#this was easier to make than the one with the golden mask

[aladaylessecondblog]

me on my Ck3 bs again

#dagoth ur #nerevar #this was easier to make than the one with the golden mask #holy cow #ck3 #northern lords is the only expansion i have

[transmascsteveharrington]

Eddie's hands don't shake as he buttons up Steve's shirt. He's helped Steve get dressed for enough years to hide the yearning that flows through the veins in his body instead of blood, making his heart beat faster. Still, he indulges. Lets his fingers brush over Steve's shoulders, chest, stomach under the excuse of smoothing out the fabric.

Sometimes, on days when his feelings for Steve are so strong that his entire body aches enough to almost force him to his knees, Eddie allows himself the little illusion that Steve is leaning into these soft touches. That he holds back a whine when Eddie's hands don't linger. That maybe Steve yearns just as much to let his hands brush over Eddie's body. But Eddie knows better.

Today isn't a day for daydreams wrapped in a pink hue. Today will leave him lying in his small servant chamber next to Steve's luxurious bedroom, curled up with his knees pressed into his chest, hoping the faint pressure of the closest thing to a hug he can get will ease the pain. Today is another soulmate match ball.

Eddie does his best to keep in a sigh as he helps Steve into a dark navy blue vest that matches the mask covering Steve's eyes perfectly. It's made out of soft velvet and interwoven with a golden pattern, a satin band tying it in an intricate bow at the back of Steve's head. It's just as breathtakingly beautiful as Steve. Eddie's plain, black cotton mask looks even more cheap compared to Steve's. A constant reminder of their places.

Not that Steve would ever act appropriately for their places. Eddie might help him get dressed and fetch his food but back when they were nothing but kids they spend days playing together, arms slung around each other before their parents had torn them apart. Servant boys and princes weren't friends. But that had never stopped Steve to treat Eddie like one. They couldn't touch with the simple affection like they used to when they were little. But they still spend the majority of their time together, fencing, reading, riding, walking, talking. They come as a set pair. Eddie knows Steve trusts him more than his own advisers. It doesn't make dealing with all the love Eddie has for Steve or soulmate matching balls any easier.

Eddie takes his time today, works slower than usual. Because the moment he is done, Steve will walk through the doors into the ballroom and meet with potential soulmates. They'll dance, they'll laugh and at the end one of them will reach up and be able to pull on the band of Steve's mask, loosening the bow and taking the mask off, getting a better look at Steve's beautiful hazel eyes.

The masks act as a guard, eyes are the windows to your soul after all and only your soulmate should be able to remove that guard and see you, truly see all of you. It's not the first soulmate match ball. Steve has been to plenty. Excited at first, always eager and hoping, always returning with his mask still on and his heart a little cracked. Eddie aches for Steve every time, he does want Steve to be happy and in love.

But one small, ugly, selfish part can't help but sing a little bit with joy when Steve returns, mask still glued to his face by fate. The selfish part that wants Steve to be his, that is arrogant enough to believe he could easily remove Steve's mask. "Are you ready?" he asks once he has helped Steve into his last piece of clothing. He looks stunning and Eddie can already feel his throat close up.

"Not really," Steve mutters. "Don't think my soulmate is going to be there. And even if they were I don't..." he trails off and shakes his head.

He looks sad, defeated and that selfish part inside of Eddie shrinks.

"I just...I think soulmates are bullshit," Steve suddenly says with such bitterness Eddie stumbles surprised for a second. He knows Steve wants to be loved, has dreamed about meeting his soulmate since they were kids. This does not sound like him at all.

"What if I know exactly what I want?" Steve continues and suddenly looks directly into Eddie's masked eyes. "Who I want? That I don't care whether they are my soulmate or not because I don't think I will ever be able to love anyone the way I love them?"

It hurts, it hurts so badly like Steve decided to push his hand between Eddie's vertebrae like a knife, close his fingers around Eddie's heart and crush it to dust. Steve is in love. Eddie doesn't even know who it could be, being left in the dark about this by his best friend who usually trusts him blind hurts almost worse. Still, Eddie knew this day would come and he tries to keep it together until Steve is gone. A strand of hair has come loose during Steve's little passionate speech.

"Then I hope you'll be happy together," Eddie whispers and reaches out to tug the strand of hair behind Steve's ear.

He usually never touches Steve's hair. Too intimate, too close to his mask. But Eddie can't help this last, small indulgence. His fingers do accidentally brush against the satin band though and the moment his skin touches the fabric, just for a second, just the faintest bit, the bow loosens and the mask slips off Steve's face. Both of them let out a gasp.

This can't be, this isn't...Eddie barely touched the mask. Not that it matters. Steve just made it loud and clear that he doesn't care about soulmates, that he loves someone else. Steve looks down at the mask and then back up at Eddie before he lets out a little laugh.

"Really? All I had to do was complain a little to get the universe to comply?" His voice is filled with delight, not mockery as Eddie had feared. Comply? But that would mean...

"I'm so glad it is you, wanted it to be you," Steve whispers as he steps closer. "May I? Please, Eddie?" He asks and lifts his hands up to Eddie's mask.

This must be a dream Eddie decides, all he can do is nod. Steve's hands tremble as he brushes his fingers along the black band. Just like with his mask, it takes the faintest touch for Eddie's mask to slip off his face.

"Always knew your eyes would be beautiful," Steve whispers, gently cradling Eddie's hand in his face.

"Your's too," Eddie rasps, still not quite convinced that this is actually happening.

But then he finds Steve's hazel eyes and he sees it, sees it in the depth of Steve's soul, the core of his being, the tendons of his heart: Love. So, so so much love. It's him. It's always been him. Steve is in love with him. Eddie knows Steve must see the same in his eyes because all he does is smile, besotted, thumb tenderly brushing over Eddie's cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks and all Eddie can do is still only nod before he closes the distance, his lips fitting perfectly against Steve's.

Safe to say that Eddie doesn't curl up all miserable in his small chamber that night. Instead, he spends it in a large bed held in the arms of the man he loves and who loves him back. His soulmate. And not even Steve's parents can tear them apart. Fate wouldn't have it.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson fic #steve harrington fic #my writing

[readychilledwine]

Hello!! I recently found your blog and I love your writing! I was looking at the writing prompts and I fell in love with the touch starved ones.

I was wondering if you could write a Eris or Tarquin x f reader for “the reaching out with their hand without saying anything, wanting the other one to grab it”? I love both males so which ever one is easier for you. But I love the idea of like a stoic reader but the male knows they like physical affection as long as the reader doesn’t look needy.

Thanks in advance and Happy Holidays :)

Take my Hand

Warning - I changed a little bit of the High Lords meeting because THEY ALL WERE TOO NICE. I love Rhysand, Feyre, and the Night Court, but Kal and Tarquin were way too nice for people who felt their courts were personally targeted by Rhys (Kal especially), self doubt, Beron

A/n - the man in that gift has delicious forearms. I just know it. Ps- I know the fandom as a whole wants to push this narrative that Beron is ugly, but you're calling my book one Lulu ugly when you do that. SJM specifically says Lucien's face in that book is similar to Beron's. I think we all need to face the reality that the man is attractive. He's just a dick and that ruins it.

You were drowning.

High Lord's meetings were not your cup of tea, and they never had been.

Maybe it was your young age, rivaled only by your mate's. Maybe it was the amount of loud males yelling and throwing insults that reminded you far too much of your power-hungry father. Maybe it was just that you were "a sleepy girl," as your mate always so lovingly suggested when you'd rest on his chest.

But this just wasn't your scene.

You rolled your eyes, keeping that bored mask in place as Rhysand went into yet another long dragged out monolog about how he wasn't the monster you all believed he was. It was his third one in less than an hour.

You felt Tarquin look at you from the corner of his eye.

Despite how much you hated being here, you loved him, Gods did you love him. And he needed you.

There were arguments from every delegation of who has the most handsome High Lord. You saw beauty in all of them, though.

Tamlin for his flowing golden hair and piercing green eyes.

Helion for that smirk, his skin that was so flawless you had begged him countless times for his skincare routine.

Kallias was the vision of untouched beauty. He looked like freshly fallen snow.

Thesan for his sharp casual wardrobe, his untouched skill and intelligence, his kind eyes.

Rhysand for being the beauty of night itself. Dark inky hair on golden sun kissed skin. Eyes that held the cosmos like he knew all their secrets.

Even Beron, the oldest of them, had looks that held wisdom as he aged like a fine wine before all of you.

But Tarquin, none of them could hold a candle to. His white hair contrasting against his skin, those ocean eyes, his voice.

You had won the mating lottery with him in looks alone.

But it was his kindness, the one trait so many mistook for weakness, that made you truly fall for him. His kindness and his observational skills.

Tarquin's brows knitted, mouthing a soft "Are you okay?"

You only responded with a smile and small eye roll as Rhys began claiming he had not slaughtered the children in Winter. That another unknown daemati had, and he had convinced Amarantha to do that instead of murdering Kal. All before trying to garner sympathy.

You set your wine glass down a little harder than intended at that. Annoyed that he had an excuse for everything. That he blame shifted everything he had been confronted with so far. Kal rose a brow at you, then smirked. "I believe even, y/n, thinks you are full of shit, Rhysand."

You looked down instantly, cheek heating as everyone's gaze fell toward you. "Would you like to say something?" Thesan spoke gently to you. "Perhaps you can shed some light on the situation in the Summer Court?"

You felt it then. The soft tug on the bond as Tarquin held his hand out to you.

He didn't mean to make you look or feel weak. He didn't mean to make it look like he was reigning you in. He meant it to comfort you. To bring you back to him. Back to this moment. This critical meeting that could decide the fate of your court. Your home. His fae. Fae you two had been spending so much time bring to break the social standards with. Fae you were just earning the trust of.

He offered you his hand as his love, as his support, and as a grounding tool. You took it silently, body easing at the softness and warmth of his fingers and palms.

"You came to our home, and we welcomed you as honored guests," you started slowly, refusing to look at him. "We told you our hopes, the steps we were taking for equality, far taxation, wages, you pretended to care and support us. Then you stole from us. You stole from us when we welcomed you as our friends."

Feyre looked down, guilt now hitting her. You two had grown close quickly. Instant friends who enjoyed each other's company. "We had no choice," Rhysand answered smoothly.

"You could have asked us," Tarquin replied. "You could have told us the truth and asked us. Now you ask us to blindly trust you when you've already done that, and your mate, your Court's High Lady, opened the gate for Hybern to enter my territory out of rage against Tamlin."

Rhys had no response. He was looking to you. "Your only saving grace with me, Rhysand," you felt Tarquin squeeze your hand to calm the wave of emotion going through you, "is the fact that your court is the only one who came when we were attacked. Why did you bother doing that after everything you had done?"

Tarquin hummed his approval softly, another gentle squeeze and tug on the bond.

Rhysand's offer was soft. His voice showing he understood the hurt he had done. The personal damage his actions had caused. "Because that's what friends do."

You sighed, allowing Tarquin to take over as the stoic mask of silence fell back in place. Three squeezed came to your hand. A message you and he had made when you were trapped under that mountain together.

It was a message.

One you felt as you squeezed his hand three times back.

"I love you," it said.

Five squeezes came next, conveying the message you needed, "You are safe. I'm here." You broke that mask. Hand moving up to his bicep and head falling into his shoulder. You didn't listen as Rhys addressed you, your court.

You knew you personally would not forgive them.

But if Tarquin did, you would support him, so long as he kept your hand in his.

#acotar #acotar x reader #tarquin x reader #tarquin acotar #tarquin x you #tarquin x y/n #high lord tarquin

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part one Part Three

You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut. 

But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe? 

“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”

“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox. 

His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”

“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power. 

The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin. 

“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”

“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side. 

“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you. 

“Again, I’d like to see him try.”

Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain. 

“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”

“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming  he can be.”

“For your sake, you best hope he does.”

You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath. 

For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.

“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”

“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.

The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.

“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors. 

You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table. 

Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”

A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power. 

“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table. 

You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day. 

“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.” 

“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”

I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”

“She doesn’t need to know about you.”

“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”

“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”

“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin. 

I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”

“Behave,” Lucien snaps. 

“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly. 

“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”

“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”

“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair. 

“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”

“No.” 

You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving. 

“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly. 

You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become. 

Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai. 

“You know you can’t.”

“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”

“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”

“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”

“He’ll know.”

“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”

“I know.”

“Just, please.”

“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”

“I know.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”

“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”

Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.

#acomaf #acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel spymaster

[rainylana]

“Stay the night.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: after eddie gets his ass kicked for helping you out, you show up to his trailer to aid his wounds.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fighting, slight harassment, very brief smut sorry y’all, jason carver as his cunt self, mostly told from eddie’s perspective, i don’t want to give away the major plot twist in this so all i’ll say is that there is talk of major physical trauma/abuse, also credits to @vol2eddie for helping me with the idea! also, should i do a part two to this?

pt 2

The only reason he even debated going and helping you was because of Wayne’s golden rule. Always respect women. Help them when they need it. Protect them. Wayne was old fashioned when it came to his viewpoints, but he made sure Eddie was raised well and had a good morale compass. Right now, Eddie was cursing it. Of all people.

He was just about to hop in his van to leave school for the day when the basketball team caught his eye, and the pretty girl they surrounded. He threw his backpack through his rolled down window and rested a hand on his hip, watching through his dark sunglasses. “Oh, shit.” He said, realizing you were the girl who’s attention had been caught from the pubescent young men.

Eddie hated you, and you him. It had been like that for years. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew you too couldn’t tolerate being in the same room together. The school guidance counselor even had to change two of his classes so he wouldn’t have to engage with you. He didn’t like to think about way back when, the days you where once friends. It almost made him sad.

“Fuck,” He turned to get in his van, let it be, but it was clear whatever they were saying to you was making you very uncomfortable. When he seen Jason Carver, enough was enough. “Damn it.”

He trudged up the hill to the patch of grass you were standing in, a beating in his heart indicating his nervousness. “Hey!” He barked, getting the attention of everyone. He tried his best not to look small. 

“Munson?” Carver raised a brow, surprised to see him. “May we help you with something?”

You locked eyes with Eddie, face masked in surprise and curiosity. Jason had cornered you, along with his goons, trying to get you to go out with him. As if you’d ever go out with him. You loathed him. He wouldn’t let you pass, wouldn’t let you say no. By the time he had grabbed your elbow, Eddie Munson had shown his face in the crowd, the last person you had expected to see.

Eddie and you had history. Not good history, either. You used to be very close in 7th grade. Almost best friends. To this day, Eddie didn’t know why you dipped and broke his young heart. You never gave him a reason. It wasn’t important for him to know. Besides, it was easier to hate him.

“Just seeing what the problem was.” Eddie shrugged, looking away from you to Jason, trying to keep his shoulders tall and broad. Jason was significantly taller than him.

“Problem?” Jason shook his head. “No, no, there’s no problem. Just curious as to why you suddenly give a shit about y/n over here.” He laughed, along with his friends.

He laughed, too. Carver had a point. Still, golden rule, Eddie. Golden rule. “Yeah, well,” He took a step toward him. “Just making sure no one was uncomfortable.”

He ignored you completely now. He wouldn’t look at you.

“Uncomfortable?” Jason scoffed. “Freak Munson is getting brave, boys! I think if you don’t step back, man, the only one who will be uncomfortable is you.”

God, he’d almost broken his record. He’d gone almost 10 days without a black eye. He sighed heavily, bringing back his fist.

•

“What do you want?” Eddie was surprised to see you on the porch of his trailer, caressing a first aid kit in your hands. It was late, almost nine o’clock. There was a chill in the air and you had a thick coat wrapped around you.

“You have a black eye.” You pointed out awkwardly, shifting your weight. “I came here to…well, thank you for what you did. And to patch you up. You’ve got a little cut up there.” You lifted your finger.

“Mhm, I’m aware.” He said, holding a cold beer to his eyebrow. “But I don’t need your thanks and I don’t need you freezing to death on my porch. I didn’t do any of that for you.”

You sniffed in the cold, closing your arms to your chest. “Oh? Then why did you?”

He rolled his eyes, debating kicking you off his porch steps. “Look, my uncle taught me to respect women, okay? Look out for…well, your breed.”

You held your head high. “I see. Very admirable of you. You gonna let me in so I can help?” You let yourself in anyways, pushing past him. You tried not to stare and recall the memories of when you’d last been inside his home. It had been many years.

“Hey!” Eddie slammed the door shut. “This is breaking and entering!”

“You’re gonna preach to me about the law?” You raised a brow, taking off your coat. “You of all people?”

“How bout shuttin’ the fuck up, eh?” He plopped down on his couch, glaring at you. “I don’t need any of your help to begin with.”

“But you let me in.” You kicked off your boots, giving him a pointed look.

“I can kick you out anytime, L/n.” He stared at you through his lashes. “I suggest you doctor me up before you’re kicked to the curb.”

Your both stared at each other for a moment before you sat beside him on the couch. He stiffened when you touched his cut with an alcohol wipe, making you apologize softly under your breath. Neither him nor you thought you’d be in such close proximity ever again. It felt awkward, at least that’s how Eddie saw it. It was awkward and unconscious. He wanted you gone, but he couldn’t deny that your touch was almost a little bit comforting to his throbbing headache.

“I really do mean it,” You broke the silence, noticing the small cuts on his knuckles. He’d gotten in several good punches, but he looked like shit. “I appreciate what you did, even if it wasn’t for me. I owe you this.”

He flexed his fingers when you started dabbing at his ring finger. “You don’t owe me anything.”

You wrapped a small bandaid around his pinky finger, switching to his other hand where it had been bruised. “Still. Thank you, Eddie. Those guys are jerks.”

“What did they want, anyways?” He found himself contributing to the conversation.

“Jason was trying to convince me to go out with him,” You paused to look at him, the sudden look of your eyes startled him, his body tense and uncomfortable. “I said no but he wouldn’t listen. He grabbed my arm. That’s when you showed up.”

Eddie scoffed lightly. “Yeah, sounds about right for Carver. Piece of shit, if you ask me.”

“I agree.” You nodded, wiping away dried blood around his knuckles.

You both found it odd that you were having a normal conversation, not a screaming match. It was kind of nice actually. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” You sighed, wrapping another finger in a bandaid. “How’s Wayne?”

“He’s fine.” He said dismissively.

Your eyes dropped and you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you this time, only the floor. It killed you that Eddie hated you so bad. It killed you that you had to hate him. You wished you could explain things to him. Make the world twist back in time. But again, it was easier to hate him. Wasn’t it?

“I’ll get this done so I can go.” You halfway muttered, causing Eddie to look at you. He found himself not wanting you to leave.

“Sorry.” He licked his lips. “Old man is fine. Working everyday. Bringing home the bacon. Same old. You remember that, I’m sure.” He leaned back on the couch, allowing you to decorate his fingers with bandaids. He didn’t question the girly designs on them.

You breathed heavily. “Yes, I do. I miss him.”

When was the punchline? You two didn’t do this. You didn’t coerce with one another. “Why are you really here?” Eddie questioned you.

“What do you mean?” You paused your work.

“You come here to mock me or something?” He raised his brow, an inquisitive tone in his deep voice. “Tell me I shouldn’t have gotten in the way?”

“No.” You said firmly, placing his hand down. “I told you why I’m here.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” He sat up to glare at you, dark curls tossed behind his shoulder.

“I’m not out to get you, Eddie!” You raised your voice. “Believe it or not, I came here with sincere intentions.”

He scoffed. “Sincere intentions, huh? That what you thought when you ditched me in eighth grade? Was that sincere intentions?”

“You don’t know the whole story, Eddie!” You snapped, gathering your trash and standing up. “You can hate me all you want but it’s not fair. Nothing about anything is fair!” You ranted, throwing your bandaid sleeves in the trash.

Eddie’s eyes were wide, startled. He looked down to his hands, seeing the pink and purple bandaids. An awkward silence ensued.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.” Your voice broke across the room, making him snap his head up. Were you crying? “I never wanted any of this to happen. It just…I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” You were crying.

Eddie stiffened. He didn’t know what to do. Here, his mortal enemy was crying in his home. He had the urge to kick you out, yet comfort you at the same time. But how was he to do that? “You’re not making any sense, L/n.” He said awkwardly.

“I know, I know.” You had your back to him, waving your hand. “I’m sorry, I know. I just…wish things could be different. I wish you could know…how sorry I am that things turned out the way they did.”

He raised one singular brow, mouth falling in ajar. He’d never been more confused in his life. “Listen, Y/n, I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now so…you want a beer or something?” He tried to contribute to the conversation in some helpful manor.

You turned, stilling his movements at the sight of your tears and snotty nose. He swallowed hard. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I just…can we talk about somethings?”

“What things?”

“Things from back then.”

“Back then as….?”

“Eighth grade.”

No, not really. He didn’t want that. But did he? This could be his chance to get some answers, and it was clear you were ready to give them. He halfway wanted to turn you away, but the sight of your tears made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want you crying, oddly enough.

“Yeah, okay.” He gave up with a heavy sigh, patting the seat on the couch next to him for you to sit.

When you sat down next to him, your shoulders brushed and he stiffened. He cleared his throat, fiddling with his hands. You wiped your face with your sleeve. Maybe he should’ve offered you a tissue. Did he even have those?

“You remember my parents, right?” You started, making him scoff.

“Yeah, they’re assholes. Why?”

Here goes nothing. You turned to put your back to him, placing your hands at the side of your shirt. With one movement, you lifted it over your head, leaving you in your red bra.

Eddie jumped like a startled deer, but settled when he saw what was in front of him. Your back was decorated in thick, red marks, splatted across it’s length. Eddie couldn’t help but move closer, his jaw falling slack. He placed his hand on your shoulder to get a better look.

“You knew they hated you.” Your voice was thick with tears. “Especially my dad. He said you were evil and wicked. He said you’d…you’d take- advantage of me. He said if I didn’t stop being your friend then he’d..he’d, he’d kill you.”

Eddie felt like he was going to be sick. He knew these marks were from a belt. A thick one. You were bruised everywhere. He stomach churched and he thought he was going to be sick. He traced a bruise with his finger.

“My parents are creative when it comes to dealing out punishments.” You laughed without humor, a crack in your voice. “Eddie, I know you hate me, but I hope you don’t really hate me. Because I don’t hate you. I never have. It was just easier to let you go. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was like Eddie had been transported back to eighth grade. His hair was buzzed and he had horrible acne scars and buck teeth, but you were still as beautiful as he’d ever thought. Eddie’s heart had broke and it was as if no time had past, there had been no water under the bridge you were standing on.

He got up and moved to the other end of the couch where he could see your face, and he pulled you in for a hug, careful where he put his arms. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded with you. “Forgive me, I’m so so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help but cry in his arms, relishing the feeling of having your friend back. “It’s okay. Just hold me.”

He scooted closer and held you tighter. Mentally, his mind was a battlefield, connecting dots and pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t known existed. Everything made so much sense now. He hated every bit of it.

Eddie held you for almost an hour. You both laid on the couch where you stayed on top of his chest, torsos flush against the other. It was extremely intimate. Eddie asked the questions he wanted, to which he finally got answers to. It made you feel so much better, a weight that wasn’t no longer pressed against your windpipe.

Within the minutes, you were both looking at each other, staring into each other’s eyes with a gentle softness. Eddie wanted so badly to kiss you, a thought he never imagined would cross his mind. He also hoped you weren’t aware of his slight hard on. After all, a beautiful girl was laying on top of him, shirtless.

“Kiss me.” You said through a whisper, brave and quiet.

Eddie gulped, giving a slight nod. “Okay.”

He leaned in until his plush lips were soft against yours. With a tiny movement, he kissed you, opening his mouth ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. It really wasn’t even much of one. It was so delicate and soft as snow, but it meant the world to you. When you put your hand on his cheek, he took it as a sign to kiss you harder. He did, pressing his face into yours and opening his lips wide to give you his tongue. Your lips lapped and licked and your breath was hard in each other’s faces.

You felt the heat between your legs throb. You couldn’t but moan. He groaned right back. As much as he wanted to have you, now wasn’t a good time. It wasn’t the right time, not of all circumstances. He gave you one last kiss before he pulled away. You were almost sweating. He smiled, pulling you back into his chest. “Stay the night.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb

[stararch4ngelqueen]

High-Rise Melancholy

—

Time Written-11:23 a.m. (Pt.1 )

Jason Todd/fem!reader angst

—

A sharp clash of painted porcelain smashes against the doorway you almost crossed, shattering the thick plastic light switch frame.

An involuntary yelp left your lips from the sharp sound of impact, watching the fragments of what was once your indigo blue, gold star and moon coffee mug, once full of sleepy time tea, scatter the ground in seconds.

Wide eyes meet yours, the culprit of throwing the mug peering back at you with eyes much wider than yours behind his mask.

The bedroom was laced in silence, the tension elevated into high alarm. Static laced his tongue once he realized what he’d done, the idea of harming you bringing his knees to nearly buckle.

He swore you weren’t standing there a second ago, what was he thinking? He nearly hit you, he almost—

“GET OUT!!” He shouts, screaming into the flames of the chaos he caused. Your eyes grew wider, your feet nearly stumbling back as you retreated. Enraged, milky eyes grew close as he stomped forward, trembling hands grasping hold onto the edges of the door.

“GO! GET THE— GET THE FUCK OUT!!” His raised voice cuts short once he slams the door in your face, preventing you from seeing him crumble any further.

Out of the eighty six to ninety percent change you had to seeing him in this manner, it never got any easier. He’d shut down, he’d throw things, he’d shout so loud it would concern the neighbors.

However, as Batman abides by his unique, golden rules of logic, Jason’s was much more simple:

He’d never, ever raise a hand to you. Ever.

You wait in the kitchen for nearly ten minutes, lit up by the warm glow of the stove light. A fresh cup of tea waited for you, alongside a mug of strong coffee. Your boyfriend locked himself into your shared bedroom, your inaccessible phone laying abandoned on its charger on your bedside table.

You couldn’t check up on him like this, no matter how much you wanted to. He needed space, needing a minute to calm down, however long that minute would end up taking.

You were in the kitchen when he came home, dressed in plaid sweatpants and his red hoodie with a box of pancake mix in your hand, moments away from preparing an early breakfast before he’d sleep in until late in the afternoon.

Maybe it was your mistake. You heard the difference in his heavy footsteps when he returned this morning. Heavy, dirty soles scraping against hard wood floor in frustrating stomps, rather than exhausted drags.

You probably shouldn’t have treaded behind him with strong concern, wanting to make sure he was alright, preparing to dote on him if needed. You would say you’ve gotten better at it, but after this, you felt thrown back towards square one.

He’s tired, he’s angry. He just needs a minute.

You force yourself to think this, trying to keep your composure as your eyes peer down at Jason’s coffee, your fingertips settled on the warmth of the mug contrasting against the cold countertop.

Eventually, the faint click of your bedroom door was heard down the short hallway before comes to you. The softest creaks of the wood gave way once his socked feet transfer towards cold tile before warm arms encasing you in a deep embrace.

The faint smell of wet dirt, rain water and petrichor flood your senses, his sweat damp hair tickling behind your ear as he tucks his head against the valley of your neck in silent shame.

“M’sorry,” His tired, weak voice ripples against your skin, the voice of a weak, little boy coming forth inside the body of a grown man. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to hurt you—“

“You didn’t,” your wavering voice cuts him off, to his dismay at what he assumed was your denial. “Jason, don’t say that, you didn’t hurt me-“

“I almost did!” He insists, hot trembling breath fanning along your neck whilst his broad, jacket shrouded arms squeezed you tighter. “I swear! I-I wasn’t thinking, I.. I wasn’t—“

He cuts himself off, his chest heaving with his increased breathing. You try to take the opportunity to turn yourself, feeling his arms hesitate in their tight grasp once he realized what you were trying to do.

His shoulders tremble as he contemplates you seeming him like this. No, he didn’t want you to even look at him, but you were just as stubborn as he was with persistence.

Jason’s head rose off your shoulder, keeping himself turned towards the side as you finally face him. You didn’t need to look into his eyes to see how frustrated with himself he was, the angry, shameful tears leaving thick tracks down his chiseled cheeks.

Dark bags outlined his sockets, tired wrinkles crowning the corners of his pink, flushed eyes.

“Jason,” his name softly rolled off your tongue, making the man sniffle after he lowers his avoided gaze.

Your arms snugly wrap around his neck, your hand cradling his head towards your shoulder. His muscles remained stiff three seconds longer before melting, fat tears seeping into the shoulder of your hoodie.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, baby.” His weak voice trembles, scattered breath steaming against the damp fabric. Please, don’t be angry with me.

You’d never be angry with him. You trust him to never hurt you.

“I forgive you,” came your gentle reply, but it would take a while for the shame to slip off his nerves. For now, you held the tall, large man against your frame, quietly comparing him to a ridiculously large teddy bear you’d win at a boardwalk carnival.

“I’ll get you another mug,” he murmurs against your neck, making you huff out an amused breath.

“We have a hundred more in the cabinets,” you mused, referring to your thrift store of a stock that took up two shelf spaces.

“I-“ he tried to speak again, thinking of some other way he could possibly apologize for his outburst, but you weren’t gonna have it.

“Jason, enough,” You cradle his face, wanting to kiss all his tears away straight from the source. “It’s okay. I’m okay, you’re okay. Okay?”

A small part of you wants to smile at how many times that word has been repeated, but it was a chisel on a block of ice when it came to Jason. A warmed chisel, hoping to strike an impact on his troubled mind faster than anything else.

He’d let you break him harder than he broke your possessions, even when it was never intentional. He’d let you harm him worse than he ever did towards the criminals, the ‘so-called victims’ from his Lazarus youth.

He’d watch your hand raise, yet it never struck, it soothed. When he believed everything in his new life grew more hateful and cruel, the graze of your fingertips remained subtly sweet. Pure autumn honey and warm milk for his battered soul.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you settle, running your fingers through his sweat curled locks nearly flattened down along the top of his head. The consequences of wearing a helmet for many hours at a time.

“Go take a shower. I’ll make you those cinnamon roll pancakes you like, then you can get some sleep. Okay?”

A tinge of a smile formed on the corner of his lip, albeit temporary, it was still visible.

“Okay.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #dc jason todd #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x y/n #jason peter todd #I can make cinnamon roll pancakes #he likes them he told me himself #in case anyone noticed #I’m not happy with Gotham War #Gotham War

[floralpascal]

Something To Live For

Summary: A quiet morning with you shows Ghost the possibility of the life he could have with you - a life he never thought would be his.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 649

Rating: Mature (Series is 18+ only though, mdni!)

Warnings: talk of death, secret relationship, Ghost finally experiencing happiness

A/N: This man deserves some happiness, so here it is. While I love to write Ghost agonizing over his feelings, exploring how he is when he fully embraces them is my absolute favorite

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

There were a lot of things Ghost thought he would never have. 

And you? You were every single one of them. 

For so long, all that existed in Ghost’s life was the brutal reality of war. He gave almost every second of his time to his job. There wasn’t room for someone else in the picture. He barely had the time or the trust to invest in someone unknown. Even if someone gained his trust and was willing to put up with him being gone most of the time, it was too dangerous for them. The people in Ghost’s life always seemed to be put in the line of fire because of him. It was easier to avoid it altogether. 

Besides, he wasn’t delusional. He knew that his chances of surviving to old age in this line of business were slim-to-none. Hell, he was lucky to have even made it this far. His life was on borrowed time. For as grim as it was, he had made peace with that. 

Examining the way the pale golden light of the morning spilled across your features, Simon ran a finger down your spine. You slept like this often now, your body laying on top of his with your warm cheek pressed to his broad shoulder, your arms wrapped around his middle as if you were afraid he would slip away from you. In this position, he could feel the rhythm of your breath carrying his anxieties away with the rise and fall of your chest. Your face was always so soft as you slept against him, the weight of the life you both lived lifted in this state. 

Like this, with your warm bare skin pressed to his and your legs woven together, Simon could hardly tell where he ended and you began. To be honest, he loved the feeling. The world was no longer simply filled with threats and danger, it was filled with the warm and soft embrace of safety.

In a couple hours, he would get up and make you breakfast. He would sit with you at your table as you ate, admiring the rare carefree slump of your shoulders as you leaned your arms against the wooden surface. He would hide a smile behind his morning tea as you contemplated your schedule for the day. He would wrap his arms around you on the couch, listening to the light ring of your laugh at some dumb joke he made about the show you were watching.

Every moment was a glimpse of the life he could have one day. They were glimpses of a life with you, away from all the violence and death. A carefree life. A loving life. 

In the past, he never let himself even consider having something like this. It was unthinkable - something meant for a man who led a much different life than Ghost did. 

Yet, here he laid in your bedroom in your house for the millionth time, his mask long forgotten on your bedroom floor. He didn’t need it here. Not with you. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t even want it. For the first time in a long time, he was just Simon. Your Simon. 

That was something to live for. This - a lazy morning in your bed with you, without a care for the chaos of the outside world - was something to live for. 

Ghosting the tip of his thumb along the soft skin of your back, he made a silent promise to you: he would live. The life he thought he would never have? He would live to have it with you. He would fight for it, claw his way back from the grave if he had to. Whatever he had to do to keep you safe in his arms, he would do it.

Because you were the best thing to live for.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #my writing

[likopinina]

higgs reference material / turnarounds / close-ups / fun tidbits

unmasked refs, details, and gifs under the cut

^ full model

^ hood back, no pod

^ no mantle, no pod base, no odradek (left the mantle on the back view to show what it looks like around the odradek base)

^ no pod mount, no mask

^ base model

details

^ remember little sam telling amelie about quipus? well, higgs got two made out of twine. i wonder what he counts on them. they are a part of the base model and thus cannot be taken off. one is near his right protection plate (the hexagon with white stripe), the other one is under the ammo pouch on his left thigh

^ glove up close. the golden protector part is black here, cause i didnt plug in the corresponding texture

^ you got 60 seconds before the grenades go off. the grenade on our right is a separate object from the other two, most likely to make it easier for the animator to do the throwing animation. the pouches hold three clips for an assault rifle, you can see the top parts of the clips if the pouches are hidden. all three are a single object, so i doubt they actually leave the pouch

^ standard terrorist boots. same looking pair can be stolen from terrorist camps (they'll have a harder time tracking you down if you wear these, according to wiki)

^ unsurprisingly, the protection plate says "protection plate" and arm protector says "arm protector"

^ text on the gas mask (left) and on the bb pod tube thingy (right). the hood text says "ear protection Lv. 03" and the tube says "!!caution!! use designated tool to remove bolt"

^ i think i could safely bet on troy baker having pierced ears, cause the photoscanned texture includes a faint indication of it

face

gifs

disclaimer - the skull mask texture and the hair texture are not original (the og didnt port properly), so they look a bit different than in the game.

hair texture is by DA user Kanbara914 otherwise, this is the original Higgs model developed by Kojima Productions

#death stranding #3d model #higgs monaghan #resources #for fanartists #drawing reference

[jaggededges123]

a little bit of tridentariicest for @dmsr-art 🥰

“I can still eat you, like this, look—as many times as you want, baby.”

“Ianthe, not funny,” Corona wails, piteously, but she doesn’t even try to stop you as your bloodstained hands tug at her white trousers with the golden trim—you leave the royal purple jacket, for now. “You have his eyes, and you could have had mine!”

“Who cares about Babs,” you soothe, taking in the buttery-golden curls that appear as you pull her trousers and underwear off one leg over her boot, leaving it hanging as you settle between her thick, gorgeous thighs. “Don’t mention him, dear—you need to stay with me, and not as a myriad-long battery.”

You reach out with your fingers, which feel like they are buzzing with the energy of a thousand thanergic stars, and you touch her, sliding your fingers gently down her slit. She spreads her legs wider for you, obliging and sweet even as she cries. She’s wet.

Of course she’s wet, she’s her and you’re you. Even in her upset, there was really no other outcome.

“Sister,” she cries, and again your heart half-breaks because if only she was capable of understanding. You usually understand each other, when she is capable of it, but her brain is not on the same level as yours. This would be easier if it were. “I can’t believe you. We could have been—forever—”

“Shhhh,” you hush. “I need you, darling Corona. Don’t mention it again.”

And you dive in as she gives a pathetic “Is that even true?” that gets cut through with a moan, because she really cannot help it.

You know every inch of her juicy pussy, each out-of-the-way sensitive spot, and the motions she likes a partner to take with their tongue. You knew it first before anyone else, and you still know it best. No one can ever take that away from you—you will always know your older twin sister better than anyone else, love her more than anyone else, do what it takes to keep her more than anyone else.

As you lap at with her with your tongue, making circles around that flushed, pretty clit and pressing your nose into her pubic hair, you take two fingers soaked in his blood and press them inside her. She hiccups loudly, and her hand comes to grip at your limp pale strands of hair, which is more than encouraging. It’s working.

You crook your fingers and worry them along the front wall of her channel, and you take her clit to task with the point of your tongue. You consider, for a moment, adjusting the shape of that fleshy protrusion of your mouth moment by moment to show her how focused you are on her pleasure and how skillful a genius you are. It used to be a little hard, doing that—it wouldn’t be hard for you now, the marvel you are.

“Ianthe! Oh, I need you!” she shrieks, her hand gripping in your hair so hard that you can feel some of the follicles letting go—and immediately repairing themselves.

She comes too fast in the end, to make changing the shape of your tongue worth it—a slut for your mouth or your fingers or whatever else you use on her, that’s what she is. You know the moment she falls apart because you can thanergically sense her heartbeat stutter and then race, the cry of her every muscle. It makes you throb deep in your core, hotter than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Her purple-clothed chest starts heaving as she squeezes down on your fingers and trembles on your tongue, and you’re confident for a second that you’ve successfully distracted her from whatever silly romantic fantasies she’s concocted that mask the grim reality and terrible awesomeness of the Lyctoral process. Perhaps she understands now, in that dim, pretty head of hers, that if you were to take her then you wouldn’t have her anymore.

But then an even more hysterical sob breaks on her lips, not quite the sexy kind, and you know that she may never understand it.

You sigh.

#coffeetomb #tridentariicest #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #thank you so much for prompting me 🥰 this one was so fun for me to use :3 #please also let me know if you'd like me to gift it to you on ao3 when i eventually archive it <3 either way is fine with me!

[icey--stars]

All Loose

female!reader x Bat boys word count: 4,081

this was requested by an anon! i hope its not too bad, since this took a while to squeeze out because of some weird moods for angst i've been having, but i hope you all enjoy regardless <3 might have to be limiting on smut requests, it takes a while to get these out lmao

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD! 18+ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

It was a typical night at Rita's to be completely honest. Just chilling at the bar, watching as others got dragged into dances, throwing back shots, and scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone good enough to go talk to. Or at least looked more interesting than the others and usual customers. It'd been almost an hour since I gave up on finding someone good enough looking to take home with me, or go home with. It was still early in the night, but most people were here already. The sky outside was almost completely dark.

I leaned back into my chair more, scanning the fae dancing. The door to Rita's opened and I looked over curiously, sipping on my bourbon a bit. A golden haired female came in, dressed nicely in red which made her look gorgeous, but the males who entered after her took my eye almost immediately.

They all had black hair and a tan skin tone. The first to enter had violet eyes, and was dressed in finery even I wondered what the hell it cost. A brutish looking Illyrian warrior was next, two red stones glowing lightly on the back of his hands and his wings intimidatingly dark. The third to follow after everyone was also Illyrian, though I noticed quickly that swirls of darkness were floating around him, settling around his shoulders, twisting around his wings and just hovering in the air near him as well.

All, however, looked insanely good looking. I swallowed, throwing back the rest of my bourbon as I tried to mask the flash of heat that had shot through me as the violet-eyed one caught my eyes. Fucking hell, I swore.

Then quickly realized something as I saw a small dagger sheathe on the shadow Illyrian's thigh.

The violet-eyed one was probably Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court, and the damned two warriors next to him were Cassian, general of the armies and Azriel, the spymaster. Why the hell did they catch my eye? Why Y/N? Just why?

I turned back to the bar, ordering a red wine, and tried to ignore the males behind me.

As the bartender came back with my wine, I jumped at a soft, sultry voice to my left. "Could I please get that bourbon?" The High Lord, beside me, pointed to something on the list covering the higher end of the wall across the counter.

He took a seat beside me. The other two warriors, the brutish one, Cassian, sat next to me and Azriel took his other side. I sipped my wine, swallowing quickly. I'd been going pretty light on alcohol all night, drinking a lot of water. But at this moment, I was regretting that. I seriously needed to be completely knock-me-on-my-ass drunk to deal with three extremely good-looking males who happened to be apart of the Inner Circle who had sat themselves right beside me. I glanced down at what I was wearing. A nicer dress I owned. This one had a low neckline.

"Hello darling, how are you doing tonight?" Rhysand asked beside me, his fingers making a slight contact with my hand that lay on the counter.

I swallowed, nervous, but responded in kind. "Doing just fine, and yourself?"

"I'm doing well." A beat passed. "You here alone?"

I nodded. "I find it easier to talk to people when my obnoxious friends aren't cataloguing everyone I talk to and trying to find out which ones are worth my time."

The general chuckled beside me. "Sounds to me like you might need some new friends."

I scoffed. "Nah, they're not too bad," I amended.

"What's your name sweetheart?" Cassian questioned, nudging me slightly with his shoulder.

I smirked into my wine. "Y/N, and yours?"

"Cassian. Say- could I buy your next drink?" The warrior asked.

I smiled faintly. "Yeah I suppose I could go for another I suppose."

Rhysand chuckled lowly beside me. "Cass, your beating me at my own game."

"Snooze you lose brother," Cassian retorted.

Azriel leaned onto the counter, smirking at me. "I'm here too idiots. We all saw the beautiful female and came running. But I'll be the first to ask her to a dance."

"Perhaps you could all have a turn," I suggested. "Could be fun. I'll dance, as long as you don't mind me being a clumsy idiot."

Azriel smirked. "I'd catch you angel, even if you are falling for me."

I rolled my eyes. "Smooth pun, smooth."

The Illyrian stood gracefully, and offered out a hand. "Take your drink, Cassian can have his fun after me," Azriel said. I grinned and picked up my wine glass and meeting both Cassian's and Rhysand's eyes for a split moment before Azriel whisked me away into the dancing.

Azriel was smooth, keeping me up even as I tripped. I got more and more tipsy with each spin of the music. I tipped my head back to drink the rest of my wine and met Azriel's eyes with a smirk. We'd been dancing for probably around 30 minutes.

"Time to give your friends a bit of attention handsome," I said.

"I suppose they do deserve a turn at your stunning beauty. Are you sure I can't hog you all to myself? We could have fun," he said suggestively.

I rolled my eyes. "Give them a chance to seduce me too Azzy. Like I said... you could take turns."

Azriel dipped me one last time, whispering in my ear. "As long as you get down on your pretty little knees for me."

I could barely breathe as he brought me up. Goddamn he was hot. I could always just go with Azriel... but if I could... I would rather have more than one tonight. I typically ended up with a pair of males, or a male and female, but they rarely knew each other. But, when they did know each other, it was at least ten times better. Whether couples, or some relaxed family... they just moved so seamlessly with each other.

Cassian had stood up to meet me as I wandered over, shaking my head clear of a bit of the dizziness.

"You alright sweetheart? Or did Az spin you too much?" He teased.

I rolled my eyes. "You try being spun like a doll with a shit ton of alcohol in your system," I retorted.

Azriel laughed. "I was wondering where the fiery part of you was."

"Oh it's there," I chuckled. "I just didn't want to scare off you pretty males before catching you in my net."

"Oh you caught us as soon as we walked in the door," Rhysand assured. "So now its our turn to catch you darling."

I rolled my eyes, sitting down between the two males again.

"What would you like to drink beautiful?" Cassian asked, putting a hand around my shoulder as he leaned over.

"Get me a margarita. I'm wanting something fruity. Get me all loose."

"Gotcha."

Cassian moved to order for me as Rhys leaned in closer to talk into my ear. I shivered as his warm breath made contact with my outer ear, making me buzz with energy. "I'll get you all loose darling."

I blushed, lowering my face to hide in my arms. "You idiot," I groaned.

"Aww, are you embarrassed?" Rhys teased with a cocky smile.

I lifted my head. "Yes, I am. What did you expect with that comment High Lord?"

Rhys chuckled, the tone deep. "You want to come back to my place then? I'll make good on my promise."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure you will. But I'm rather enjoying this. And I already promised Azriel you can take turns. So be patient. Lest you finish too quick off the mark."

The High Lord tipped his head back and laughed. Cassian turned back with a cocky smile as well, handing me my margarita. Assumingly, he'd heard most of that conversation.

"I'll prove to you darling, I can indeed hold myself back," Rhys answered, grinning.

Cassian chuckled. "Yeah sure you will Rhys. Poor lady won't even be close when you finish."

Rhys rolled his eyes. "As if you're any better Cass."

I sipped my drink, raising a brow in amusement as they continued bickering. I met Azriel's eyes with a little smirk.

The shadowsinger rolled his eyes. "Bickering fools," he commented.

I spoke loud enough for Rhys and Cassian to hear me over their own voices. "Just for this, Azriel gets first dibs."

They paused immediately, looking at me with shocked faces.

"What?" I asked, chuckling. "You two keep arguing. Azriel is sitting there all perfect looking and handsome."

Rhys scoffed. "I call next."

Cassian immediately barked in protest.

I laughed. "Let me finish this drink Cassian so graciously bought for me and then we can go. But you two keep arguing, it's entertaining."

They stopped arguing after that, as if the thought of them bickering being entertaining was so utterly wrong that they just came to an agree-to-disagree vantage point silently.

I'll admit, I took longer than necessary to finish my drink, enjoying seeing the males glance over at my glass in anticipation.

When I finally tipped back the last drops, I let out a satisfied sigh.

"Alright, you all want to show me what you got?" I prompted.

Immediately, they all stood. I laughed. Rhys smirked and offered out a hand to me.

I took it. Cassian took Rhys's other hand, while Azriel held Cassian's.

I felt that familar whir of winnowing, and then we stood in an empty bedroom Cauldron knows where. I rolled my eyes and faced them down. Then I met Azriel's eyes and marched forward, moving my hands up his chest to his shoulders and the back of his neck as I moved in to kiss him.

He leaned forward immediately, hands going to my waist to pull me closer. I groaned, opening up for him immediately as he licked my bottom lip.

Our tongues clashed together, but I eagerly let him explore my mouth all he wants. When he pulled back, he simply smirked and pecked my lips and then started to move down my jaw to my neck. I gasped at the first nip of his teeth, looking around the room.

Rhys came up from the side, leaning over to kiss me as well with a hand on my chin to lift it while Azriel sucked a mark into the base of my neck.

Cassian's hands trailed up my back and I groaned appreciatively.

When I pulled away from Rhys, I was panting hard. "Goddamn," I groaned when Azriel licked up the side of my neck, pausing at my pulse point.

Azriel's hands moved up my sides, pausing. His thumbs nudged at my breasts and my breath caught as I was forced to meet Rhys' eyes.

"Look at you, you already looked so fucked out," The High Lord crooned, rubbing his thumb along my swollen lips before kissing me again.

Azriel's hands moved to my shoulder straps.

I gasped, pulling away from Rhys. I felt Cassian unzipping my dress from the back, drawing the zipper all the way down to where it stopped at the small of my back.

Azriel pulled away, admiring his work as he pulled the shoulder straps off, letting the dress drop to the floor.

I wasn't wearing anything underneath. I'd normally forgo undergarments when I went to Rita's, and I could tell these males were very appreciative of that fact as they all appraised my body.

"Well? Aren't you all going to get undressed?" I asked, cocking a brow in a challenge.

Rhys snapped his fingers, and suddenly, he was in nothing but his under shorts, and I could see a very obvious bulge.

Azriel reached behind him, undoing some strap around his wings before tearing off his own shirt. I whistled as I beheld the muscle on them. Warriors, I thought, were fucking hot. So strong.

I traced my hand down Azriel's pectoral, snagging my thumb on his nipple just to hear his breath hitch. I grinned wildly.

"Get this off," I demanded as I grabbed his belt.

He smirked, quickly leaning down and undoing his boots and taking off his pants until he too, was only in his undershorts.

Cassian turned me so I could see all three of them. All three strong, impossibly sexy warriors.

"Fuck," I swore as I beheld every bit of them. I moved toward Rhys, unable to help myself. I leaned my head back to kiss him. He let me openly, placing his hands on my shoulders. I skillfully moved a hand between our bodies and cupped his bulge. He groaned into the kiss, pulling back to pant as I continued. When he started panting heavier, I pulled away and turned to Cassian.

I pulled at the hem of his undershorts, dipping into them to grab a hold of his erection. He moaned, leaning to seal a crushing kiss between us. I felt hands wander to my ass, grabbing two handfuls and squeezing. I groaned. Another pair of hands came up to cup my breasts, teasing the peaked nipples there.

I grabbed the hem of Cassian's undershorts, yanking them down to have more access.

He smirked and pushed my hand back. "Be patient darling," the brute purred. The hands around my breasts retreated.

Azriel dragged me to his front, his wings casting shadows in the room. His actual shadows also trailed across my body, and I whimpered when they suddenly tugged at the peaks of my breasts.

"I want to taste you," the male growled and pushed me toward the bed. "Lay down, hands above your head."

I smirked and did as I was told, settling with my head on the pillows and stretched my hands up toward the headboard. Rhys approached, pinning my hands as Azriel crawled up to me across the bed, grabbing my thighs in his hands- gods, they might be scarred, but I couldn't help but think that made them more attractive. He lifted my knees over his shoulders, those wings flaring up. I was mesmerized by the movement, my breath caught in my throat.

But Azriel's mouth on my inner thigh soon distracted me.

I whined, straining against the grip Rhys had on my hands as Azriel moved closer and closer to my center. Finally, I felt the male in between my legs lick into my folds, groaning against my center. I moaned, throwing my head back with my eyes closed as the feeling.

"Well aren't you excited sweetheart," Cassian chuckled, having come up on the other side of me from Rhys, watching as his brother got to work between my legs.

"Fuck," I groaned, looking down at Azriel. The male met my gaze, smirking and suckling gently at the apex in between my thighs. Whimpers and sighs escaped me as I neared my peak. I moaned when Cassian dived down to suck at my breast, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"You close darling?" Rhys asked, voice a bit rougher than I last remembered. I nodded, throwing my head back into the pillow as Azriel redoubled his efforts between my legs.

I moaned loudly as the pleasure overwhelmed me as I reached my climax. Azriel's tongue worked to prolong my pleasure and when I became oversensitive, he pulled away with a smirk, licking his lips of the evidence of my pleasure. I slumped uselessly to the bed, sighing.

"Was that good enough for you angel?" Azriel asked, lowering my legs back to the bed with a satisfied male smile.

I rolled my eyes, not responding. Rhys chuckled, releasing my hands, allowing them to lay back down at my sides. "My turn," he growled and moved into Azriel's position, who took a seat beside me where Rhys previously was.

"I said I'd get you all loose," Rhys drawled, smirking as my breath caught. He settled between my thighs, reaching forward with his hand toward my center. The first brush sent me right back to whimpering. Cassian leaned down to suck a bruise into my throat with a satisfied groan. Rhys took advantage of my distraction and pressed two fingers up inside me.

I moaned, clenching down around those fingers. Rhys chuckled, smoothing his other hand around my thigh while he curled those digits inside of me, thrusting them slowly into me.

It felt so impossibly good. It'd been a long time since I'd felt so good, and this probably wasn't even the end. I'd yet to even barely touch them. That gave me an idea.

I reached for Cassian. "Cassian-" I begged. "Cassian." I couldn't convey what I wanted as Rhys sped up, causing me to moan and break off from my thoughts.

Luckily, he seemed to understand, shucking off his undershorts finally.

Through some silent language between the brothers or something, I was turned onto my my front, with my knees pressed to the bed. Cassian sat in front of me, lightly stroking himself. I moved forward, mouthing at the tip. Cassian moved his hand to the back of my head, fisting my hair lightly as I finally pulled him into my mouth. He was already by far one of the largest I'd taken into my mouth for a long time. I had a feeling it had something to do with those big wings he had.

I looked up, meeting Cassian's gaze as I went farther, holding back my gag reflex. He groaned. Rhys started what he was doing behind me again, adding a third finger and I moaned, my eyes falling closed. I choked around the shaft in my throat, pulling back to breathe for a moment before going back down.

I bobbed more on Cassian, moaning at Rhys's actions inside, as the pleasure began to meet a peak. I flew over the edge, just managing to remember to swallow as Cassian followed me over the edge with a groan.

When I pulled away, Rhys had removed his fingers, I was panting hard. I looked at the males around me with a hazy sated gaze.

"Oh we're not done yet darling," Rhys purred, slapping my behind lightly, causing me to jump slightly. I felt a slithering sensation come into my mind, wrapping around it gently.

You're going to get Azriel under you, me in front of you and Cassian behind you darling, Rhysand's voice played in my head. I raised my brows in surprise. I knew of my High Lord's mind abilities, but I didn't it expect to feel like that.

A snap went by, and Rhys handed something to Cassian. I finally got to admire the other two male's cocks, moaning lowly as I saw the precum gathering at their tips. It would only take a few more minutes before Cassian was the exact same.

Azriel settled down on the bed, half-spreading those magnificent wings below him. I settled on top of him, straddling his hips. Azriel smirked at me as my breath hitched as he grabbed onto my hips, squeezing lightly.

"What do you want angel?" He teased, brushing his tip against my center. "Tell me what you need."

I groaned at his rough, animalistic tone. "Fuck me, please," I begged, not embarrassed in the slightest.

"The lady knows what she wants," Rhys mused. "Give it to her Az, don't be cruel."

Azriel rolled his eyes, then reached to angle himself in. I moaned, slowly lowering myself down. It was a stretch, fucking hell, it was a damn stretch I hadn't felt in a long time. Where did Illyrians come from? And how the hell did they get such big damn cocks?

I groaned, catching myself on my elbows as I fell down. Finally, Azriel seemed to be all the way in and I stayed right where I was, needing a second for that adjustment.

"Good, you're doing so good," Azriel praised, wringing a whimper out from the bottom of my soul. "So good angel, you feel so amazing. Gods-" he swore. "So warm and perfect."

I ground my hips down at the dirty talk, groaning when he caught a particularly sensitive spot inside of me.

I felt an oiled finger poke at my rear entrance and I jumped, turning my head to find Cassian who smirked, motioning with his head toward me. I looked back, finding Rhys who had settled himself beside Azriel's head.

"Come on darling," Rhys purred. I lifted myself up immediately, sitting down on Azriel's hips. Rhys settled himself over his brother's chest, somehow managing to fit his knees somewhere with those wings. Cassian pushed in a finger, thrusting it gently. I groaned, pushing back, causing Azriel to groan in the process.

Everything was so much, but it was perfect.

Azriel began gently thrusting up into me as I attempted to buck my hips for more and more pleasure. I leaned forward onto my hands to take Rhys into my mouth.

The High Lord let out a pleasured groan, grabbing onto my hair with one hand.

My eyes caught on Azriel's wing, and curiously, I moved to support myself with one hand and brush against that strange membrane with a palm.

Azriel let out a punched out moan, thrusting up into me with more force. The shadows came to wrap around my wrist, pulling my hand away.

Rhys chuckled with amusement. I met his eyes, just as Cassian added a second finger, taking his sweet damn time preparing me.

"Illyrian wings as especially sensitive darling, I'd be wary," Rhys explained. I pulled back from his cock, licking my lips.

"That's interesting," I mused and immediately went back to trying to reach for Azriel's wing, but the shadows stopped me.

Azriel spoke up, "Not yet angel, not yet. If you want to touch my wings, you might be able to do it in a bit."

I grinned. Rhys pulled me back to himself, and Cassian pulled his fingers out, soon replacing it with his tip. He wrapped his arms around me as he slowly pushed in.

Soon, I was completely filled from all sides, and enjoying every damn second of it. Azriel and Cassian thrust in at the same time and I moaned around Rhys, closing my eyes against the intense pleasure.

Within a couple thrusts from all three males, I was nearing my peak, and went over it, clenching hard. Rhys pulled back to let me breathe, and the others barely slowed their pace.

After only a few seconds, I was back to my previous position, overcome with the intense pleasure across every single nerve ending in my body. Rhys was the first to show signs of getting close, groaning and clenching his fist more with my hair. The others soon showed signs as well, letting out moans and holding onto wherever they'd settled their hands on my body, harder.

"Come on darling, one more," Rhys purred. "Come once more for us..."

I moaned, and soared for my peak after only a few moment. I choked around Rhys, who pulled back and painted my face with come after only a second. I felt heat fill me up from the inside as Azriel and Cassian met their ends. In the throes of my fourth climax for the night, I hurtled for a fifth as Cassian circled his fingers on my clit, making me scream out in pleasure yet again.

As I came down, I was aware I was being moved gently from across Azriel to beside him. Cassian came up on my other side while Rhys gently pet my hair from the head of the bed.

"Fuck," I swore, utterly exhausted, but so impossibly sated from these perfect males.

Azriel chuckled, gently running his hand along the swell of my hip while Cassian opted for massaging my shoulders.

"You alright sweetheart?" Cassian asked.

I nodded, smiling. "So good," I answered.

Rhys hummed, chuckling a bit in amusement as I slumped to the bed, practically melting into the sheets, not caring for anything at the moment. Not the come on my face, or the juices spilling out from between my thighs.

"Come on," Azriel hummed, grabbing my hip gently. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I still want to touch your wings after," I said.

Cassian laughed. "Maybe you can coax Rhys to bring out his too."

I lifted a brow in challenge. "I think I could handle that."

"We'll see darling," Rhys hummed and pulled me with him off the bed toward the bathroom.

#azriel #cassian #rhysand #bat boys #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #bat boys x reader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanart #acotar smut #mywriting

[helluva-quill]

Also what does Adams crew look like?

Hello !! Thank you for the ask :3

I’ll answer this one first because it’s easier + I can explain some lore yeehaw

Adam’s crew functions a bit like pirates in terms of hierarchy, Lute is the first mate and the others takes care of various functions around the ship.

Lute design + Past Vaggie :

The crew more or less looks like her, aside from the golden symbol on her torso because she’s the first mate, they all have masks made out of wood which is painted into a scary face.

Rambles under the cut —

So ! The sea exorcists are all women, due to Adam’s choice. I had a hard time finding exactly why in this au without the whole Eden thing, but I do know that while Adam act like an ass, he more than respects women.

Anywho, the sea exorcists were chosen due to their aptitude in combats, so they’re strong warriors who were also trained for their missions on the ship. In this world, I imagined travels between sea and land is crucial, and dangerous with certain infamous sea creatures.

They all have a tattoo behind their back as proof of their loyalty to Adam and the Paradise Kingdom.

Lute is the first mate, but she was recruited later on than the others while quickly rising to the top.

Vaggie used to be the first mate. She was thought as merciless, cruel and particularly resistant.

That was before being discovered to have been discovering having some sort of relationship with a mermaid named Charlie, who she ended up running away with. ( I wanted to make her spare someone but I didn’t find a proper scenario so have this !! )

Also EmiLute is a thing in this au, a drawing is on its way along with an explanation of it. Adamsapple my beloved..

#ask #so sorry for the late answer 🙏 #sea exorcists au #adamsapple au #hazbin hotel lute #lute #lute fanart #hazbin hotel exorcists #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie #pirate au #mermaid au #lore explanation #adamsapple #coming soon with more content and a possible one shot because idk if I’ll do more chapters

[fushiglow]

a short fic for the prompt: satosugu + secret meetings

YOU MOVED ME, ANON 😭 thanks for being my first!! i fear i've set a high bar with the first prompt, because this little fic is closer to 500 words than the 300 i promised…

but look, 'spinning' by ilsey and mark ronson came on shuffle and my mind ran away with it. make sure to listen as you read to set the tone! i cried writing this and i loved every second tbh — thank you again 🫶

Satoru didn’t know how he’d ended up on the steps of the temple again. Actually, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly why he was there. It was the same reason Satoru had found himself on those stone steps a hundred times before — or was it closer to two hundred now? In truth, he’d stopped keeping count after the seventh or eighth occasion they’d met in secret like this. Gojō Satoru wasn’t the only person who sought sanctuary in Getō Suguru — the stragglers filtering out of the wide temple doors were evidence of that — but the truth of the statement didn’t make it any easier for Satoru to swallow. He watched them go, leaning up against a pillar with his hands shoved in his pockets and a petty scowl affixed to his features. ‘Careful, Satoru.’ A voice that wrapped the syllables of his name in safety. It was all he could do to stop himself sagging with the relief of it. ‘You could probably vaporise them with the force of that glare alone.’ Turning towards that sound was involuntary for Satoru. He was a flower helplessly following the sun, seeking out eyes that bore all the warmth of summer. Still, the winter frost that encased that golden gaze wouldn’t thaw immediately — not until the sun dipped below the horizon, taking the last of the worshippers with it. It was only then that the mask slipped, ingratiating simper softening into the gentle smile Satoru loved most. He loved it, because it was a smile reserved solely for Satoru. ‘You need a break, don’t you?’ Gojō Satoru was the strongest. The strongest wasn’t allowed to break. The strongest wasn’t allowed to hide himself away from the world like a coward. But his eyes were itching with overstimulation, his nerves fraying at the edges from overuse of his technique. He nodded. Suguru extended a hand and Satoru took it without hesitation, Infinity falling from his skin like petals from a flower — slowly and then all at once. ‘That’s alright, Satoru.’ The tender kiss Suguru pressed to his knuckles felt like refuge. It felt like home. ‘I’ll protect you.’ Gojō Satoru wasn’t the only one who sought sanctuary in Getō Suguru, but he was the only one who would find it in the temple of the man’s body. He was the only one allowed to crawl into the space between Suguru’s ribs and stay there, tucked safe against his beating heart. It was a blessing and a curse. Because Gojō Satoru was the strongest. The strongest wasn’t allowed to hide. The strongest wasn’t permitted a safe house — and yet Satoru had found one in the arms of the only man who could kill him. For the strongest, there was no true sanctuary in this world. But for Satoru, there was Suguru.

hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it ♥️

if you wanna submit a prompt or request, head over to my retrospring — make sure to read the guidelines first!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #gojo satoru #geto suguru #sugusato #stsg #sgst #五夏 #夏五 #goge #gego #呪術廻戦 #my writing #fic prompt #fushiglow

[ilguna]

☼ darling pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you made the difficult decision to save the capitol’s darling superhero. and now you have to convince him to help you.

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, murder, literal childrens deaths, anti gale.

wc; 2.4k

part one.

–

It’s only been three days since Capitol City last saw their beloved Darling, and they’re already in a complete frenzy to figure out what’s happened to him. It’s pathetic, really. And slightly amusing to watch their reactions.

They have surveillance footage of the day the fight happened between you, Brutus and Darling—or as you should say, Finnick Odair. His chosen hero name makes sense now, because he is the real life darling to the city. He’s famous; he acts, he models, sometimes he sings. Apparently, he has powers too. He’s the complete circus.

The last glimpse they got of you three together was on a streetlight on the road outside of the jewelry plant. Originally, it had been installed to catch Cashmere and Gloss stealing, but that was during Gloss’ golden age. That was the time where he had the best handle over his invisibility. 

It’s a good thing they didn’t turn the camera off, otherwise they never would have caught Brutus thirty minutes later, still searching for you and Finnick. He’s now in the city’s custody, which is bad news for you, because he’s friends with Cashmere and Gloss. The two villains you just promised you’d be on your best behavior.

At this point, it would be easier if you did kill Darling. The media thinks that’s what happened, anyway. They just can’t figure out why you haven’t taken your victory lap yet. Or why you haven’t released his body to the public. Some news stations are theorizing that you’re going to stuff his body and keep it around. 

Like you said, it’s amusing.

You’d kill him now, but you’ve already invested three days worth of your time into keeping him alive. You think he truly exhausted himself, because he hasn’t so much as rolled over. There’s been a few times where you’ve gone to check on him, and he looks dead. It got your hopes up that it was true, until he took a deep breath, crushing them. 

When he does wake up, he’ll be happy to know that there won’t be a single scar on his pretty body. You’ve gotten decently good at stitching yourself up, it’s much easier to do on someone else when they’re unconscious. He didn’t so much as squirm.

Although, something’s telling you that he’s not going to have much gratitude when he wakes up. You could’ve dropped him off at a hospital, except that would’ve been the stupid thing to do. It wouldn’t have taken long for them to put the pieces together without his mask. After all, underneath he’s Finnick Odair, he’s not just some random nobody.

It would’ve been interesting to see how that played out. You’re sure they either would’ve villainized him, or put him on a higher pedestal that you would’ve been more than happy to knock him off of.

The sound of glass breaking behind you makes you turn your head to look over your shoulder. The door to your bedroom is still shut, the windows should be bolted with bars over them. It’s a safety issue, if a hero were to find out where you lived and tried to invade, they’d set off an alarm if they even tried to bend the metal.

You could say it’s paranoia, but after all, you’ve killed a good handful of important people.

At the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, you get up from where you’re sitting in front of the television. You swipe your knife from off of the coffee table, going around the couch, and opening the door. 

The bed is empty, the blankets have been thrown to the unused half of the bed. Your eyes cast down, and you’re met with Finnick on the floor, sitting in a puddle of water and glass. The sweatpants that you changed him into are now beginning to soak.

You press your lips together.

Finnick looks up at you, his body going rigid at the sight of the biggest villain in the city. The more he stares, the more he realizes that he is not in a hospital room like he thought he was. He’s in a bedroom, with pictures of a happy family on the walls, vases of assorted flowers sitting on the window sill, and a female mannequin in the corner with a very familiar costume on it. 

His hero costume.

He swallows. “Where am I?”

You make a face, a little impressed he’s managed to get a few words out, despite the deer-in-headlights look he’s wearing. “My place.”

Finnick begins to try and get up, using the bed as a support, wincing every second of the way. He grits his teeth, his jawline becoming prominent, before he relaxes. He stands at his full height, making him a few inches taller than you. You don’t move from where you stand in the doorway, arms now crossed over your chest.

“I’m leaving.” He tells you.

“Well, take it easy, superstar.” You sneer, not being able to help the smile on your face. “You slept for three days. I’m surprised you’re not dead, like what the media has been saying.”

He pales, and then you can feel the energy leave your body. That’s cute, he’s trying to dampen your powers. He’s too weak to hold on, it’s like a flickering flame because it’s too breezy. It’s a second later when you feel the powers come back to your body. The color returns to his face, he grabs onto the footboard of your bed to steady himself.

“Looks like you won’t be doing that again for a while.” You tilt your head. “What did you plan on doing, anyway? You think you’re in any shape to fight me?”

He breathes through his nose. “What do you want?”

“A little gratitude, to start.” You motion at him. “I just nursed you back to health, and this is how you’re going to treat me? I thought you would’ve known better than that.”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead.” 

“But you aren’t, that’s the point. I saved you, just like you asked.” You back up a few steps, getting out of the way to let him see the television. “As soon as you’re back on the streets, they’ll know that you’re alive. And you’re going to tell them that I let you live. You didn’t escape me.”

He watches the news for a couple seconds. “They think you’ve taken me?”

“Brutus is in city custody, and they couldn’t find a trace of either of us on that jewelry plant. So yes, they think I’ve swept you up and I’m keeping your body in my basement.”

His eyes are back on your face. “And how does it help you if I tell them that you let me go?”

“I’m merciful.” You say. He scoffs, shaking his head. “You think it’s funny? I could’ve killed you, Finnick, but I showed you mercy. I could’ve dropped you off at a hospital, with your goddamn suit still on, and your identity would’ve been blown. I brought you here, instead. I could’ve let your wounds become infected and chained you to my bed, but I cleaned them, I stitched them, and now they’re not even going to leave a scar.

“This is all part of my plan, this is Phase Two.” 

Finnick doesn’t speak, letting your words sink in. You walk away, going into the kitchen to grab a protein bar and a bottle of water for him. He’s got to be starving, and since he knocked over the water cup, he needs something with a lid. You won’t let him make a mess of your apartment. You worked hard to fix it up and make it look nice.

When you turn around, Finnick’s taken a few steps forward, still watching your television. The news anchor is talking about where they’re planning to transport Brutus, and how long it’s going to take because his strength is impossible to control and they can’t risk him running free.

The anchor sighs, she moves some of her hair behind her ear. “Capitol City’s police force are advocating to keep Brutus for as long as they can, until it’s confirmed whether or not our beloved hero is dead. It goes without saying that if Darling were here, he’d be the first to volunteer to help.

“The police released a statement earlier this afternoon, saying, ‘We will not stop until Murderess has been caught, and Darling has been brought to justice’.”

“What a stupid name.” You say, Finnick jumps. You hold out the water and the protein bar. “Eat.”

“You said Phase Two?” 

“Yes, it has never been my plan to solely kill heroes without having an end goal. That would be stupid.” You watch his face, eyebrows twitching in. “You can ask about it, Finnick. It involves you, now.”

He scowls. “Involves me how? What was Phase One?”

“Phase One was to give you something to fear. A higher force that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint.” To emphasize this, you disappear in front of him, and reappear behind him. “It’s scary,” Finnick jerks at the sound of your voice. “Isn’t it? You can’t keep track of me, you can’t even predict my next move.

“Did you know that Incognito wasn’t the first hero I wasted? There were two minor heroes before him. The uh—the military one, what was her name? Marble?” 

“Lyme.” Finnick says.

You snap your fingers. “Lyme, that’s right. She was working with the boy, who was about twenty years younger than him.”

“Jabberjay.” He breathes, “He was the best friend of—”

“Mockingjay, exactly, they were two peas in a pod. Tell me, do you remember what happened before I killed both of them? It was very controversial, it was the first time heroes made national news and were painted in a bad light at the same time.”

Finnick shakes his head, “That was so long ago.”

“They’d blown up half of an elementary school.” You say, watching his face smooth over. “They were trying to catch a speedster, and they’d placed the explosives on the campus as a precaution, they didn’t think they’d have to use it. Half of the school, and almost the entirety of a neighborhood was gone.

“They didn’t even catch him.” You laugh. “If that were you, Finnick, would you have let the man go, or would you have killed seven children?”

“Let him go.” Finnick says. “I would never…”

“Think to do something so evil? Yeah, me neither.” You back away. “From when I killed Incognito to now, I’ve only been going after the heroes that didn’t pick up on the memo. Like you, for example. However, I haven’t been killing all of them. The ones that apologize, I let go with a simple warning.

“This brings me to Phase Two. Now, I have you in my hands. I could’ve done what I’ve been itching to do for years, but instead I’m going to use you as my platform. Everyone is expecting for you to be dead, for you to turn up would give me a little space to work with the public.

“You’ll get in front of a camera, presumably when you feel better. You’ll tell them that I let you go after I saved your life, and I did it because it would be for Capitol City’s benefit. We came to the agreement that Brutus needed to be put away, then you’ll tell them that I will stop harming heroes, as soon as they start reforming the city to protect the citizens.”

There’s a moment of silence, where you think that you might’ve gotten him on board. And then he starts laughing, “You really thought that I was going to cooperate, didn’t you? I can’t believe you actually had a speech prepared.”

Your face twists angrily, you appear behind him, knife to his throat, one hand on his shoulder. You then bring the two of you to the building that’s right across the street from the news station. On the edge of the roof, you push him forward, make him think that he’s going to fall, and then you grab the back of his shirt. The bottle of water and the protein bar falls from his hands, plummeting to the ground below.

“I think you’re forgetting who has the power here, Darling.” You snarl. “You owe me your life. And if you can’t give me what I’m asking for, then I’ll take it. How does that sound?”

Finnick reaches back with one arm to find something to hold onto. He comes in contact with your body, and settles for a hand on your hip. His weight pulls you forward another step, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Stop!” He shouts. “Are you crazy?”

“What do you think?” You ask him. “What’s it going to be?” 

He hesitates, you look up at the news building to find that people have appeared in the windows. It’s nearing the end of the day, perfect time for people to be roaming, getting ready to leave. 

“I think they’ve noticed us. You better make your decision quick.” You tell him.

He shakes his head, but shouts, “Fine!”

You bring him back to your apartment, shoving him to sit on the couch, while you stand in front of the television, hands on your hips. His eyes are wide, breathing heavily.

“What do you mean I owe you my life?”

“I saved it, it’s mine.” You tell him. “You care about this city, don’t you? So you’ll do what I say.”

“And if I don’t?” He asks, “If you release me and I tell the public whatever I feel like?”

“Oh, honey, you can run from me, and you can even try to hide from me, but I’ve got you on lock. You’re not getting away. Finnick Odair’s house may be a mystery to the public, but I’ve been inside a few times.” You shrug, “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can’t believe that I’m going to work with you.” He mutters.

“Cheer up.” You roll your eyes. “You’re going to have all the power when it comes to what the public thinks. It could be worse.”

He sighs, “Let me put my suit on.”

“That’s the spirit.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x you #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick oneshot #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #angst #requested

[webslingingslasher]

Hi, could you write something based on ‘daylight’ by harry styles? I’ve been looking for major peter p. fluff ✨ thanks

i know you said fluffy but i took a twist. after analyzing the lyrics i know it had to be a little angsty. i love the song requests, they’re so fun.

Peter didn’t know he could feel like this, he felt airless everywhere he went, his feet floated from the ground, he was able to feel weightless in the air.

He has his eyes closed, his mask is in one of his outstretched hand. The wind brushed his hair back, where he started to sweat on his hairline instantly cooled. If he stopped thinking so hard he thinks he’d float away.

Peter didn’t know how heavy he felt until you entered his life, everything was brighter with you in it. Breathing felt easier and things brought more joy then they ever did. He found himself preferring waffles to pancakes because you did, and he loves them with strawberry’s and syrup, just like you do. Not to mention orange juice was better in the mornings, except Sunday, that was apple juice day and he can’t agree more.

In a world where he has to deal with dark, sad, depressing and torturous truths it was hard to keep going. He knew what he had to do, who he needed to be for the world, but that doesn’t make it easy. He’s dealt with more tragic deaths than he can count, he’s lost everyone close to him, he was cold and alone.

Peter’s entire life felt like black and white. Until you entered it. You were daylight, you were golden, you were the love of his life.

The threads that pulled at him were gently stretched and snipped with your scissors. He pulled down the dark curtains in his apartment, it was too hard to see you in all the in the darkness. He was too warm and bright around you, he forgot who he used to be.

You made him remember how he used to be.

Peter leans back slightly in a sharp breeze, his chest blown further back, he could have let himself go. He estimates about five milliseconds before he hits the ground and scratches up his back on the gravel.

He breathes in deeply one, two, three times and feels the sun soaking into his chest. He wants to be as bright as you, he knows he will be one day.

Peter remembers his first panic attack in front of you. He broke down crying, and you didn’t say a word. You wrapped yourself behind him and held him as he cried into your hands, you breathed deep and slow until he started to copy.

You nearly sat on the floor with him in your arms for an hour, he knows your butt must hurt and your knees probably feel stiff but having your warmth bleed into his cold felt so good. He hadn’t cried in half an hour, but you stayed attached to him, you knew he needed you.

Peter was sure you were a goner after that, waking up alone solidified that. He isn’t even surprised, he was used to the dark, but damn if he didn’t want to be stuck to you at all times, you were his firefly. He even calls you that.

He moved quietly, he wondered if he still had those blackout curtains. Until he nearly had to block his eyes with his hand at the radiating light at the kitchen table.

It was you.

You reading the paper cross legged in only his shirt.

It was beautiful, bright, lovely you.

And on his side of the table there was a plate of pancakes and a tall cup of apple juice, they were his favorites and you knew it. As a nod to his true and current self you plated a small bowl of strawberry’s and syrup next to it.

You made his favorites because everyone deserves their favorite meal when they’re having a tough week. Peter pulls the chair and takes a seat, you lower the paper and look at him.

You’ve ate half your pancakes, he knows you hate them. “We could’ve had waffles.” He shoves a bite in his mouth and hums, it’s been a while. You rest your chin on your hands. “It’s a pancake kind of day.”

He stares at his plate as he picks up a strawberry.

“Sorry about last night, I lost control of myself.”

“I can get pretty hysterical myself too, would you want me to apologize and get embarrassed after you helped me?”

Peter swallows a strawberry, “No.”

“Then why should you?”

Peter stares at his plate, you sigh and walk over to his side and rest against the table. You had to bring out the bad guns.

“Alright look, I didn’t want to have to tell you this but I think I have to.”

“What?”

“I love you.” You shrug casually, he laughs a little.

“I love you too, baby.” You’ve only shared the three words a million times.

“And you’re stuck with me for life. I mean it, I’m going nowhere, not ever. You’re stuck to me like honey, honey. Also if you don’t cry like that at our wedding I’ll feel cheated.”

He remembers your shriek when he grabbed you to throw yourself over his lap.

Peter’s going to ask you to move in with him tonight. He’s tired of late night calls just to hear your beaming voice on the phone, he’s tired of lugging laundry to and from, and he’s tired of not being around you all the time.

His phone buzzes.

He told you he wanted to come get you after you got home from dinner.

You finally texted back.

‘Ready when you are, lover.”

Peter puts his phone away and takes one last deep breath, pulls his mask on and drops off the side of the building and falls, and falls, and falls and right before he hits the ground he imagines you catch him.

He throws his wrist out and shoots a web up, he flings over a building. His smile ever growing, he can feel the sun warming over his body and every stride closer to your place it gets a little bit brighter.

#peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker drabble #peter parker mcu #tasm!peter parker fic #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter one shot #peter parker oneshot #my writing

[galaxyquakeflakes]

A Daughter for a Daughter (3)

*Thank you to the people leaving likes and even reblogs! Glad you like it so far!*

Pairing: Neteyam x fem|human OC

Summary: A year after the Sky People return and life on Pandora can never be the same.

Word Count: 3375

Links: (Previous) (Next)

---

*One Year Later*

Ever since the Sky People had returned things on Pandora had only gotten worse. It was not just about mining anymore. It was a full scale invasion to terraform the planet for human colonization since Earth was dying. They were making too much progress too fast. Jake had started a guerilla campaign against them to slow down their progress and hopefully one day drive them off. But it was slow going and none of it easy.

The clan had moved into the flying mountains for safety. Na’vi and humans alike were all crowded together. It was good for Pixie since she didn’t have to go far to see her friends but she hated the circumstances.

There was a shipment heading out on a train the Sky People built that the war party were heading out to stop and raid. Lo’ak and Neteyam were being allowed to go this time as spotters. It was the safest job for them but it did not mean that they weren’t going to be in danger.

Lo’ak was painting himself with war paint like the others. Pixie was sitting with Neteyam helping to sharpen his arrows and knife. She didn’t know how much he really needed her for that but it calmed her down to have this time with him before he left. To say she was always scared for everyone when they went on these missions was an understatement. There was never any telling who would make it back or not.

“You sure you don’t want some war paint too?” she gestured to the little bowls of paint near them. “It’ll make you look fierce.”

“Not a chance. The last time I let you put war paint on me you gave me whiskers.” he flicked a little green paint at her.

“Excuse you, those were battle stripes. I don’t know what you’re going on about. I don’t even know what whiskers are.” she smiled, flicking some yellow paint back at him.

“Sure you do, they’re those little hairs on your upper lip.”

“You shit head!” she slapped him. “I’m gonna go hang out with Kiri and Tuk since you’re being mean.”

“No no, stay please.” he laughed. “I’m sorry. Just tried to ease the tension.”

“It never gets easier, does it?” Pixie sighed, looking around at everyone else gearing up. “I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’re great help here with the wounded. This is where we need you most.” Neteyam assured her. “Who else is going to kiss my boo-boos when I get back?”

“Stop referring to injuries as boo-boos. Besides, I can’t kiss them anyway, mask is in the way.”

“Excuses excuses.” Neteyam tucked his arrows into his quiver. Pixie handed him his dagger. She folded her knees up to her chest.

“Are you really that worried about the raid?” Neteyam asked.

“I’m worried about you and Lo’ak going into the raid.”

“We’re spotters. We’re gonna be fine.”

“You don’t know that. If you try to do some big hero thing or if Lo’ak gets cocky and does something stupid--”

“I’ll keep an eye on that idiot so he doesn’t do anything stupid and I am not going to attempt any big hero moves if I don’t have to. We’ll be back before you know it.” he squeezed her shoulder. “Wish me luck?”

“Good luck out there. Come back in one piece, golden boy.”

“Will do, bite sized.” he got up and joined everyone as they grouped up to leave. Jake gave a quick speech about what they were going to do and what he expected of everyone. Get in. Get the stuff. Get out. No heroics. No stupid moves.

With that they were gone and the wait for their return started. Pixie settled down with Kiri and Tuk who were already preparing medicines and bandages for the wounded when they returned.

Pixie had been right about Tuk. In a year she had already grown taller than Pixie. Granted she only measured one inch taller but it still sucked a bit that the seven year old was taller than the sixteen year old.

“Need me to do anything?” Pixie asked.

“I think we got it.” Kiri said, hands on her hips. “Pixie, your hair is a mess. Did you even try brushing it before you twisted it into that sorry excuse of a braid?”

“Everyone gets on my hair. Do I just need to cut it?” Pixie had been considering just chopping it all off.

“No! Don’t cut off your hair!” Tuk came running over. “Then we won’t have matching braids anymore!”

Pixie didn’t have the heart to say they were hardly matching in the first place. Tuk’s was jet black and had a queue at the end. Pixie’s was blonde and there was nothing at the end of hers except for split ends. Still, she couldn’t tell that cute little face no.

“Alright. Okay. Care to fix it for me so it’s pretty like yours, Tuk?” Pixie sat down.

Tuk jumped up and down and went to grab a comb. Kiri was watching her with amusement. “You know she’s gonna try and braid in a bunch of feathers and vine bits and it is going to take her an eternity.”

“I know but I can’t tell that face no. It’s unjust.”

“It’ll keep her busy while the war party is away at least.” Kiri sat down across from her. “You doing okay? Saw you talking with Neteyam earlier. Things seemed a little tense.”

“Just the normal amount of worry when two of your closest friends go out on a potentially deadly mission.” Pixie rubbed her face. “I am so scared that those two idiots are gonna get themselves killed.”

“Hopefully they’re not that stupid.” Kiri said.

“I’m back!” Tuk called. She had a comb and a basket full of various other odds and ends. “You’re gonna love your hair after it’s done, Pixie!”

“I am sure I will.” Pixie made eye contact with Kiri and the girls stifled their laughter.

An hour or so later Tuk had detangled Pixie’s hair and rebraided it with feathers, bits of vine, some flowers, and even a few pieces of bone here and there. She tied off the end with a bow and flipped it over Pixie’s shoulder to see. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you Tuk.” Pixie said. Tuk ran off with a gleeful smile to go cause chaos somewhere else.

“Kiri, be straight with me, how does it actually look?”

“Not that bad, actually. A little too much going on but if you got rid of the feathers that would help even it out a lot.” she inspected the braid. “Awe, she even put little braids inside the big one.”

Tuk came running back shouting. “Kiri! Pixie! They’re back! The war party is coming back! Come on!”

Kiri and Pixie raced after her to the drop off point. They were immediately loading off supplies and the wounded. Pixie, Kiri and Tuk pushed through till they found Jake, Neytiri, Lo’ak and-- “Neteyam!” Pixie shouted when she saw him bleeding and hunched over.

Neteyam looked up and held up a hand to stop her from coming closer. His eyes looked back at Jake who looked livid. Oh for the love everything good and holy, what had those idiots done?

“You’re supposed to be spotters.” Jake said, eyeing his two sons with barely contained rage. “You spot bogeys and you call them in from a distance! Does any of this sound familiar? Get here!” he snapped at Lo’ak who had been hanging back a bit.

Pixie moved slowly towards the ikran and started untying the saddles while Jake continued to chew out the boys. “Jesus, I let you two geniuses fly a mission and you disobey direct orders!”

He took a deep breath, turning to Kiri who was inspecting Neteyam’s wounds. “Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded?”

“My brother is wounded.” Kiri defended.

“Tuk, go with her. Go!” Jake tried to dismiss them again.

“Father,” Neteyam spoke up. Pixie paused to try and get a better look at him. He was pretty banged up but it wasn’t anything much worse than what he got hunting. “I take full responsibility--”

“Yeah you do. That’s right. Cause you’re the older brother, you gotta act like it!”

Pixie turned back around and slid the saddle off Lo’ak’s ikran. When she looked back Neteyam was walking off towards the rest of the wounded. Pixie wanted to follow but she had already made herself busy getting the saddles off so she could eavesdrop and she couldn’t switch tasks now.

Jake’s voice had dropped to not shouting but the anger and disappointment was still there as he addressed Lo’ak. “You understand that you almost got your brother killed?”

“Yes, sir.” was Lo’ak’s paltry reply.

“You’re grounded. No flying for a month.” Oof. Rough but warranted. “Now help Pixie see to the ikran. All of them. And get that crap off your face.”

Jake left and Lo’ak meandered over towards Pixie as he helped take the saddles off of the other ikran. “Lo’ak?” Pixie sidled up next to him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” he shrugged.

Pixie hugged him. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

He hugged her back for a moment. “Thanks, Pixie.”

She looked back to make sure Jake was out of earshot. “So…you gonna tell me your first war story?”

Lo’ak smiled briefly. “I felt like such a big man for about ten seconds and then it all went to shit.”

“Well, tell me about the ten seconds.” she told him. He lightened up a bit as they went from ikran to ikran removing saddles and he related the raid. Apparently he had gone down to grab supplies with the others and Neteyam went running after him to stop him. A ship came around the bend and started firing. It crashed and Neteyam got caught in the crosshairs. It was only by the grace of Eywa that he came out of it alive.

“Then we will thank Eywa that you were both returned safely despite your dumb decision.” Pixie slid off the final saddle. “Also, give your dad some time to cool down. I can tell you that a lot of his anger right now is just worry.”

“Worry?” Lo’ak scoffed.

“Lo’ak.” Pixie stopped him. “You could have died out there. That ship could have crashed right on top of you and you’d be with Eywa right now. It’s terrifying to contemplate. Not just for me, your friend, but even more so for your family. We could have lost you. We could have lost both of you.  Don’t take that lightly.”

“I’m sorry, Pixie.” Lo’ak sniffed. “I just…I wanted to prove that I could help out more.”

“You help out by doing your part. You do your best and that’s the best that anyone can do. Reflect on this as a learning experience but don’t beat yourself up too badly about it.”

“You know, if things with you and Neteyam don’t work out--”

“Gross! Shut up! Get moving, moron.” she shoved him. Lo’ak cackled and Pixie threw a rag at him to wipe the paint off his face. She charged ahead so he couldn’t see how bright red her cheeks had gotten.

Why did he insist on making jokes about her and Neteyam being a thing? They were in a time of war. There was no time to be worrying about stuff like that. Not that anything would be going on anyway. She got enough interspecies romance jokes from her brother. She didn’t need to hear more from Lo’ak.

They probably wouldn’t make so many jokes if there was any human her age around. But no. The closest was Ian but he was for one, her brother (step-brother or not it was still gross), and two, eight years older than her.

It was dark by the time they got back to their tent where Mo’at and Kiri were helping patch up Neteyam still. He wasn’t a critical case so they must have left more in depth care for later. Jake was standing outside. Lo’ak quickly moved past them into the tent.

Pixie paused. “Uncle Jake?” she stepped closer. “You got a second?”

“Sure, sweet pea.” he gruffed, setting the gun he was looking over aside. “Whatcha need?”

“I talked to Lo’ak. Told him that what he did earlier was stupid and he understands that.” she said. “I also told him that the reason you were so mad was because you were worried about them getting hurt. I don’t know how much he believes that coming from me but I know it’s the truth. So maybe take a second to, y’know, tell him that yourself?”

Jake sighed and wrapped an arm around Pixie. “You’re a good kid, Pixie. Perceptive to a fault. You don’t need to worry about that though.”

“I just know that things were kind of intense earlier so…”

“You got a good heart.” Jake gave her a little squeeze, “I’ll talk to them. Promise.”

“Thanks Uncle Jake.” Pixie smiled.

“Ahem,” Neytiri walked over. “I need to have a word alone with Jake.”

“Sure thing, Aunt Neytiri.” Pixie stood up and went to join the others.

“Ow! Ow!” Neteyam winced as Mo’at rubbed some salve into his wound. Kiri and Mo’at were arguing about what was better to use on the cut.

“Aw, need a little kiss on the boo-boo?” Lo’ak teased.

“Shut it!” Neteyam snapped at him.

“Bet he’d act like a big man if there was a pretty girl around.” Kiri teased.

“Pixie! Get in here so Neteyam stops acting like a big baby.” Lo’ak pulled her into the tent.

“You are such an ass.” Pixie slapped his arm. “Neteyam is injured, he’s allowed to behave like a whiny little baby.”

“Whose side are you on?” Neteyam stared at her. “Ow!” he winced again. “Grandma!”

“Stop whining.” she turned his head back around.

“Hey big man,” Pixie squatted down next to him. “How you doing?”

“Besides the feeling that acid is being poured into my back? Never better!” he tried to smile through a grimace. He was still cracking jokes. That was a good sign.

“Glad you made it back in one piece, golden boy.” Pixie stood up. “I’m gonna go see if my parents need anything. You can find me later when you’re all fixed up.”

“You going to the labs?” Kiri asked, “Can I join?”

“Sure.”

“I’m coming too.” Lo’ak said.

“Oh sure, abandon me.” Neteyam called as they started to leave. “Ow! Grandmother!”

“Stop fussing!” Mo’at snapped at him.

Kiri, Lo’ak, and Pixie left the tent and wove through the camp towards the labs. Norm and the other avatars were coming out of stasis as they entered. Pixie removed her mask, happy to freely breathe some air that won’t kill her.

“I didn’t say anything earlier but what in the world is going on with your hair?” Lo’ak picked a feather out of Pixie’s braid. “Looks like you braided an entire bird in there. You even got its bones--”

“I let Tuk do it.” she swatted his hand away. “Say another word about my hair and your ass goes down to the ground.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.”

Pixie waited till he turned to grab a mask and yanked his tail. “Hey!” he turned around to try and whack her. She easily dodged out from underneath him and rolled between his legs. She yoinked his tail again and sped off. “Pixie!”

“Can’t catch me loser!” Pixie said as she slid around equipment and took sharp turns around the lab to avoid Lo’ak catching up.

“Will you two stop before you break something!” Kiri raced after them.

Pixie had been waiting behind one of the tanks to surprise Lo’ak and tackle him when her mom came around the corner and saw her. “Millie, what are you doing?”

“Not now. Go! Shoo!” Pixie tried to shush her but it was too late. Lo’ak jumped on top of the tank she was hiding behind.

“Yeah, Millie, what are you doing?” Lo’ak teased.

“You know damn well you don’t get to call me that!” Pixie tried to swipe at him but he jumped out of her reach.

“Hey!” Pixie’s mom snapped at them. “I believe Kiri already told you, stop messing around before you break something.”

“Yes ma’am.” Lo’ak said.

“Sorry mom.”

Her mom’s eyes narrowed. “What is all that in your hair?”

Lo’ak stifled a laugh. “For the love of--” Pixie started taking out the feathers. “I was just trying to make a little kid happy!”

Pixie freed the multiple bits of feather, vine, and flowers from her hair. She kept the bits of bone in since they were pretty wound in and she couldn’t get rid of them without completely undoing the braid. When she got back Kiri had stationed herself in front of one of the computers and was watching one of Dr. Augustine’s video logs. Pixie knew that she had already watched them all. But it was the closest thing she could get to talking to her biological mother without using the Tree of Souls.

Pixie settled into the chair next to her to watch. She had also seen all of Dr. Augustine’s logs but she liked to rewatch them sometimes, hoping to pick up a tidbit of information that she missed. Maybe find a link in her work that opened some big revelation about Pandora that they were missing.

“So…” Lo’ak came up behind them, “Who do you think knocked her up? Pretty sure it was Norm.”

“Lo’ak!” Kiri and Pixie groaned at the same time.

“No no! Think about it!”

“You do not deserve to live!” Kiri rounded on him with an insulted fury.

“I mean,” Pixie shrugged, “Kind of makes sense.”

“Pixie!” Kiri turned back to her.

“It does though! I mean look at the facts.” Lo’ak gestured to the screen, “He’s the teacher’s pet. He’s out at the lab with her all the time--”

“I would kill myself! I would drink acid.”

“Come on, look he is like in every single shot! Right now, he’s like giving her a look!” Pixie couldn’t help but laugh.

“You two are terrible!”

“You see, my thinking is,” Lo’ak started to explain, “their two avatars are together out in the woods all alone…”

“Gross!” Kiri shoved him.

“Norm is not the worst possible baby daddy you could have had.” Pixie shrugged. “You could have got stuck with a human equivalent of sandpaper with a history of attempted genocide like me.”

“Yeah, I think Pixie wins worst dad of the year.” Lo’ak nodded.

Kiri deflated some, guilt washing over her. “Pixie, I didn’t--”

“No. Don’t apologize. If I can't make jokes about it then it's just sad.” Pixie put on a brave face but there was a part of her that always got a bit cagey when it came to talking about her birth parents.

She had no real qualms with her bio-mom. She’s wasn’t a good person either but she was just a cog in a terrible machine. It was her dad that was the operator. Pixie had grown up not shielded from the atrocities her bio-parents committed. She knew what they did and how badly it hurt the people and the land. She was relieved they were dead and that she got to be raised by good people who respected the planet and the people who lived on it.

Still, it didn’t lessen the thought that maybe the reason she could never be close to the Na’vi like she wanted wasn’t because she was human. It was because when they looked in her face, her father was staring back out at them.

Pixie knew it was the reason Neytiri kept her distance from her. Pixie liked Neytiri. Called her aunt. Neytiri didn’t hate her but they were not exactly friends either. She didn’t blame Neytiri or the others for having mixed feelings about Pixie. It was a lot to ask them to forgive all the trauma they endured in a time of foreign colonization. All she could hope for at this point was that one day they could look at her and see just Pixie. Not Mildred Quaritch.

#atwow #avatar #avatar way of water #fanfic #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x human girl #neteyam x oc #way of water rewrite

[elioslover]

Bronze is Better. (BRITS)

Another meet-cute at the Brits (idc how late this is, I lost a month to my wisdom tooth). This is the second blurb in a short series I'm doing about bump-ins at award shows/ famous functions. Will probably become less ambiguous with each part! Let me know what you think? - Emmy xo

Part One / Part Three / Other Writing

Warnings: (Use of She/her pronouns).

Word Count: 1.4k

---

He has dressed up again. Styled to the nines- no, the tens. Leaving the vague secrecy and safety of the car, blinking cameras bouncing sparkles atop his artfully polished shoes as his feet steady and relax on the rolled-out carpet. Each blinding flash forcing the fear of losing his sight forever to the forefront, vision coming and going with violent rapidity. 

His name never sounded so inferior- butchering, belting, bargains for attention- making him feel like no more than a marionette. He deems it doesn’t get better- nor easier- praise peppered so falsely atop him like gourmet fillet whilst he felt like a fucking cheeseburger, in at least more sense than one.

In the midst of it all, murmurs and mutters mixing with people trying for successful projection, names of stars he could neither see nor care for, he is solely navigating through the suffocating swirl of photographers, praying for the solace of an auditorium- also packed, in orderly conduct. Same routine, separate venue. Hard to reason with how he has ended up here, what this is all for, passion fading on the tip of his tongue, swiftly pacified as he is being ushered towards an interviewer once more, mic scarcely missing his mouth, offering him an opportunity to speak on his attendance, and for torture’s sake, He is forgetting his own creations, collaborations, contemplating- panicking over his cause for participation. 

He’s conjuring up responses- both charming, yet surface- to a sufferingly surface question. And he knows whatever he lands on will be looked over in playback- focus condensing to the way the colour of his blazer brings out the boldness of his eyes, perhaps harping in on his hair, how stubble scatters his cheeks, and how honest his hidden dishonesty is coming off. 

Almost gagging on his own words, a golden chorus of cheers calls out to the right, and instinctual curiosity tilts his head to follow, watching a well-named, well-dressed actor stepping out onto the carpet. He hardly cares though, because, through the collection of people, She is crammed into a corner, waiting for the wave of contenders to crash over and crawl away from the shore, instead settling on mending the state of the bronzy silk masking her skin, making sure it will move in synch. 

If He didn’t return his courtesy to the camera now, he would never hear nor see the end of it. And his answer was quickly followed by a new question, which spurred on another answer, and that only encouraged another question. He wondered if this weak cycle of watered-down conversing would soon circle on into something of substance- or would he need to creep and crawl towards withdrawal, to just stop starting? Because his whole body is sore with keenness, desperate to both finish this interview and to seek out the silken stranger- the silver bracelet’s innkeeper. But when the pulsing within activates such an aching that He can’t help but peek over once more, She has already been misplaced within the mass of man and woman. 

Disappointment turns his aches to throbs, which he feels might swell his brain so badly it will spew out from the open spaces between his ears and nose, and the interviewer aids him with the umpteenth intro to the next interrogation- a true talent for turning such irrelevance into something appealing to fans and viewers alike. He has to admire, actually impressive that someone could turn something he utters so sluggishly into something of any value. 

She doesn’t see his front, yet, with solitarily his back on show, He is still more than decipherable, stance definitely him, and that is more than sufficient to surge her directly his way, dipping into the wave, surfing smoothly within the restless sea of somebody’s until she resurfaces and comes to rest right beside him. 

He feels the unexpected wrap of Her fingers around his wrist, caressing his cufflinks, creating an invitation for his attention, and he looks over to the owner in fright before the coolness of her hand suddenly chills his heart. She glances up at Him graciously, a hint of hope for his remembrance- grateful for the confirmation of his widening gaze, and she shows no evident concern for the rolling camera, or the threat of her kind hand holding him hostage, as the smile she is sweetly sending him sees the scrunches of her eyes. 

He blocks the joy that wants to jolt his body all the way back to last July, and instead allows himself to turn and bend to better address her, borrowing Her his full attention, forcing the camera to substitute and follow his cheekbones, for he is already far from the former conversation when She continues sending signal flares with each blink, each lash flutter, luring him to lean, and lean, and then almost stumble back. 

She plays the Fool, hiking up onto the pointers of her high heels, head craning to properly greet him, gorgeous gazes locking in unspoken hello’s, countless seconds passing by before her lips part, and His shortly follow before She gives him the gift of a true greeting, tenderness trailing through the gap in her teeth, gathering Him up in a tornado of shyness that He felt to be frighteningly foreign. 

He thinks he says hello back, and when her shoulders sigh out the breath She didn’t know she had been holding securely, he knows he must have worded something welcoming enough. Her smile widens, to his greatest pleasure, and He fends off the impulse to slip off into a daze as she parts her lips to press on, 

“Thank you…” She warps focus to her fingers, still wrapping up His wrist like the bracelet that bonded them, he follows to where they are being bound, “For the...” 

He nods sillily, blinking back silent recognition, and when He recalls this successless moment after, he is madly resentful of the way he splutters out an, “Oh, of course, no sweat,” whilst almost evidently sweating anyhow. 

Perhaps She had been expecting his response to be something otherwise because her eyes are owling, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, as she scrambles and fears the start of a fumble nearing, His stomach hikes up to his throat at the sight of her- the feel of her fingers slipping from his wrist. 

Needing to retreat with hasty remorse for recklessly inserting herself into the middle of his interview, She is feeling like a right interruption- and the way His brows furrow only confuses her more, unable to determine if he is confused as to why she would uproot his camera connection or is just simply curious. Nevertheless, the air around her turns stale as she takes a step back, straightening herself off of all crumbs with care. 

“I owe you...” A last attempt at saving herself from this self-inflicted shame, self-esteem down the drain. But She only feels her stomach knotting, squirming, and cringing as she removes herself entirely- encouraged to look back, but firm on not.

Once again, He is but an observer, out of complete control, and unable to find even a corner to grasp at as he is attacked by the ever-tightening chains of the camera, unseen cables pinching at his skin, stuck in a place he has not once wished to be, wrapping and twisting him with each attempt at tampering, at trying to walk away; as what feels like a real opportunity travels away with the waves. The weight of the world balances on the shoulders of said camera, begging Him to aid in carrying the burden.

He wants to slip, to be whisked away into the valley, to valiantly wash up and bump his shoes into the back of Hers, unabashedly validating her unnecessary, but admirable need for appreciation, verifying his undoubtful pleasure of being in her presence and wondering if that would happen after bidding the present adieu. 

So, He lets the camera go completely, careless as to if it crashes and scatters across the carpet behind him, chains following soon after, falling from his limbs, left in a pathetic puddle as he leaves no survivors. Seeking out the curious Silver Bracelet Girl, seeming to finally feel some form of certainty. 

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