksaber towards them.

“ If you don’t want to cause a diplomatic situation here, I would strongly suggest you shut your mouth up.” taking a step closer, he growled, “ And if you dare to set another bounty on her again, you would have the whole covert of Mandalorian waging war on you.” Not even waiting for an answer, he turned around and led the whole group out of the room, leaving your parents behind.

Din’s arm never left your side until the private landing platforms for ships in your parent’s estate. There you see several space crafts, including Din’s , parked there. You gave Grogu a big kiss on his forehead before letting him down as he waddled towards Fett and Fennec. As you stood back up, Din pulled you into a tight embrace. “ I am sorry I came late…” You can hear the emotion in his voice, even through the modulator. You pull his helm down for a keldabe kiss. “ I have no doubt you will come for me Din.. I never doubt it.” you whispered back. He swore this will never happen again. Once is too much. He can’t forgive himself for letting it happen. “ Stop it Din, I know what you are thinking. It’s not your fault.” You gave him a light slap on his chest armour. “ I should have been more careful and carried my weapons around.”

As if you have reminded him of something, he took the vitroblade out from his side belt, and handed it back to you.

“So, Mand’alor?” You smirked.

Din sighed, “ Long story…”

“ Oi, love birds,let’s get out of here. You can give each other hugs and kisses later.” The blue Mandalorian from before barges into the moment, hurrying everyone to move along. Din turned towards him, presumably glaring at the Blue Mando, “Do you have to Paz? I just got my riduur back.” Paz, you assume is the name of the Blue Mando, started laughing. Back to your home. Where you belong.

The ship landed softly on the grass. The ramp landing opened slowly, Grogu and the two children ran out into the field, screaming and laughing. You waddle slowly down the ramp with a blanket under your arm. With you heavily pregnant with the third child, Din nervously hovers around you. Afraid you will fall apart any moment. “Din, I've been through this twice. You know I am not going to crumble apart just by walking!” He knows it, but him being so overprotective with his family, he just couldn’t stop fussing.

After the bounty event from few cycles ago, Din explained to you how he became the Mand’alor. He knew where to find you, with all the details on the bounty puck, as you have mentioned to him once your family was quite known on Naboo, so it was an easy lead. But he couldn’t just march into Naboo, causing a scene, there will be a high chance both of you would never leave the planet safely, without a new bounty set on both of you by the republic or a whole army of Naboo soldiers chasing both of you down. Din had no choice but to claim his place as Mand’alor with his ownership of Darksaber, and also to ask Paz for help. “You will owe me a big time, Din Djarin.” Paz warned. “ And you know I still want to challenge you for the right to the darksaber…” Din mentioned Paz’s riduur gave Paz an earful immediately after, growling at him for putting his greed for the saber before your safety. The Armorer reluctantly agrees to let few of the members of the covert to tag along, after Din promises to bring them back in one piece. Just to scare your parents. He assured the Armorer. Several younger members of the covert eagerly volunteered, wanting to travel off planet to see the outside world. The rest was history. You returned to him with no further complications, and Paz still gives Din grief about challenging him to the saber but one look from his riduur, he shuts his mouth up. You spread the blanket out onto the grass, and with great effort, lower onto it. Took awhile for you to get comfortable, you are so far along, you can pop any day. “Cyar’ika.” You heard Din whispering behind you as he pulled you into his embrace. You leaned back into his chest with a sigh as you closed your eyes. He nestles his head, as you notice, without the helmet, into your neck.

“I cannot wait to meet our ik’aad.” De’javu hits you. This is like the dream, the one you had a few cycles ago. But this time, it’s real. Your family. Your riduur.

The Force really has been guiding and pushing everything along, hasn’t it?

This is your clan, Clan Mudhorn, clan of five. Soon to be six.

Grogu loves Uncle Fett and Aunty Fennec, and Peli of course 🙂

Well that is it folks. My brain juice has run out for this series, and I think this is the fitting end the clan deserves. Thank you all for coming along on this journey, I didn’t expect people would be reading it at all hhahaha. Spread the love for our space husband and the little green pea!

Taglist: @frogtits1 @memester-png

@jake-g-lockley

@novaethecosplayer

@foxgirl95

@gloryekaterina

@varientlyvisual

@flowersgirl02

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #grogu #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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laurasimonsdaughter · 1 year

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Concepts* for living (half)vampires that deserve to be in urban fantasy:

● They are destined to become full, undead vampires after their death.

● They are living vampires because one of their parents was vampiric, they were cursed, or they were born under specific fated/magical circumstances.

● Alternatively, could be turned into a living vampire by an undead vampire, using some kind of blood ritual, in which case it could make a good substitute for the more common ghoul/thrall character.

● They do not have to drink blood, but are capable of drawing power from it when they do.

● Alternatively, they might feed on people's energy rather than drink their blood.

● They may have fangs, sharp teeth, or neither, in which case they might use their nails to wound victims for feeding.

● They are capable of sensing the presence of undead vampires, and, if they are the kind that is not easily controlled by them, could make very effective vampire hunters.

● They are not yet harmed by sunlight or weakened during the day.

● They cannot stomach all human food, and are most likely to only eat meat, and/or drink milk, while some might only eat plain food like rice, or are only able to consume liquids but can drink sap or juice.

● Most likely are not affected by the things that ward off a vampire (garlic, hawthorn, wild roses), but might already be affected by things like holy water if you want to play up the cursed angle.

● Could be in possession of all kinds of magic powers, (but I personally prefer to keep them to a minimum, lest they get too powerful).

● Have great potential to be either enjoying their current powers and looking forward to their later vampirism, or to live in constant fear of what they might become. Might feel closer to humans and wish to protect them, to want to mediate between the undead and the living, or could be fully on the side of (malicious) vampires.

● Could be named moroii, dhampir, or, if you must, daywalkers.

*Inspired by (chiefly Eastern European) foklore

#vampire #vampires #living vampire #dhampir #daywalker #laura tumbles #urban fantasy #don't mind me I just have (regency) vampire lineages on the brain

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captainsophiestark · 6 months

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Crisis of Conscience

Grant Ward x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Grant and his girlfriend met after being recruited to Hydra, and have spent the past decade or so in love as double agents at SHIELD. When they both join Coulson's team and Y/N has a crisis of conscience, however, it might put everything at risk.

Word Count: 2,824

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: Kind of an ambiguous ending that could be read as fluffy or angsty, but in my head they get their happy ending for sure.

Requested by anon! Hope you like it, this idea was super fun to write!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Y/N's POV

"I'm just saying, if I went on Chopped, I would've learned not to use the ice cream maker by now. Like I would've watched a single episode before this."

I chuckled, smiling from my spot on the loveseat in the Bus's living room as Skye critiqued the Chopped contestants from the couch. After another successful mission with Coulson's team, the Bus 'kids' had crashed in the living room together to watch Chopped and eat foods that were bad for us. I was tucked under the arm of Grant Ward, my long-time boyfriend and friend, who I'd had to drag in here with us.

"It is kind of wild how often people continue to use it when it almost always goes wrong," I agreed. Skye threw her hands up, pointing one of them at me.

"Thank you!"

"I just want to try to make some of these things now," mused Fitz. "It's made me hungry."

Simmons and I hummed in agreement, and then the group of us fell into comfortable silence as the show came back from its commercial break. I could hear Grant's heartbeat through his chest, and the warm safety and comradery of the room put a warm feeling in my chest. I sighed, looking around at each of my friends while they watched the show.

Suddenly, the warmth in my chest turned to a cold, hard knot.

Soon, I'd be expected to betray these people. Like Grant, I'd been recruited by John Garrett a long, long time ago to be a Hydra agent hidden within SHIELD. Never once had I had a doubt, but sitting here with these people and knowing just how much harm might be on the horizon for them sent my stomach roiling.

"I... think I'm gonna call it a night," I said, standing up abruptly. I didn't bother to keep the discomfort off my face, especially as all my friends turned to me with curious looks.

"Is everything okay?" asked Skye. I gave a little shake of my head.

"I just... feel a little sick to my stomach. Probably it's a tiredness thing. I'm just gonna go lay down, I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning."

"Come see me if you don't," said Simmons, her brow creased in worry. I nodded, promising her and saying hasty goodbyes before turning and heading straight for my bunk. I could feel Grant's eyes following me as I went, but I ignored him.

****************

Over the next few days, the little kernel of doubt that had started in the back of my brain took root. Every time I interacted with any of the team, it grew, leaving me overwhelmed with guilt for the moment I knew was coming, when I'd be asked to betray these people I'd come to love. Especially as we sought the Clairvoyant, the mystical person putting our team at risk, and Grant and I both knew full well that the person in question was John Garrett.

I'd continued to do my job through bullet wounds, freezing temperatures, broken bones, and just about every other hurtle imaginable. But after a few days of fighting through the guilt, I just couldn't stomach it anymore.

"Hey, Grant? Do you have a sec?"

Grant raised an eyebrow, immediately stepping away from the direction he'd been heading to step closer to me, concern written on his face. We knew each other well enough and had been together long enough that he'd definitely noticed something was wrong with me.

"Everything okay?"

"It's just... I don't know Grant, do you ever... wonder if we're doing the right thing? With... uh..."

"You don't have to say it," he said. I bit my lip and nodded, trying to read something in his face. He still looked concerned, mostly for me, which didn't tell me much about how he felt about what I was saying.

"Well... what do you think? I mean, I can't imagine after everything we've been through with this team... just leaving them out to dry."

"I understand how you're feeling," he said, reaching out to take my hand in his. My heart leapt for a second, then dropped all over again as he continued. "But we have to remember what we're doing this for. John Garrett picked us. He pulled us out of terrible situations and gave us the chance nobody else would give us. We owe him. We can't turn on him now."

"Right. Of course, yeah, right." I plastered a shaky smile onto my face and met Grant's eyes. He still didn't look totally convinced, but I leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he could question me. "C'mon, we better get back before they wonder where we went."

"Are you-"

"I'm fine, Grant. Just a little late-game nerves. But I'm fine."

He nodded, looking at least a little more convinced, and we continued through the bowels of the Bus to join our team in the lab. I tried to smile and pretend like everything was normal, but the pit in my stomach had turned into a black hole. For Grant, Garrett had saved his life. He felt loyalty to the man, if not to the cause. But for me? Garrett had recruited me from a less than ideal situation, sure. But he'd sold me on the idea of Hydra, which suddenly looked more like a rotten apple than anything else. I had no personal loyalty to him.

Unfortunately, I did have a lot of personal loyalty to Grant. I spent hours laying awake at night, agonizing over the position I'd gotten myself into, between my boyfriend and best friend and love of my life against every single other person I cared about. I tried to ignore it or push away the worries, to try to convince myself to just ignore the thing telling me to do something, but I just couldn't. Grant clearly wasn't willing to betray Garrett, and I wasn't willing to betray Grant. But I could still do something to warn our team.

Subtly, anonymously, using every skill I'd ever learned as a SHIELD or double agent, I managed to leave enough information with Coulson that he put it together. He didn't waste a single second before telling the rest of the team, and we set up an ambush for Garrett to get him once and for all.

The hardest thing I'd done in my entire life was lying to Grant's face when he pulled me aside, shocked and worried, to try to come up with a plan with me. He'd never asked me if I'd been the one to share the information, because he trusted me. It sent new pangs of horror roiling around in my stomach, but this time I didn't let it get to me. I could tell Grant what I'd done once Garrett was safely in jail, and then we could see if he could forgive me for it.

Unfortunately for me, I never got the chance to have that conversation with Grant. Somehow, Garrett managed to slip through the trap Coulson had laid. His cover was blown, which made him much less of a threat than he'd been before, but he was still out there. The whole team had landed and taken a temporary pause to figure out our next moves when Grant and I got identical texts.

"Garrett's calling us to meet up with him," muttered Grant, sidling up next to me out of earshot of the rest of the team. I nodded.

"What do we do?"

"We have to go to him. He probably needs our help dealing with this mess."

I nodded again, my brain working through all of my possible options. I could just share the text with Coulson, but somehow, that felt like a bigger betrayal than just giving them hints about Garrett. Probably since it would involve Grant, too. And even if he'd never forgive me for what I'd already done, I knew I'd still follow him to the ends of the Earth.

"Should we make up something to tell the team? Or should we just go?" I asked.

We ended up making a quick, somewhat thin excuse to the team, then rushed to where Garrett waited for us. We found him in a beaten-down, empty warehouse, waiting for us with his arms crossed in the back of the space. My heart leapt into my throat, but I kept my face carefully neutral as Grant and I came to a stop before him, side by side.

"Do either of you know why I've called you here?" asked Garrett, not bothering with a hello. His voice had a dangerous edge to it that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up; every instinct I'd honed over the course of years screamed danger.

"To try to deal with SHIELD figuring out who you are," said Grant, with the confidence of somebody who hadn't betrayed the man before us. Garrett scoffed.

"I guess that's technically true. But there was no way for them to find out. There was no way for Coulson and his team to get that information about me, to act with such certainty, as early as they did. At least, there shouldn't have been a way."

His hand wandered to his hip, and he unholstered his gun, holding it lightly in his hand as he considered it for a few moments. He looked back at me and Grant.

"There were only two people with the knowledge and the opportunity to out me. I know it was one of you. So one of you is going to tell me who did it, or I'm just gonna cut my losses and shoot you both."

Like the slow motion part of a movie, I saw Grant turn to me out of the corner of my eye. I took a deep breath before facing him, trying to express just how sorry I was without words. Hurt, shock, betrayal, and disbelief all played out across his face, his brow furrowed, his mouth slightly open. All of it felt like a knife to the heart, a sensation I'd likely experience for real in the next few minutes. I mouthed 'I'm sorry', willing him to believe it, then turned back to face John Garrett.

****************

Grant's POV

My heart stopped as I looked at the woman I loved and realization crashed over me at what she'd done. I knew she hadn't been satisfied after our conversation in the hallway, but I'd convinced myself not to follow up on it. A stupid, stupid decision.

She met my eyes, John still hovering just past us with his gun in hand, and a fear I hadn't felt since I was a kid took root in my stomach. Garrett had warned me, time and time again, and especially when I'd started dating a fellow double agent, that I couldn't trust anybody. My family had proven that from day one, and Garrett had been the only one to consistently be there for me. Now, Y/N had betrayed me like everyone else, and I could see on her face that she was going to do it again.

She mouthed 'I'm sorry' and turned back to John, and I got ready to defend myself after she tried to make me take the fall.

Then, she spoke.

"I did it."

I couldn't believe it. She'd owned up to it, knowing full well Garrett would most likely kill her. She was literally willing to take a bullet for me. A vice tightened in my chest.

****************

Y/N's POV

"I did it."

I spoke the words with a clear confidence I didn't feel at all as I looked Garrett dead in the eye. If I had one thing still guiding my decisions in the wake of everything that had happened and that I'd caused, it was a desire to protect Grant. I loved him, and no matter what else came of this, I didn't want him to take the fall for me.

The silence hung, Garrett staring me down. The hand he held the gun with twitched, and I braced myself to run or fight or I don't know what else, but Grant's voice rang out before Garrett or I could make another move.

"No, I did it."

I whipped around to look at him, and this time it was my turn for wide eyes and a mouth open in shock. Grant didn't look away from Garrett to me, even though I knew he knew I was staring at him.

"Grant, no. You didn't. I did it, and I didn't tell you anything about it."

"No, I-"

He stopped short when Garrett held up a hand, the one without the gun, to stop us both.

"No Ward, you didn't do it. Everyone in this room knows it wasn't you." Garrett strolled the short distance between him and Ward, effectively turning the field so he and Grant stood shoulder to shoulder against me. "But clearly it is a weakness for you."

Grant's eyes widened ever so slightly, and I knew him well enough to recognize it as fear. I shifted on my feet, no idea what to do anymore. Grant seemed to feel the same way as Garrett tapped the gun on Grant's hip.

"Weaknesses have to be weeded out, Ward. Take care of her."

Garrett and Grant both kept their eyes on me, and I could see sweat coming down Grant's face as he slowly reached towards his holster and pulled out his gun. With him and Garrett both armed, I didn't stand much of a chance, even if I was willing to shoot Grant.

As the man I loved raised his weapon, I blocked out Garrett completely. I met his warm brown eyes with my own, silently willing him to ditch Garrett, to choose me like I'd chosen him. My heart pounded in my chest, and in a split second everything changed.

I heard a shot and felt pain explode in my stomach as Grant moved at lightning speed. A moment later, as I sank to the ground, I realized he'd turned to face Garrett. He'd shot his old mentor in the chest, for me, but Garrett had managed to get a shot off before he went down. I brought my hand up to my stomach and touched something warm and wet before the hard concrete of the floor bit into my knees.

"No!" Grant cried, rushing over to me. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain as he wrapped me in his arms. "Hey, stay with me, alright? Stay with me."

"Grant... you... you shot Garrett."

He grimaced, then tried to fight the expression off his face a moment later. He brushed a strand of hair back out of my face.

"The alternative was shooting you. John may have gotten me out of hell, but you were the first one to make me care about staying here in a long time."

I couldn't quite hold back a choked sob, which sent a flash of panic shooting across Grant's face. Still holding me with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and dug out his phone.

"Everything's going to be alright," he said, his voice taking on the calm assuredness we needed for missions. "I'm gonna call Coulson, and when they get here, they're going to help me take care of you. You're going to be alright."

I nodded, turning my head as Grant dialed to look at Garrett. He was splayed out on the floor a few feet away from us, the life clearly gone from his body. I refused to join him.

"They're on their way," Grant announced, setting down his phone once the call ended. "They'll be here soon."

"What did you tell them? About us? What we did?"

"Not a lot, but I'm sure we'll have to explain everything once they get here and you're stabilized."

I nodded. "Grant, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not telling you, for going behind your back, I just couldn't let our friends get hurt-"

"Shh, it's okay. I get it, alright? I do. We'll talk more about it when you're on your feet again."

"I think you should tell them you were part of it," I continued, forcing the breath out. My vision had started getting darker, and I could feel my consciousness slipping, but I didn't want to be saved only to lose Grant after doing so much to try to save everyone else. "Tell the team you helped me tip them off, that we did it together. Make up whatever lie works but... I don't want to lose you..."

He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on my forehead as the last of my consciousness drifted away. The last thing I heard before everything went black was Grant, his voice low and whispered, echoing after me as I went.

"Don't worry. You could never lose me."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @luv-ghostie @songbirdcannabe @infinetlyforgotten

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darling-archeron · 4 months

Text

Many months have passed since the end of the War, but not all wounds have healed. Repairs, both emotional and physical, are still underway. When Feyre finally finds a break in her schedule, she feels duty-bound to visit the one place she thought she’d never return to: her old village. With Rhys by her side, she takes a trip through old memories. ✨ Rated T, 2.5k words | Part 2/4 | Masterlist @charliespringsleftconverse @acotargiftexchange

Departing from the town center, Feyre led Rhys out the other side of town. They didn’t run into anyone else on the quiet country road. She hadn’t walked this path in years, but the lay of the land came back to her as they made their way along.

If they followed this road for long enough, eventually they could make their way to her family’s old cottage, and the memories buried deep there. A feeling she couldn’t name – shame, sorrow, anger, maybe – rolled around in her stomach at the thought of returning to that dark, decrepit place.

She was mentally trying to map out who else lived on this side of the village, and they were just cresting the ridge when it came to her.

Isaac Hale’s farm was out this way, as was the broken-down barn they had used as a meeting place for their…couplings.

She could see that barn now – or rather, what was left of it. The roof had caved in, taking one of the sides with it, making for a half-standing pile of rubble.

She inhaled sharply as she beheld the Hale farm, less than half a mile down the road. And it appeared that this was one of the homes in need of help with repairs if the small group of men working on pounding in fence posts was any indication.

“Everything alright?” Rhys asked, having noticed her stiffen.

She nodded, fighting the slight blush that wanted to rise in her cheeks.

Feyre felt no shame in being with Isaac. It had been before she had met Rhys or even Tamlin, and he meant nothing to her now, anyway. The mediocre sex provided distraction and a few moments of warmth in their cold world – that was all. It had been a long time since she had thought of Isaac and the hours they had spent together. But still, something about it felt a bit awkward. Especially when she knew the mating bond could chafe on Rhys hard.

The group of humans noticed Feyre and Rhys long before they got close, stopping one by one to watch them. Feyre supposed that even in the simpler clothes and with their powers masked, there was no denying they weren’t human.

She wasn’t sure how they would be received. Like many in our village, Isaac had worn an iron cuff that he believed would ward off faeries. She didn’t blame him – she would have done the same, had there been the money. But had his feelings changed?

“Who are you?” a man – one of Isaac’s uncles, maybe? – called out as they approached.

“We come to help,” Feyre called out, showing her empty hands, devoid of any physical weapons. There wasn’t much she could do to show she had no intent of using her magic to harm. “We heard there were repairs to be done yet in the human lands, and traveled from the Night Court to help wherever we can.”

She didn’t slow her pace at all, they hadn’t been walking particularly fast.

“Why now? And why did they send your court?” She didn’t miss the hint of disdain in his voice.

“We have been preoccupied with taking care of our people. And though the courts have an alliance, nobody sent us. We came of our own accord.”

She and Rhys were nearing the end of the worn path now, and she scanned the line of faces before her, expressions ranging from frightened to hateful. There was the man she thought was Isaac’s uncle, his two younger brothers, a girl no older than fourteen who she vaguely recalled as his sister, and – there, on the end, Isaac himself.

He hadn’t changed much since she had seen him last. His hair was less shaggy, and he had a beard now, but he was still lean from the hard season, with the same cautious brown eyes she remembered.

He frowned, squinting. “Are you…Feyre?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Hello, Isaac.”

Surprise sparked from Rhys.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“Yes,” she responded, not having the time to say anything else, because one of his younger brothers scoffed, breaking her train of thought. Micah, she remembered. That was his name. As he shifted, she caught a glimpse of the dagger at his side. Ash.

Not a weapon she would have expected to see on a farm boy, but perhaps all bets were off now that the wall came down. She felt a pulse of magic from Rhys. He had seen the same thing she had and was putting a shield around them. They could never be too careful.

“Feyre? Don’t be delusional, Isaac. This is probably some sort of skinwalker, twisting the memory of the girl you used to know.” Unlike the caution that had coated his Uncle’s voice, she recognized Micah’s tone for what it was. Pure hatred, the depth of it startling her.

Is that what they were thinking now? When Graysen found out Elain and her sisters had become fae, she assumed the truth had spread to the rest of the village, but clearly not. It was always rumors and nonsense around here.

“And why would the Night Court only send two people if they wished to help?” Isaac’s uncle chimed in again.

At her side, Rhys finally spoke. “Because we didn’t think you’d react kindly to a unit of soldiers in your village. And because you’ll find that the High Lady of the Night Court is perfectly capable of providing plenty of aid, all on her own.”

They all paled.

“I had heard the rumors,” Isaac said quietly, “but I didn’t know if they were true.”

“I swear to you that I am Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court. This is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.”

“Rhysand?” he said into her mind, determined to ease the tension. “You wound me.”

“You know you’ll always be Rhys to me,” she said affectionately. “But I don’t think they need or deserve to know you as Rhys right now.

“I worked, along with my sisters and the rest of the Night Court, to bring aid and shelter to the human lands during the War. If we meant you harm, you must realize we would have picked a time before now.” She paused, watching her words sink in. “So I ask, where can we help?”

The humans paused, all deferring to Isaac for an answer.

“You can’t be considering this,” Micah hissed.

Isaac held up a hand, warning in his furrowed gaze. “Enough, Micah. It will take us days to do this work all on our own. And we know Feyre. If she’s willing to help, I’m happy to accept.”

He turned to the barely-begun fence line, a few poles pounded in the ground, and Feyre could see sticks sticking out of the ground where the next posts were meant to go.

“We mean to finish splitting wood today and let it dry the rest of the way before we started pounding posts, but…maybe you could help with that part?”

Feyre nodded, letting her magic dance at her fingertips. She could use her Summer Court magic to draw any water out of the wood.

There was a hefty pile of logs off to the side, undoubtedly waiting to be split for the rough post-and-rail fence.

“I can help with the wood splitting,” Rhys added.

“Rhys, you’ll scare the shit out of them if you use your shadows to cut through all of those logs at once,” she warned.

“Would it help if I didn’t do them all at once?” Rhys responded drily.

“I think you know the answer,” she retorted.

It seemed that was that. Isaac was quick to delegate tasks, assigning Rhys and his uncle to split wood, even though it quickly proved that Rhys didn’t need any help.

It did take Feyre a bit more concentration to draw the moisture out of the wood from the rain a few days prior. She stood in front of a pile of freshly split logs, watching the moisture bead in front of her, when she heard footsteps cautiously approaching.

“I’m happy for you, Feyre,” Isaac said as he approached her. “You look different from the last time I saw you. More content.”

“I am. I don’t think either of us could have predicted how things would unravel, for either of our peoples.”

She took her eyes off the project, looking up at him.

He was quiet for a long moment. “Do you still consider humans your people?”

The answer that was the truest – that her heart was still painfully, breakably human, that many of her memories were all-to-human bared far more of herself than she felt like doing to Isaac Hale. Not to mention his nosy relatives who were undoubtedly straining to hear their exchange.

She settled for part of the truth. “Faerie, human, it doesn’t matter. We should all take care of each other when we can, I think.”

Isaac’s eyes widened with surprise.

“What?” Feyre asked, bemused, though she didn’t look up from her work this time.

“It’s just that woman I knew - didn’t think like that, I don’t think.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were that observant.”

He shrugged.

“How is the village?” Feyre asked eventually, figuring Isaac was more likely to give her an honest answer than anyone else. “It seemed quiet when we came in.”

“Half the town took all of their savings and fled to the continent. My family has spent two years working odd jobs and doing what we can to get to where we were before all of this. Besides, we lost a lot of people during a consumption outbreak last winter. Including my father.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied honestly. Tyler Hale had been a good, fair man.

“Consumption?” Micah spat from down the line. “Are you seriously lying to spare her feelings?”

Feyre bristled, feeling Rhys’s confusion and indignation alongside her own. “Excuse me?”

Instinctually, she reached for Isaac’s mind, cutting through his nonexistent shields as easily as soft butter. His thoughts swam by her quickly, like fish in a pond, but a quick scan of them told her he didn’t mean any harm.

Isaac ground his teeth. “We did lose many people, but not to consumption. To a beast.”

That was enough to make Feyre suspicious. “Go on.”

“It stalked around the outskirts of town. A great big thing that looked like it had been made from the wood itself, its fur was like branches and teeth like sharp pine needles. But most of the people who got close enough to see it didn’t live to tell the tale. Including my father. And Anya, Micah’s betrothed.”

“Is it still prowling?”

He shook his head. “No. A group of us managed to hunt it down and kill it with ash arrows after many months.”

“Do you think Tamlin’s control is still slipping?” she asked Rhys down the bond.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. It certainly sounds like one of his beasts.”

She grimaced. Each time she heard about how the Spring Court was falling apart, she couldn’t help but feel it was her fault. She had brought Tamlin down, and he had deserved it, that vengeful part of her still whispered, but perhaps – perhaps she had gone too far.

“I’m so sorry for all of your losses,” she said, pausing her work and turning to meet the gazes of Micah and Isaac – the only two in earshot - where she could. Once, she had lived in fear of something similar happening to her family. “It doesn’t justify it by any means, but things in the Sprint Court, the court nearest here, have been a bit volatile lately. I swear that we will look into this. It shouldn’t be happening.”

Guilt churned around and around in her stomach.

Neither of the men said anything, Micah’s mouth in a thin line and his hand resting against the hilt of that knife.

“Watch what you do with that knife,” Rhys said, that protective nature of his sparking up.

Micah scoffed. “As if you truly think I could harm you.”

“My wife killed a faerie with a single ash arrow when she was still human.”

The man seethed. “Well, that’s lucky for you. My fiancée couldn’t. She thought she was safe from the faeries, with the new peace accords.”

“I’m sorry,” Feyre breathed again.

Micah didn’t seem to hear her. “She was beautiful. And kind. Our world couldn’t take that from her. She was generous to everyone she came across – she was traveling by herself to bring a pie to one of the old widows on the other side of town. That’s when the beast got her. And she never came home.” Vitriol coated his every word, and Feyre at last understood the depth of where his hatred came from. “So forgive me for now bowing and scraping at your attempts to make amends.”

Feyre bit back the urge to defend herself, insist that she had no part in this – but hadn’t she?

A world divided cannot thrive, she had once thought, in those initial days after the War. But when things like this still happened, when the humans were left defenseless…what good was any of it?

She felt Rhys brush up against her mental shield, comforting and reassuring.

“Was it a mistake to come here?” she asked down the bond, well aware that she was still standing wordless before the Hales.

“You came here to help where you can. Do you want Tamlin’s inaction to reflect what you do?”

“Maybe it’s my actions that are responsible for all of this.”

“Feyre,” Rhys said, voice firm. “We’ve talked about this.”

“But I can’t let it go,” she replied, frustrated.

“Either way, you can’t change what’s already done.”

As usual, her mate just had to be right. She ground her teeth together. Maybe she had been wicked and horrible, maybe this was all her fault. But the least she could do was help build this fucking fence.

“I truly am sorry for everything you have suffered. I’m trying to change things, and I know that won’t happen overnight. But the least I can do is help you fix this one thing,” Feyre said firmly.

This time, Isaac seemed to be waiting for his brother’s response.

Micah nodded his silent, stony agreement.

While Rhys had split wood and Feyre had dried it, the Hales had finished digging holes for posts. Neither of them had any experience with fence building, so it took some time to get accustomed to the actions. With a bit of practice, soon it was quick work for Feyre and Rhys to use their magic to pound them in and attach the crossbeams.

Feyre hadn’t planned to rely so heavily on magic. It felt good, sometimes, to do things by hand, but in this situation, it had felt necessary.

“I think we should keep moving,” Feyre said to Isaac as they stood before the final product. The rest of his family, looking warily at Feyre and Rhysand, had gone into the barn to do noontime chores, leaving her, Rhys, and Isaac alone.

Isaac nodded. “We appreciate the help. I’m sorry about my brother.”

“Don’t be,” she said brusquely. “He has every right to feel the way he does. Who else around here could use assistance?”

Isaac gave her a handful of names, most of them familiar to Feyre.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Feyre said.

Without much more of a goodbye, Feyre and Rhys departed down the winding country road once more.

Feyre contemplated things as she walked on. Could she have done things differently? Over the course of the past few years, there were a thousand choices she made, thousands of things that could have ended up differently if she had made a different choice.

The memory of her family’s old cottage flickered once more in the back of her mind. She had sworn she was done with that place.

Wasn’t she?-

@thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life@achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @areyoudreamingof

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acotar gift exchange #feyre archeron #rhysand #in any lifetime darling #kate's writing

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dale-gekarios · 3 months

Text

Latin Spell chants for BG3

I did not make this list! It was made by ExoZilla in r/BaldursGate3 but I wanted to share it here! This list is from early access, so it only has up to level 2 spells, but honestly the chants stay similar for higher level spells. Some of these might have also changed since EA so take that with a grain of salt, anywhere here’s the original post:

Disclaimer: I do not speak Latin. Some of my spelling/translations/syntax are going to be wrong. Most of them are from Wikipedia, random websites, and context clues. Also, if anyone knows the chants I wasn't able to translate/translate correctly, feel free to correct me.

Cantrips:

Fire Bolt- Ignis (Fire)

Ray of Frost- Glacies (Ice)

Acid Splash- Acido (Acid)

Blade Ward/Guidance/Thaumaturgy- Maior et Fortior ("Greater and Stronger")

Chill Touch- Timere ("Be afraid!")

Dancing Lights/Light/Produce Flame- Fiat Lux/Sol Invictus (“Let there be light”/“Unconquered sun”)

Eldritch Blast- Dolor* (Mental/Physical Pain)

Mage Hand- Veni et iuva me ("Come and help me!")

Poison Spray- Venenum (Poison)

Resistance- Resisto ("I resist")

Sacred Flame- Incende ("Set fire!")

Shillelagh/Flame Blade- Para bellum/Canto te ("prepare for war"/"I enchant you”)

Shocking Grasp- Fulgor (Levin or flash)

Thorn Whip- Flagellum, Flagello/ ?? verum (to flagellate, whip/"?? sweep")

True Strike- N/A

Friends- N/A

1st level Spells:

Armor of Agathys/Barkskin/Bless/Enhance Ability/Jump/Mage Armor/Shield of Faith- Macte virtute ("Be blessed with virtue")

Arms of Hadar/Inflict Wounds- Morere ("Die!")

Animal Friendship- Obedi me/Obeus temeum lupum ("Obey me"/??)

Bane/Ray of Enfeeblement- Tu est nihil (“You are nothing”)

Burning Hands/Scorching Ray- Ardere (To burn)

Charm Person- Impero te/Tempora muntante ("I rule you”/“Temporary change”?)

Color Spray/Blindness- Te occludo oculos/Caecus te("I blind your eyes"/"I blind you")

Command/Ensnaring Strike/Sleep- Impero tibi (“I rule you”)

Create Water- Lues/Aqua pura (Plague, pestilence?/“Clean water”)

Cure Wounds/Healing Word- Te curo/Vis medicatrix* (“I cure you”/"healing power")

Destroy Water- Arescere/Arere decimos ("Become dry"/"Become ten times as dry"?)

Disguise self- Mutatis mutandis/Omnia mutatio (“With things changed that should be changed”/“Change it all”)

Dissonant Whispers- Dolor ("Mental/Physical Pain")

Entangle- Voco vinae/Vinum est et gloriat ("I call forth vines"/??)

Faerie Fire- Te video/Ubi est ("I see you”/“Where are you?”)

False Life/Aid- Vitae extollato/Dum vita est spes est ("Life raised"?/"While there is life, there is hope")

Feather Fall- Non fit injura/Se neme ("There will be no injury/harm"/??)

Find Familiar/Goodberry/Moonbeam- Ex textura (“Weave from the outside”?)

Fog Cloud- Voco nubes ("I call forth clouds")

Grease- Voco arvina ("I call forth grease")

Guiding Bolt- Facula/Flagra ("Little torch"/"Blaze/be inflamed")**

Hail of Thorns- Dia denum (??)

Hellish Rebuke/Flaming Sphere/Spike Growth- Ira et dolor ("Wrath and pain")

Hex- Maledicus/Te exsecror (Abusive, scurrilous/“I curse you”)

Hunter’s Mark- Est praedae mae/Mos certa (“You are my prey”/"Certain death"?)

Longstrider/Expeditious Retreat- Proprae/Ocior/Citium (??)

Magic Missile- Tormentum (a piece of artillery/missile)

Protection from Good and Evil- Tueor/vincit qui patitur (To watch over, protect/“he conquers who endures”)

Ray of Sickness- Inficio ("Infect")

Speak with Animals- Amicus animales/Loqui ut tibi placet (“friend of animals“/“To speak as you please”?)

Tasha’s Hideous Laughter- Rezum teniates??/Reza sabuntat?? (??)

Thunderwave/Shatter- Detono (Thunder/"Expend one's thunder")

Witch Bolt- Harures (??)

*Non-Tav/NPC exclusive line

2nd level spells:

Blur- Incomodo?/Nullus sui ("Inconvenient"?/"None of him/her/them")

Darkness- Tenebrum/Umbra (Darkness/Shadow)

Darkvision- Lux en tenebra/Secretum curaro (“Light in darkness”/??)

Detect Thoughts- Video veritatem/Virtus est scientia (“I see the truth”/“Virtue is knowledge”)

Hold Person- Non movere/Ad lapide (“You do not move”/“To stone!”)

Invisibility/Pass Without a Trace- Evanesco/Invisibilis (To vanish, disappear/ self-explanatory)

Lesser Restoration- Te absolvo/Vincere est vivere (“I absolve you”/“To conquer is to live”)

Melf’s Acid Arrow- Dissolvae (Self-explanatory)

Mirror Image- Fronte nulla vides/Mundus vult decipi ("No faith in the front"?/“The world wants to be deceived”)

Misty Step- Inveniam viam/Ad alibi (“I will find a way”/"To elsewhere")

Prayer of Healing- Fiat voluntas Dei/Ad maiorem Dei gloriam (“May God’s will be done”/“For the greater glory of God”)

Protection from Poison- Résistance venenum (“resist venom/poison”)

Silence- Silencio (Self-explanatory)

Web- Voco arenea ("I call forth a spider's web")

#baldurs gate #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spells #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale fanfic #Gale Dekarios fanfic #liv posting

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rivensdefenseattorney · 4 months

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Magic System

(WIP)

Basic Information on Magic

The foundation of all modern Magic Practices is based in Magic Theory.

User Classifications

Attuned: Those born with the innate ability to sense and store magic.

Unattuned: Those born without the innate ability to sense and store magic.

The 4 Approaches to Practicing Magic

Spellcraft/Hexcraft

At its core, akin to the intricacies of mathematical equations, Spellcraft and Hexcraft delve into the technicalities of magic. Practitioners meticulously craft spells by manipulating specific properties of energy, resulting in a vast array of controlled and precise magical effects. This approach empowers users to wield magic with pinpoint accuracy, creating an expansive repertoire of spells and enchantments.

Magic Arts

Elemental Arts: Focused on harnessing and manipulating the fundamental forces of nature—earth, air, fire, and water—Elemental Arts practitioners delve into the intricate control and manipulation of these energies. Mastery in Elemental Arts enables the casting of spells that shape, control, or summon elemental forces for various purposes.

Life Arts: Centered on the manipulation and understanding of life energies, Life Arts practitioners delve into the mystical essence of living beings. This discipline involves healing, restoration, vitality enhancement, and the understanding of the natural life force. Practitioners of Life Arts specialize in spells that heal wounds, revitalize energies, and promote well-being.

Death Arts: Exploring the mysteries and energies surrounding death and the afterlife, Death Arts practitioners delve into the manipulation of life force, spirits, and the transition between life and death. This darker art might involve communing with spirits, manipulating life energies, or dealing with necromancy, exploring the boundaries between life and the beyond.

Epigraphy

Enchantment Inscriptions: A specialized skill within artifact creation, this involves inscribing runes or magical symbols onto objects to imbue them with specific effects or powers. Runes might hold protective wards, enhance abilities, or serve as keys to unlock latent magical potential.

Curse Binding: A methodical practice involving the creation of enchanted objects or items that carry curses. These cursed objects, once activated or triggered, unleash their negative effects upon the bearer or the environment.

Warding and Sealing: Emphasis in protective magic, a specialized skill used to create barriers, wards, and seals that shield against malevolent forces, entities, or influences.

Alchemy

Alchemy, at it's core, harnesses the potent energies within magical artifacts, raw materials & ingredients, and gemstones. This modernized magic blends the line of science and magic. This approach allows for the transmutation of one substance into another, utilizing a deep understanding of magical properties to concoct elixirs, brew potions, and create a variety of magical artifacts and charms.

Arcanology

Artifact Crafting: This involves the intricate process of crafting powerful magical artifacts that possess unique and potent abilities. These artifacts could range from enchanted weapons and tools to mystical objects imbued with specific purposes or protections.

Charm Crafting: Practitioners focus on imbuing smaller items or trinkets, such as amulets, talismans, or charms, with magical properties. These items often serve as conduits for protective, enhancing, or symbolic magical energies.

Potionology

Healing Elixirs: Created to aid in healing wounds, reducing inflammation, and promoting regeneration when applied topically.

Enhancement Elixirs: These elixirs are applied to the skin or imbued into items to confer temporary boosts in physical abilities or attributes.

Protective Elixirs: Creates temporary shields or barriers on the skin, offering protection against magical or physical harm when applied.

Transformational Elixirs: Applied externally, these elixirs induce temporary physical changes in the form of camouflage, alteration of features, or enhancement of senses when applied to specific body parts.

Utility Elixirs: Used to aid in performing specific tasks or granting temporary abilities, applied to objects or surfaces to imbue them with magical properties.

Potions

Healing Potions: Potions designed to heal wounds, cure ailments, and restore vitality from within the body upon digestion.

Enhancement Potions: Potions that temporarily enhance physical/mental attributes or abilities when ingested.

Transformational Potions: Potions ingested to induce temporary physical or mental alterations, affecting the consumer's body or mind directly.

Emotional Balancing Potions: These potions help stabilize emotions, reduce anxiety, or induce specific emotional states.

Spiritual

Rooted in ancient traditions, the Spiritual Approach draws upon a higher power or deity to access magical energies. Practitioners invoke the blessings and favor of these higher entities, channeling their magic through rituals, prayers, or sacred rites. This approach reveres ancient practices, tapping into divine sources to manifest potent mystical abilities.

Divine Invocation: Practitioners focus on invoking and communing with higher entities, deities, or spiritual beings to channel magical energies. This involves rituals, prayers, or ceremonies to seek guidance, blessings, or empowerment.

Sacred Rites and Rituals: Specializing in performing sacred rituals or ceremonies, practitioners conduct intricate rites to honor or connect with spiritual entities. These rituals might involve offerings, ceremonies during celestial events, or rites to tap into specific divine aspects.

Ancestral Magic: Focused on drawing power from ancestors or ancestral spirits, this subcategory involves honoring and communing with the spirits of one's lineage to seek guidance, protection, or wisdom.

Nature Attunement: Practitioners attune themselves to the natural world, drawing upon the energies present in nature—forests, rivers, mountains—to harness magical power. This involves rituals, meditations, or ceremonies conducted in natural settings.

Cosmic Alignment: Focused on celestial bodies and cosmic energies, practitioners attune themselves to the movements of stars, planets, and celestial events, harnessing cosmic energies for magical purposes.

Intuitive

Embracing a more instinctive and organic path, Intuitive Magic flows naturally through practitioners. Users of this approach rely on their innate connection to the energies around them, allowing magic to manifest in more spontaneous and practical ways. Rather than complex spells, intuitive magic often leads to immediate and instinctual applications, driven by the user's innate understanding of the magical forces at play.

Instinctive Elemental Manipulation: Practitioners have an innate ability to instinctively manipulate elemental forces without formal training. This intuition allows them to shape and influence elemental energies without relying on structured spells.

Natural Empathy and Connection: Some individuals possess a deep empathy and natural connection to living beings, allowing them to sense emotions, intentions, or even communicate with plants and/or animals effortlessly.

Dreamwalking and Astral Projection: Intuitives proficient in dreamwalking or astral projection can navigate the dream realm or astral plane naturally, without formal training, tapping into these realms for insights or interactions.

Shapeshifters: Individuals with the innate ability to alter their physical form, assuming the appearance of other creatures or beings. They can morph into animals, mythical creatures, or even different humanoid forms.

Dual Natured Beings: Those capable of transitioning between different forms or states, such as mermaids transforming between their aquatic and land forms, fairies altering the appearance or abilities of their wings, or werewolves shifting between human and wolf forms during a full moon.

#winx club #winx headcanons #winx rewrite #winx club fanfiction #winx club headcanons #winx #winx fanfic #winx club fanart #winx club fanfic #winx club rewrite #winx club redesign #winx club reboot

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fragmentating · 19 days

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Honestly not much radicalized me in regards to bodily autonomy the way being a chronic selfharmer for 10+ years has. And one of those things that really are so awful to deal with is a lack of privacy.

When I go inpatient and they ask me if I have wounds, and I answer honestly, they dont just write that down. They make me undress and show each single one, otherwise I wont be "processed" and let into my room.

In the underage psych ward I was in they would sometimes search the rooms of known selfharmers while we were away at a therapy appointment, or seeing family in the visitation room, etc. They wouldn't tell you. They would lie about it if you asked about it. But all your shit had been moved around slightly, enough for observant people to notice. If they found blades, or any other sharp object regardless of it you had used it to selfharm though, you would obviously be punished.

One time I cut and went to the nurses for help, I was scared because it had never been that deep before and their response was tossing my room after I had voluntarily given them the two blades i had, while a male nurse kept saying how uncomfortable he was that he "had to" inspect my pads, saying "why would you need that many", ... they had metal detectors. They could've just swiped it across everything. But that wouldn't have been humiliating enough like seeing a nurse dig through my underwear and pads and diary.

Outside of the psych ward, my family kept up a similar approach. They did not search my room at least, knowing it was futile because there were always knifes in the house if I was desperate anyways, and a store down the street that sold razors. But locked doors were my mothers enemy. If I locked my door to masturbate, and she noticed it was locked? She would knock and yell until I opened it. If I simply wanted to relax in a bath but she decided it was suspiciously long ? The same.

When they couldn't catch me in the act but my scars kept getting more and more theyd threaten me with being hospitalized again.

When the hospital ER would send me to the closed ward for cuts that had nothing to do with suicidal ideation, but they decided I must be lying because it was deep enough, no matter how often I said I simply "messed up" because of adrenaline and blades that were sharper than expected. They had no legal ground to lock me up again but who cares, right. Its just one of those freaks who cuts themselves anyways.

And none of this kept me safe. None of this prevented me from cutting majority of the time. It made me distrust the ER. It made me distrust nurses. It made me hide my body even around my family. And when it did momentarily work I simply started harming myself in other ways. I ended up covered in bruises, with minor concussions, increasingly starving myself, depriving myself of sleep, ...

No one ever went "let's really try to figure out why you do this." Instead they went "why the fuck wont you just chew some bubble gum and roll a spikey ball on the soles of your feet you depressed fuck" or some shit like bro I am being severely traumatized by the world and this is my reaction. It's all "you are the problem".

And as an adult whos decided that I'm not interested in quitting, who "only" practices harm reduction I know that absolutely no one wants to accept that as a choice I should be allowed to make. Doesnt matter that I'm an expert at taking care of wounds and I have not had a single infection in 10+ years aside from once on wounds that got fucking stitched at the hospital. that I actively do my best to avoid lasting damage. That I try to keep the frequency low. They put me through years of surveillance and shame and threats without ever trying to see the root cause, only ever treat me as a bratty problem child who's being difficult just to fuck with them, and can not understand why that wouldn't make me want to stick to the goals they have set for me.

Therapists genuinely lose their mind when I tell them I don't want ~sobriety~ I just want to reduce harm and get on with my life. Their teachings do not allow for this to be but a short term compromise. I do not care.

#harm reduction #i guess sort of #selfharm cw #selfharm #anti psych #psych critical #bodily autonomy #(respect my choice or die by my sword)

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