#thoughts on Wither!Blade if we get a Wither!Blade

[avocado-writing]

Hi bestie. I would love some angst with Astarion and Tav(reader) where a shape changer turns into one of them to hurt the other and the aftermath of the hurt and the victim convinced it was real until they talk it through and make up? Sorry if that didnt really make sense

notes: none! just some angst set start of act 3. rating: T

pairing: Astarion x reader

You have a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach as Astarion appears before you. Withers senses something in the air, something loaded, and decides to turn and count his coin; he doesn’t want to interrupt what’s about to come. 

Or more likely he doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. 

The way Astarion is staring at you… gods. You feel a tight grip in your chest as a thousand emotions flit over his face. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion. Before you can open your mouth he shoves past you, making a beeline for his tent. 

“Astarion, wait - !”

He doesn’t, so you have to jog a little to keep up. Go to put a hand on his arm, think better of it. Don’t want to upset him any further with unwanted physical touch. 

“Please - ”

“Oh, now you want to talk? Suddenly changed your mind after treating me like a bloody pincushion? I thought you were…” he trails off for a second, before finishing with, “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he sneers, eyes solidly focussed in front of him, acting as if you weren’t even there. 

That stings. But of course he’s angry, he doesn’t know the whole story. You battle through the hurt and manage to stand in front of him, blocking his path and finally getting him to meet your gaze. 

“It wasn’t me! It was a gods-damned Doppelganger!”

He stops. Good. That got his attention.  

Your mind flits back to the other night, the horrid scene as your adventuring party for the day made it back to camp, when you figured all your companions were asleep - a horrid, faux-copy of you with a deadly blade sunk deep into your vampire’s neck. Given the secluded nature of the spot, the “two of you” may have been in the middle of a private moment. He was ripped open from several stab wounds, pale body bathed in garnet blood, and after a loud fight woke the rest of the camp… 

Well. After that everyone worked on bringing him back as quickly as possible, even though you were shaking from shock and sobs. 

Astarion searches your face. He’s looking for a tell. He’s looking for the slightest indication that you actually were the one tearing him to pieces. You want to tell him how stupid that is. Of course you’d never hurt him, change your mind and try to dispose of him in the worst way you could (and if you did, why bring him back?) You’d hoped he’d trusted you more than that. But, being in Baldur’s Gate, with Cazador so close… well, it’s no wonder that nerves are frayed. Logic has gone out the window until he can be forced to hear it.

“It must have been Orin. You know how she’s been hounding us. She probably saw how close we were, and decided to… well, try to hit us where it would hurt. And I hate it. I hate that she used my body to trick you like that.”

Ah. That he understands. You can see Astarion turn this over in his mind, and with a small exhale he releases all the tension in his body. The obvious relief is quickly plastered over with a light laugh and the affectation of his usual laissez-faire attitude. 

“Oh. Well. Don’t I look like quite the fool, hmm? You know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass of you and… well, I’d say me, but usually that’s usually a rather difficult accomplishment.”

He’s trying to hide how genuinely hurt he was. The idea that you could turn on him broke him a little, you think. That you’d use him and discard him so casually… it breaks your heart. Carefully you reach out to take his hand. You feel him flinch just a tiny bit but he accepts the gesture. 

“I’m so sorry she got to you. I won’t let it happen again. I’d never, ever hurt you, Astarion. You know that I…”

The end of that sentence hangs between you, heavy, pregnant. But thankfully, rather than chasing the end of it, Astarion pulls you to him. His arms wrap around you and you feel the softness in his embrace. 

“I know. I know you do.”

And you hold him. Knowing you’d move the cosmos to keep him safe. 

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #my writing #Request

[june-again]

TIGHNARI: # deliver me.

word count. 3k. genre. adventure, pining.

overview. news of your patrol squad's brutal defeat by eremites reaches tighnari's ears. he wastes no time searching for you to save you—but in the end, who will be saving who?

warnings. blood, action sequences, tighnari & y/n both being badass AND down bad for each other. read at your own discretion.

Tighnari shifted his weight to his other leg, trying to focus himself on his work at hand. A dark cloud had been looming over his mind all day. It had obscured his path to understanding the recent outbreak of withering zones all across the forest; he seemed to have hit a roadblock in what to anticipate in coming weeks. Some information from forest logs pointed to the archon’s situation, and other clues pointed to misconduct of both Akedemiya researchers and bands of Eremites. Still others seemed to lead him somewhere deeper, somewhere within the very Ley Lines of Teyvat. But there was more that was bothering him today which he could not lay his finger on.

“General Watchleader, sir!” 

He looked up to see a Forest Watcher at his doorway. 

“Come quick,” she said. “Something’s happened to this morning’s patrol squad.”

Tighnari wasted no time following her to the infirmary hut, where but one Forest Watcher was lying wounded on one of the beds. It was indeed one of the Rangers that had been sent out this morning, along with you and two others, who he did not see now.

“Kamran, what happened?”

The poor man clutched his bleeding side, which was dressed mildly with a makeshift bandage from his scarf. Tighnari gently removed this to treat the Ranger’s wound, listening to his tale.

“Eremites, General Watchleader. We were ambushed, and they—they had no mercy. The two others died, sir, and our patrol chief told me to get out of there. I made it out by the hair on my neck. Or rather, my side—yahhh!” Kamran yelped as Tighnari applied an ointment along the edge of the wound.

“Sit still, Kamran.” Tighanari tried to steady his hands. He’d elected you chief of this patrol—and so, it was his fault if you were dead. He might not ever forgive himself for this. He should have sent stronger defense along. He should have seen this coming. 

Damn, he might have lost you, now, and might never get the chance to tell you what you meant to him.

He tightened a liquid bandage over Kamran’s wound. “Tell me, Ranger: where did this occur?”

<*+`,.>

Tighnari’s boots were laden with mud by the time he and two others had reached the reported location. Rain was falling hard, emphasizing his growing dread and causing his ears to fold back. Finding nothing initially, one of the other Forest Rangers suggested they split up.

“Hold that thought, Ranger,” he said, kneeling at the sign of discolored mud. On closer inspection, he realized: “Blood.”

None of them could locate directional footprints near this point, but there was a clear indication of a fight, one that ended quickly. The three swept the riverbank for more clues with no luck. But upon a tree Tighnari noted a fresh gash around half of its trunk. It looked like one your knives might have made it, though it was higher than you would have naturally reached.

Perhaps you had been carried. Perhaps they kept you alive.

“We go West,” Tighnari declared. “Iraj, take the Southernmost route! Shirin, you take the Northernmost one!”

“Sir,” they nodded, gathering in front of him.

“Don’t stand there. Lives still may be saved today!”

And off they ran, all three praying he would be right.

Tighnari was relieved when he found another fresh cut in a tree several paces West, indicative of your survival past the ambush. He later found the ground to be firmer, and the marks of several footprints created a reliable trail. Now he had a feeling he was drawing closer—but at the same time, a feeling he might still be too late.

The discovery of one of your blades in the dirt a bit further along concurred.

It had occurred to him quite soon after Kamran’s arrival that this may be a trap for Tighnari. The Forest Rangers of Gandharva Ville had had a rocky relationship with Eremites, and being known as the leader placed a target on his back. However, he feared more the blood of the Rangers on his hands than any of the enemies of the forest he may face. He had no doubt now that it was a trap, but knowing it served him very little. He’d sent the others further away so that they might not have to get involved; he only hoped they hadn’t come near enough to locate the camp. 

Only then did he hear distant chatter. It sounded like Eremites, no doubt, and additionally, the whining tone of Treasure Hoarders. As he approached the camp, he quieted his paces and kept to the shadows, eyes peeled to the men and women around the wet firepit with their weapons at the ready. 

Tighnari crept around the outskirts of the camp, far enough away that any rustle in the trees would be indistinguishable from the storm. He spied you, soon enough, sitting in a crude wooden cage similar to ones he’d seen at other Treasure Hoarder camps before. Guilt sank his heart to his stomach. He would get you out of this mess, no matter what.

Tighnari aimed his bow at the back of the Eremite guarding your cage, considering. If he alerted the camp of his presence, he would have to face all of them at once. If he lured some away, however…

He pointed and shot his arrow to the trees near the path, and watched a few shout and scramble over in that direction. He snickered to himself. Knuckleheads.

Back at the camp, he could just make out you standing in your cage, peering over in that same direction. He refocused, noticing how muddy your face and back were.

There would be no easy way to save you, he knew. But hesitating would make things harder, and so he crept closer to the camp. The mud was slippery and thick here, gathering a slight stream downhill. If he had sprinted for you, he would have wiped out and given himself away. 

Ah. That would work.

Tighnari at last sent an arrow at the Eremite leaning on your cage, and she staggered to her feet, whirling around. “He’s there!” she shouted shrilly, and soon, a larger portion of the camp was racing towards him. He simply jogged a few steps away, turned, and readied his weapon.

Sure enough, each Treasure Hoarder and Eremite that ran close enough slid on their heel and landed on their ass. Defeating them with a few well aimed shots was no problem. A cryo-thrower tossed a solution from further away, and Tighnari just managed to dive out of the way. Gathering his elemental energy, he sent three shots at the foe and made a dash for the camp.

“Welcome, Tree-Hugger. Eat this.” A kick from an undetected Eremite struck him clean across the face and he stumbled backwards.

“My,” he said, simply. “No need to play dirty.”

“You don’t know when to drop the act, do you?” the Eremite said. She slashed her dual hydro-blades at her, and just barely missed his chest as he dodged. “You’re dead.”

He dodged another attack. He wouldn’t be able to defeat her from this close a range. He’d been hoping to emancipate you before dealing with the rest, but it seemed he had no choice.

Or, at least, that’s what he was thinking, until the Clearwater grunted and froze in place, before crumbling to her knees.

He noticed the handle of a blade stuck deep into her shoulder. Not just any blade. Your blade.

“C’mon, ‘Nari, get me out of here before I scream. They’re awfully loud bastards.”

He chuckled, noticing you watching him from the cage. Truly an ineffective sport and ineffective piece of technology, trapping someone without taking away their weapons in such a wide-barred, single-person cage. He wondered if you might have shimmied out between the wood had you not been surrounded by Treasure Hoarders.

“Alright, alright. Be patient, Patrol Chief.”

You groaned as he went to make work of the lock. “You can’t be serious. You don’t even have the key.”

“I can pick locks,” he said matter of factly, “you know.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, well, I can do this—” He halted as you wrapped your hands around two parallel wooden beams and pulled them apart, successfully snapping them and opening yourself your own doorway out. You tossed the splintered beams to the ground and dusted off your hands. 

“You could have done that before I got here and saved me the trouble,” Tighnari quipped, watching you step out. “Now, then, I do apologize you landed in this mess all because—”

“It’s not your fault, Tighnari. I can be responsible for my own ass sometimes.”

Tighnari curled his lips unashamedly.

“Don’t respond to that,” you said, trudging over to the female Eremite to draw your knife out of her shoulder. You wiped the blood off with the inner elbow of your sleeve, peering into the sky. “So, how’d you find out what happened?”

Tighnari followed you, checking you over for injuries. “Kamran stumbled into camp and I was alerted,” he said, and then deemed you to be in one shape and acquiesced to your resistance.

“That coward.” You huffed and shook your head. “I don’t know what he told you, but he ran off almost immediately. And he was supposed to be our combat support. Our analyst didn’t make it.”

“Not your fault.”

“It ain’t yours either, ‘Nari. Eremites can just be ruthless. I knew they wanted you, but I was hoping Kamran wouldn’t be able to find the way back so that I could handle it myself.”

“Patrol Chief, you were still in your cage when I made it here,” he said. “I don’t think it was going as well as you claim it was.”

The Clearwater Eremite groaned, writhing on the ground. Tighnari gave her a good kick in the side. You raised your eyebrows at him. “I was just waiting for the sun to come out. It seemed awfully inconvenient to deal with the situation in the pouring rain.” You pointed into the sky. “A bit of sun’s coming out now. I would have gotten out by now with or without your help.”

“No ‘thank you’?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not when you put yourself in danger like that.”

Tighnari shook his ears with a resigned sigh. “Well, at least it’s all over now.”

“Not yet it ain’t,” a voice boomed. The two of you whirled around to see a burly Eremite clomping into the camp. Tighnari did not recognize him from the ones he dealt with earlier. He was larger, more handsomely clothed, and angrier. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Of course you have,” Tighnari muttered.

“You should be more afraid, tree hugger,” demanded the Eremite.

“No need,” he replied, readying his bow unwaveringly.

The Eremite laughed heartily and drew a long, narrow blade, eyeing both of you with evident bloodlust. You clasped the hilt of your dagger in your belt, but Tighnari raised an arm in front of you.

“Fight me all you want, but leave them out of this.” At this you started to protest but a severe look from Tighnari silenced you at once.

“Someone’s protective of his pet,” the Eremite responded. He stepped closer, dragging the tip of his blade in the mud. “Seems we were right.”

Tighnari’s face was dark. You were grateful not to be on the receiving end of that look. “You Eremites wish you had any kind of sense. Luring me here was a mistake.” 

He fired an arrow at the man’s chest, knocking him back and angering him further. You stepped out of the way as Tighnari had instructed you, watching him dive towards the edge of the camp to avoid a swipe of the Eremite’s blade. You wanted to help, but you didn’t want to complicate things.

Tighnari shouted, tossing a Dendro bomb at the Eremite’s feet. He stumbled back—only to charge at Tighnari with greater force. You could just barely hear him swearing under the thundering rain, dodging the blade again. It went on for several minutes; you watched with great interest, only bothered by the fact that you weren’t part of it. It seemed that the General Watchleader was attempting to exhaust the roaring Eremite, but it was taking a while. Both Tighnari and the Eremite’s movements were becoming sloppier. The Eremite showed no sign of letting up, however; he looked like he’d been waiting for this his whole life.

In a moment that seemed to last several seconds, you saw Tighnari’s foot slip a little in the grass, causing him to stumble a little. You did not hesitate to reach your arm back and fling your dagger at the Eremite. 

It sunk into his back a moment too late—the Eremite had landed a deadly strike on Tighnari.

Tighnari fell to his knees as the Eremite crumpled into the grass, groaning.

“Damn it, Tighnari!” you ran over to your leader, kneeling next to him.

“My love…” He fought to keep his eyes open. “I apologize. I thought I could—” He cut himself off, holding one hand to his mouth to cough hard. His other hand was clutching his chest. Blood came from both locations.

“‘Nari,” you whispered.

Neither of you had the time to process the use of such a term between you. You could feel his shoulders in your hands, tremble and falter. Your heart stopped as he fell forward into your arms. Your thoughts blurred as you ripped the Eremite’s scarf from his neck and tied it around his chest, trying to hold enough pressure to his collarbone to stop the bleeding. Once you were satisfied with the tautness, you took a full, deep breath, dragged him to a standing position by his armpits, and pulled him onto your back.

“Shit. You’re heavy, asshole,” you breathed. It was going to be a long walk back to Gandharva Ville. And you were not going to think about him calling you his “love.”

<*+`,.>

Tighnari came to in a very comfortable bed with a very uncomfortable pain in his chest. He could barely breathe. It was like he’d been stabbed in the lungs.

Oh. He had been. The events of the Eremite camp sharpened in his memory. He’d been trying to lead the Eremite far enough from you that you could escape. But he didn’t remember anything after being stabbed. Where were you?

His vision was peppered with dots but he forced them to focus. He was in the infirmary, no doubt. But whoever had treated his injury had done an egregious job, and he did not attempt any movement. His mouth tasted like iron. Like blood.

Tighnari heard a fuss across the room and footsteps ran into his direction. You leaned over him with evident worry. And red eyes.

“You’re awake,” you said with a tense sigh.

“No shit.”

You stared at him. Your face, previously clouded in misgiving, reconfigured to a relieved smile. “You’re quite awake,” you said.

“Haven’t you got,” he said, taking short breaths between words, “anything else to say?”

“Yeah. You’re awake thanks to me.”

He opened his mouth to voice a retort, but his throat clenched and he turned his head to cough. “I should have given you… lessons… on how to treat a chest wound.”

“I figured it out myself.”

He tilted his face back to look you in the eyes. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Nari,” you said. “But at the same time, you could have been dead. You could have been dead because you didn’t let me help.” Tighnari noticed a tear escape your eye, which you wiped away immediately with the heel of your palm. “Asshole,” you added as an affable afterthought.

Tighnari studied your face, feeling emotions threaten his own expression. He wiggled his fingers, testing the pain. Satisfied that it was bearable, he reached up to your collar and pulled you towards him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered into your ear, “for saving me. You did well.” 

You seemed to hesitate. Then, ever-so-gently, you rested your head next to his and placed a careful hand on his shoulder. You were warm, and he didn’t know you were capable of such tender affection.

As you stood up straight again, you flicked his forehead with all your might.

He gasped, and then howled as his hand involuntary jerking up to his head caused his chest to strain and ache. “Ow! That was unnecessary!”

“You’re welcome, Tighnari,” you announced with your back to him. He did not fail to notice the redness of your ears.

He clicked his tongue. “You used the wrong ointment on my wound, Patrol Chief.” He took a deep breath, wincing again. “Is this Padisarah itching cream?”

You scoffed. “You can treat your wounds yourself from now on.” With that, you marched through the door of the hut, leaving Tighnari quite immobile on the bed.

He allowed himself a small smile. Alas, neither of you were dead. And something told him he would get the chance to tell you what you meant to him.

author's note. thanks for reading. if you enjoyed, a reblog would mean the world!

#MY SKRUNKLY EEPY FENNEC BOY #tighnari x reader #genshin x reader #genshin ff #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin whump #genshin scenarios #gi x reader #gi x gn!reader #tighnari x gn!reader #tighnari angst #tighnari #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #juneshin impact #genshin #WE'RE JUST IGNORING COLLEI'S EXISTENCE FOR YET ANOTHER 3K WORDS ENJOY #u can tell im the sanest genshin impact player fr

[madeholyy]

you & i ; leon kennedy / reader

and i'm not normally the jealous, jealous type. but if we're picking favorites than i am yours. [jealousy, requited unrequited love]

He wouldn’t admit it, but you could see it clear as day in his eyes. Or at least you think you could. Leon was quiet and focused, repeatedly checking on his hand gun like he didn’t believe it was perfectly fine. You fiddle with your combat knife between your fingers while stealing glances at him. No matter how many times you asked if he was alright he always gave the same excuse: It’s just Ashley. But it wasn’t. He was worried, but his mind was occupied with something else— someone else. It wasn’t any of your business, but the haunted look swirling about the solid blue in his eyes was your ghost as well. She might as well wrap her gloved hands around the column of your neck and squeeze the air from your lungs with the aftershocks she sent through you both. An appearance from an echo of another time, another place.

And the silence was the worst part of all.

It gnawed on the marrow of your bones and made a home in your chest. He barely acknowledged any attempt you made at a conversation. You wanted the sky to open up and swallow you whole; break every bone in your body and tear you so finely apart you were nothing more than stardust. Maybe you’d come back as a hurricane or an earthquake. Maybe you’d unleash your anguish and heartbreak in a fury of raging winds and seismic waves. You didn’t care what you’d leave behind in the wake of your destruction, everyone else be damned. What mattered was the aftermath. The peace beyond satisfaction as you wither into nothingness. But you weren’t a devastating storm, you were just devastating. And it hurt to feel so small with someone who made you feel so warm. Leon never talked about her much, but he confided in you enough for you to know whatever you guys were was in jeopardy if not already damaged beyond repair. His demeanor only solidified the fear.

Then he stood up and you watched his every movement right down to the way his shoulders rose and fell in rhythm with his breathing. He holstered his gun. You faced the knife blade down between your thighs and dug it into the wooden chair beneath you. He avoided eye contact. Your knuckles turned white from the sheer force of your anger-turned-suppressed-sadness. Did you even exist to him right now?

“Let’s get goin’.” His voice held firm, but you felt anything but. Standing up after him, you slide the knife back into its sheath wrapped against your thigh. You figure a small hum in response would suffice. Before walking out behind him, you glance back at the window that is wide open and clench your jaw. Then you swiftly turn away.

You suppose you should have realized Leon wasn’t serious about you two. All those flirty exchanges and nothing to show for them. You had thought this was just the usual talking stage, but perhaps he never planned for it to go past that. Of course, why would he? With a woman as beautiful as her it would be no competition. You follow him through a hallway in disarray with only a single room at the end of it. Chairs, tables, and other furnishing items were shoved up against the walls with no regard. Inside the small room was nothing special, but you looked around regardless. The fireplace was lit and wood burned and crackled within. There was a table with books and cups strewn across it with chairs around it. You stepped forward, placing your hand on the book that rests at the end of the table. Your eyes scanned over the pages and you barely noticed Leon attempting to press on.

“You could let me get a good look around before you rush me.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your voice dull of emotion. He seems a bit taken aback by it, but his expression melts away into something more his speed; neutral.

“We have more important things to do than read.” Leon holds your gaze and you roll your eyes only to abide by his pace in the end.

His hand reaches out for you. You look up at him from the ground, cautious and hesitant, but accept his help. You didn’t realize how badly you had been smacked into the stone wall until he examined you from behind.

“That’s gonna make a nasty ass bruise.” He scoffs, his demeanor different all of a sudden. You’re quiet, studying his face for a sign. Your lack of reaction causes him to stare back with something almost unreadable then his gaze drops to your lips and back up to your eyes. There’s something soft, but you’re so scared of his soft. Quickly looking away, you roll your shoulder back a few times and groan.

“They pack a punch in here… I hope Ashley is okay. I know they wouldn’t—“ You pause, inhale, then exhale, “Let’s just fine her.”

Leon keeps his eyes trained on you and you alone. He makes you feel naked under his stare; vulnerable and exposed. There’s a beat then he’s matching your steps down the path before you. It’s so painfully awkward, but you only have yourself to thank for that. It would’ve been easier to play the stupid, oblivious second choice as you assumed he’d want you to. But you didn’t want to. You wanted to be selfish in a job that forced you to be only selfless. You wanted him in every possible way and so painfully wholeheartedly it made you want to cry. So badly it felt too heavy on your chest and you struggled to breath against the weight of your wants. What did you have to do to be enough? The pain rushed through you in quick succession. You were thankful Leon was behind you or he’d see the way your lip quivered as you fought back tears the welling in your eyes. 

Leon never promised a future together. He never even let you get your hopes too high. It always hurt knowing he wasn’t all in like you were, but you accepted it nonetheless. Now you feel foolish. You couldn’t convince someone to love you.

Ashley was elated to reunite with you both after Leon comforted her. You stayed back guarding the door, unable to look her in the eyes. She would know something wasn’t quite right with a glance. It was a talent you weren’t anticipating dealing with. Ever since you had both located and saved her, Ashley was keen on asking you questions about your relationship with Leon. You wouldn’t give clear cut answers, but the way your cheeks dusted pink and you tried to hide a smile, Ashley knew. She would be able to spot it a mile away. The older sister-younger sister dynamic came easily between you two as you were relatively close in age to begin with. It was sweet, but also terrifying how she could pinpoint your thoughts with accuracy. Maybe that was your downfall. You wore your heart on your sleeve and Leon kept every little thought and emotion locked up tightly. He wasn’t stoic by any means; capable of laughing, smiling, and joking. He was just…guarded. Way better at it than you were. If she couldn’t get answers from him she could get them from you. It was easy to tell yourself that talking about how you felt made it somewhat better, but then you’d have to admit what you avoided. You’d have to tell Ashley she was right all along. These were words you weren’t sure you could say.

There was a knock on the double door behind you. A signal that he and Ashley were finished talking. Once you had walked in, Ashley ran up and hugged you with all her might (which was surprisingly a lot). Her head easily rested against your shoulder due to you both being very similar heights. You, of course, embraced her back and the lump in your throat came back. Warm, comforting…it was what you needed most with your conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The moment was broken by Luis on Leon’s earpiece. You and Ashley slowly pulled away from each other as you watched. From what you both could hear it sounded as if Luis was in quite a predicament. You frowned, but there was a hint of amusement in your eyes at their interaction. The transmission is cut short and Leon’s face is contorted in annoyance.

“Can’t believe that guy.” He scoffs, doing one last sweep of the room for anything remotely useful before your journey continues.

“He’s in trouble. We can’t just leave him, right?” Ashley was not fully separated from you, concern glistening in her eyes. She was sweet, but Leon looked exasperated having to come to Luis’s aid. He was an interesting guy despite his past dealings and you couldn’t lie about feeling distrusting of him, but he made you laugh and it was hard to not like someone who did that. You join him in taking a quick look around before he pushes the door open to reveal a hedge maze below. You lean against the railing, pulling your rifle off your pack and situated in your hands. You peered through the scope. A lone Colmillo stalked a pathway across from your group.

“Fifteen?” You asked.

“This isn’t even a fair bet.” Leon huffed a small laugh, crossing his arms as he watched your target. You hummed, taking aim and watching for a moment to catch the creature off guard. The second he stood still your finger squeezed the trigger and a loud shot rang out across the maze. His body fell limp to the floor. You leaned back and Leon whistled, ruffling your hair. For just a minute you forgot why you were even upset and welcomed his gentle touch.

“Alright, write it down. I owe you fifteen bucks.” He playfully rolled his eyes at you. When his back turned, you watched him saunter off down the steps with his handgun ready. Ashley glanced at you.

“Did he do something?” Her voice was soft and gentle as if you were a cornered animal. You hardly realized the frown on your lips and the way your eyebrows creased together. His retreating form made you feel empty. Loneliness thrived.

“Let's not fall behind.” You smiled in her direction, but it never reached your eyes. Now it was Ashley’s turn to frown, but she complied.

Your knuckles turned pearly white as you gripped the golden bars of your cage. Your eyes were focused on the balcony above you where Ashley had been taken. Leon hurried to unlock a door, but was interrupted by another call on his ear piece.

“Ada?” His voice speaking her name caused your stomach to plummet far, far down— or at least that’s how it felt. Every nerve in your body trembled as you bow your head against the bars. The conversation seemed brief as not a minute later he was calling out her name frantically then sighed. You couldn’t even stand the thought of looking at him. It seems that’s all you have felt this last hour; unable to confront the one person you should be able to trust the most.

“C’mon— Hey, are you alright?” His hand barely grazed your shoulder before you whipped around and stared at him with wide eyes. He seemed stunned himself, holding his hand in the air, mouth agape. You couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The ache in your heart and the burning in your lungs. Your chest feels heavy and constricted and you could only watch as he lowered his hand and waited on your cue. But there wasn’t a cue. You wanted to scream at him, but you also wanted to run off alone and scream until your throat was raw and bloodied. Attracting the attention of the castle's inhabitant did not matter, but thinking rationally wasn’t on your agenda currently. You bit the inside of your cheek and inhaled a trembling breath.

“...I’m sorry. I just…” But you couldn’t finish your thought or rather your excuse as none came readily to mind. It should’ve been easy to blame the things you endured, but that wasn’t it. And even if you were to voice the real reason you would feel idiotic. Leon was in mission mode and didn’t need a lovesick girl making a scene while the President’s daughter was snatched from their hands.

“You haven’t been acting like yourself. One moment you’re talking to me like normal and the next you’re— You seem so angry.” Of course he would pick the worst time to wrangle the truth from you. His eyes were so sincere, but his features weren’t soft. There was determination dancing in his tone as he spoke.

“It’s just this whole mission.” You were quick to excuse yourself, but Leon followed.

“Is that really it?” He brushed his fingers on your elbow, but you refused to look back at him. You’d kill for one of those Zealots to interrupt this moment, but God wasn’t so kind.

“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but everything is so fucked up. I’m just not doing so well.” It absolutely murdered you to seem so weak and vulnerable to something you both had been groomed for, but it was easier to use that as an excuse than confess to being head over heels for your partner. Of course, it wasn’t like Leon hadn’t already blurred that line. He proved it in the way he stepped around you to stand face to face once more. You didn’t need to look up to know exactly how he was watching you. In fact, it was better you didn’t. One look into those mesmerizing blue eyes and your anger and sadness would waver. It was so easy to forget when he looked at you like that. Leon cautiously raised a hand and wrapped it very gently around your elbow, caressing the material of your black long sleeve. The fabric had already been snared by a close call with a Zealot and his crossbow. He could make out the vibrant blue and purple painting the soft skin of your arm. You were littered in battle wounds and deep bruises.

“We’ll handle this the same way we always have. Together.” He was soft spoken and reassuring. It only made you want to cry. How could he be so kind when breaking your heart?

“Yeah…yeah. Let’s go find Ashley.” You finally matched his gaze with a meek smile. He was hurting you and didn’t even notice. Leon was ever the oblivious type unless you made it apparent. He looked over you with confliction as if something was stuck in his throat and he didn’t know how to say it. His hand fell down your arm, fingertips bumping against yours as if he was attempting to muster up the courage to hold it. You could feel your heart rate speed up at his simple gesture. You quickly cover the lower half of your face with your hand and turn away from him.

“I said let’s go find Ashley!” You sped walked over to the room that opened up beside you guys earlier.

“As you wish.” He huffed a laugh and you could just hear the smile. He knew he had gotten to you.

The mineshaft was damp, musty, and smelled heavily of rockdust. You sat next to Leon as he flexed his arms, watching the limb very carefully for any protruding veins. Luis proudly leaned against a structure. You wished you could finally breathe a sigh of relief that the suppressant worked, but Leon was a ticking time bomb. Any moment the infection could regain control and the symptoms would resurface. How long did he have until then? What measures could you both take to hold it at bay? You were overthinking and thinking overall was bad, you knew that. If you thought for too long you would eventually break away piece by piece until nothing was left of you but brittle bones and teeth. Your heart was shattering for a man who would not give you his eternity.

So you did the next best thing: walk away from the problem— literally. Feigned the desire to strategize while he recovered and hid away between wooden crates and empty drums. It wasn’t home, but you could breathe. The ache in your chest and lungs subsided as you drew your knees to your chest and wrapped your weary arms around them. Held them as close as you wanted to hold him but he longed for the embrace of another; a woman dressed in red and confidence. An image of her face flashed through your exhaustion riddled mind and you simpered. You were a kettle ready to shriek from the pressure that built deep within. Only your shrieking would be a spectacle. It would be tables turning, glass shattering. You would not go with grace for that was admitting a defeat only you knew of. Was letting go even possible? Leon left a scar on you that would never fade and every fall you’d see him in the fog like a phantom of the past. He was inescapable. And you wanted to be selfish anyways, hold onto him like he’d dissolve into ash if you let go.

“You look…stressed.” A familiar voice startled you out of your thoughts. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, staring up at Luis as he held your attention with his signature smirk. You scoffed, stretching your legs out while he took a seat beside you.

“That’s an understatement. All this Plagas bullshit is getting on my nerves.” You fibbed through pearly white teeth. The words felt bitter on your tongue and you were unable to hold his gaze.

“Is it really that?” He asked. You froze. Your expression remained neutral, but Luis could feel the confliction radiating off of you like body heat.

“Is that answer not good enough? I know I’m bad at lying, but have some sympathy.” Your words spilled from your lips with a tremble. Your voice cracked into a whisper as if you strained to maintain composure and perhaps that was precisely the struggle. A question. It was simple and you could have lied again. But you were weak and he was honest.

Luis sighed, smiling softly to himself while looking at the ground, “I’ve spent my whole life mastering that and you can’t fool a professional.”

Now you were fraying at the seams. Every emotion bloated in size and threatened to burst. Heavy was the weight you burdened yourself with. Droplets fell like pearls on the floor of the mineshaft, collecting dirt on its spherical surface until it popped and soaked in. You looked up for a brief moment wondering if the ceiling was leaking only to discover you had begun to cry. Ducking your head down again, you pulled the hem of your sleeve up your palm and used it to dab the tears streaming down your face.

“That was kind of corny.” You sputtered a laugh and sniffled.

“Corny? I think you’re just embarrassed and don’t want to admit it.” He was right, but you refrained from answering. Instead, you inhaled deep breaths as you patted down your damp cheeks.

“I guess you can know, but it’s a secret between us.” It was meant to come across as humorous, but you sounded pathetic, “It hurts. Ya’know, being in love with someone who belongs to someone else.”

Luis didn’t interrupt. He also didn’t belittle you for how you felt. He sat there, listening attentively, and occasionally nodding along so you knew he was still listening. It meant the world and more to you. Had Ashley been here you knew you’d have broken down the same way in front of her, but she was so far away and you were so fragile. Luis was a shoulder to cry on; something you needed for a long while. 

“I don’t really know the specifics, but…maybe you’re not looking at it from the right angle.” Luis merely suggested and you could hear the struggle in his words as he chose what to say very carefully. It made you laugh again.

“Hey, we ready to go?” This time, Luis was startled as well, but he hid it quickly behind a cheshire grin. You looked up to see Leon a few feet away. In the dim lantern light, he appeared holy. If you were to believe in something, you’d believe in his divinity. Something godly walked among men and you weren’t the religious type, but you didn’t need to be. Shaking your head gently, you stumbled onto your feet. Leon watched you cautiously. You knew your eyes were red and puffy, but you merely walked past him to the path forward. It took awhile for you to realize they had fallen behind, but the further away you were from him, the more at ease you felt. 

If looks could kill, yours would be lethal. In fact, you spent the entire boat ride avoiding absolutely any eye contact with Ada. It was awkward and Leon was tense. You expected him to make his move here, but that was more so your imagination. As soon as Ada had left and the boat stilled at shore, you leapt forward to grab his arm. You don’t know what came over you. It was almost on instinct you attached yourself to him. Leon looked down at you, eyes filled with bewilderment. The waves crashed against the rocks below you both, filling the silence with ambient sounds. When he fully turned to face you, you pushed yourself off him and heaved a shaky breath. 

“Leon—”

“This is about Ada, isn’t it?” You paused, snapping your head up to meet his eyes. It was like he gave you permission to combust, word vomit everything you had been thinking and feeling the entire time.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” It came out close to a whisper, but you tested the waters with it.

“Hey now—” But he was effectively cut off as you picked up a rock and threw it at the boat with all your might. Now he was just confused. This didn’t stop him taking a step back as you found more ammo to unleash on the one thing that did absolutely nothing to you. You pelted it with stone after stone, grunting at the force with which you launched them. It was the same cycle of scour and attack until you became noticeably feeble with your hurling.

“I hate—” The rock hit the very front and left a noticeable dent, “—her so much! I hate that you love her!”

Then you crumbled, meekly tossing the rocks now with no strength behind them. It was cathartic at first, but quickly became meaningless in the face of heartbreak. You were now a shell of your red-hot anger; a bright flame dwindling in the rain until the glowing embers were burnt out. For the first time since this feeling settled on your stomach, you sobbed inconsolably. You covered your mouth with your palms and leaned forward to curl into yourself and released a scream muffled against your skin. It hurt. Everything hurt and you wanted to puke so hard your intestines fell out of your mouth. You wanted to be gruesome and unsightly. You wanted to be swallowed whole by absolutely anything at this point. Unrequited love was too much to bear. Ashley was gone. Luis was dead. You had no one to lean on while you wept so hard you began to choke and gag. The arms that wrapped around your trembling form were so warm and, even if it was Leon’s, you were desperate for comfort.

“Please, please don’t pick her over me. I can’t live with that. You’re not allowed to break my heart like that. You’re supposed to fall for me.” Your hands came up to grip the material of his black shirt, “I want you, Leon. More than anything and if you pick her, then you pick wrong.”

Your conviction was solid. It had to be you and no one else because who better to understand exactly what he was going through than you? The world could end tomorrow, but all that would matter was that he wanted you more than he ever thought of her. You both could fail this mission, you could become parasitic with the rest of them, but you would know he loved you more. It was a simple choice. You or her and you hoped to god he would choose you any day in any lifetime. 

Leon was silent, however. His grip never wavered, but he was in deep thought. Then he pulled back from you and you lifted your head. He leveled his gaze with you. There was something unreadable on his face. His touch was ever so gentle and you swore you would melt if he were any softer. One of his hands reached up to caress your cheek with calloused fingertips. You shuddered, leaning into his touch. As you closed your eyes, you pictured spring and flowers and his smile belonging to you. It was perfect and so were the lip brushing against yours as your eyes fluttered open. There was no time to react; you could only accept his lips pressing against your own in a gentle kiss. There were no sparks, no fireworks, only something akin to the gentle warmth of a fireplace. After what felt like eternity, he pulled away.

“It wasn’t like you gave me a choice anyhow. The moment I looked in your eyes for the very first time, I was fucked.” He chuckled, thumb brushing against your supple cheek as he leaned his forward against your own. You could hardly contain the tears of joy that flooded you now. It felt almost too good to be true, but sometimes that is just the way it goes.

“Good because I was prepared to give a whole speech about it.”

“Powerpoint, too?”

#leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil leon #leon kennedy #now im on tumblr bc i enjoy writing again #my works

[lychniis]

⚘— RENDEZVOUS MIDNIGHT.

i. SYNOPSIS : you and tignari have an old routine. cyno partakes as it's main offender. ( tighnari x reader x cyno ) // evenfall event - prompt xviii ( ❛ i’ve known the warmth of your doorways. through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you. ❜ + daisy.

ii. WARNING(S) : mentions of injuries, food being used as love language, peaches i guess, tighnari is tired and loves you and cyno but in his words "what the fuck guys." you're a pushover, cyno is silly when he's sleepy it's true hoyo told me..

# masterlist

“Try not to wake him.”

It’s come to be a normal sight for you and Tighnari to find Cyno lying across the divan in the corner, bolster tucked beneath his chin and his knuckles a bloodied mess. A nod is shared and he’s turned over ( there is a momentary protest — Cyno’s grip on your wrist is hard but not in a way that churns anxiety into your crevices and screams of danger ). 

“Nothing too bad this time.” you sigh, running gentle fingers through his hair. Your mouth and your head and your being hurts with that surge of tenderness. It’s cloying and it tears at your insides so easily and you let it, you let it ravage you apart like a foolish martyr ( it’s a scary thing, love ). “He’s probably tired.”

Tighnari shakes his head and levels that half conscious tangle of limbs on your lap with a withering stare. “I know you can hear me. Knock next time. We can’t help you if we don’t know you’re in the house.” He sits down next to you, fiddling with the waterskin and a few herbal concoctions. Pain killers, antibiotics — they were of your making, and his. The smell of petrichor still lingers on your skin from picking them. 

Cyno doesn’t take the bitterness well at first. The delirium leaves him vulnerable, raw, maybe endearingly clingy ( and you’d crack a smile despite the anxious edge and coo just a little. Silly man. Silly, silly man ). If your affection was something softer like carefully crafted touches to glass, Tighnari held his reins with steeliness and a hint of exasperated care. He never sugarcoats the solemn subjects and he keeps his tone level.

“Be kinder, Tighnari.” you mutter. “He’s sore.”

“He’ll probably spit it out.”

“He won't, you know he won’t.”

Tignari’s ears sag just a bit but he relents to your words, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder, a nose coming to bury into your hair. Cyno turns and cracks an eye open. He stares up at him, then at you, and it feels like sparks of ember against the night. His hand gives yours a squeeze. “I’ll help cook later.” he promises. You press a kiss to his cheek. “Breakfast…shakshuka…have you eaten?”

“Not tonight, no.” you admit softly, if talking helps him sleep again. “But I'll have some fruit before going to bed.”

Cyno doesn’t seem to like that.

“I’ll…get something ready then.” he decides. “You need to eat…it’s important…” He says it with that tempered gentleness, the type meant just for you, for Tighnari, for Collei and the little known beloved he keeps close, closer.

“Okay.” Tighnari placates. He lays Cyno back. “Rest now. And you….” his gaze snaps to you. He hands you a zaytun peach, carefully sliced. You don't have time to question the semantics or when he even got it ready. “...eat and rest, alright? You have a big day tomorrow.” 

“Right. More academic papers,” you mutter, feeling weariness settle at the thought of it. You take a peach slice and bite into it. Tighnari reaches to the side and procures another, halving it, then quartering it with his little blade. He fills the plate up again. You only just realize how starved you are. 

“And Cyno’s shakshuka.” Tignari adds with a hint of weariness. “Make sure he doesn’t burn the kitchen down.” 

( Cyno snorts in his sleep, as if the idea was plain offensive. )

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

i'm sorry college and burnout hit me but here's he next evenfall post requested by @chaoskrakenuwu. i hope i did your bois justice kijugtfdfghj. ( but also yes food is such a love language in south asian and heck east asian households i might have added a bit of that okijhgvh ).

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AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#EVENFALL ; valentines 2024 #&&. my writing !! #cyno x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x you #tighnari x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon! Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 3[***]

A/N: you guys really shouldn’t be encouraging my monsterfucking habits but here we are. Also, sorry it’s late!

Summary: You get stolen away by one of his half siblings, and he nearly tips over the irredeemable edge. You’re running. He’s hunting.

Warnings: monsterfucking (yk), demon!azriel, kidnapping, gore/violence, blood, beast form!Azriel (no, you don’t fuck him like that), soft!Demon!az (in his own way)

-Part 2- -Part 4-

He doesn’t understand how he managed to lose you so effortlessly.

He’d been keeping you in his private chambers, locked far below ground. But then you’d started getting ideas in your head after the mating, ideas of your own independence being important. It set his ire blazing, the thought you would any sort of individuality to separate yourself from him. You belong to one another now.

Still, an unfamiliar part of him had granted your offending requests of freedom, returning you to the mortal worlds from time to time whenever you claimed to be struck down by a sickness for your previous housing. His lip curled whenever he thought of it.

He’d allowed you out, and you’d been snatched away. Ripped from his claws, leaving him wounded and tender. And furious. Black flame incarnate. The embodiment of wrath, his body sensing something fundamental having been torn from his inner energies. You.

He needs you back, or he might wither under the unyielding might of his rage.

————————

The marshy land squelches beneath your feet, the wet slap of your toes as they sink into the mud. Icy razor blades slice the soles of your feet as the cold bites into you. The skin is a raw pink, the swampy terrain containing little but festering small creatures that cannibalise one another for the sake of prolonging their pitiful but desperate lives.

The beasts dragging you along have no place in your heart, twisted with malevolent cruelty to the point of being unrecognisable. You can’t even begin to comprehend them, yet they continue stringing you through the bemired ground, no care for the burning pain that slices with every step.

Salty paths have long since dried on your grimy skin, wind whipping at your hair as it howls in the skies, thunderous. Rain lashes at your back, stinging in its persistence. A crack of lightening above has you jumping, stumbling as you fall into a stagnant bog of putrid smelling water. The creatures pay you no mind, continuing on their slouching way as your ankles are pulled out beneath you.

Your mouth opens to scream before you seal you lips as you’re dragged under, your weight sinking into the marsh. You thrash until your break the surface, gasping for air as you try to push the mud from your eyes. The best you can do is wait for the unkind rain to rinse your skin beneath it’s torrential rage.

How much further?

The question repeats in your mind until it’s a dull throb of pain, hair pulled out from under you as you slide through the muck, sludge caking your back. It becomes unbearable when you hit stable land, the cold ground biting at your skin, tearing at the thin robes you adorned before you were snatched away. Again.

The thunderous crack of lightening whips closer, more regular. A small part of you hopes it will somehow seek you out, strike you down where you lie, freeing you from the endless hurricane of events you seem to have been unsuspectingly caught in. Things were just beginning to look up for you and Azriel. He’d allowed you freedom you hadn’t been granted even in the mortal realms, the promise of safety, gifting you with the liberty to run wild in forests, bathe in streams without worry of prying eyes or snatching hands that wouldn’t listen to your cries of agony. How false those promises had been.

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

The wind beats down on your accepting features with all the force nature possesses. It harrows your skin, lashing at your cheeks, stinging your lips as the wind turns every strand of hair into cruel, half bitten whips, cracking against your tender skin with sharp, wet smacks.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a beast. The things dragging you by your ankles were the monsters, though perhaps he was simply a master to the arts of deceit and mockery.

Sharp stones scrape against the raw flesh of your back, surely the same bitten-pink as your feet. Had he really, truly abandoned you? The side of your throat stings, your hands automatically flying to sense out the pain. The bite marks are pulsing, throbbing with a burning sensation, prickling at your bloodstream. Azriel.

Where are you?

You manage to crack your eyes open, gunk teeming at the edges where the rain couldn’t slither in. There’s a black spec in the sky, darker than the thunderous rain cloud. Lightening cracks, silhouetting the shadow.

You hiss as rocks drag against your should blades, splitting up your spine as they grind against the bone. Fresh tears spill as unceasing pain lances through your back, flaying your torso.

The shadow is larger - closer. It’s dropping, plummeting through the air, terrifying wings slicing through the atmosphere silently. Lethally precision in the set of it’s form. He’s a very quiet predator.

Your breath catches, choking on air as it clogs your lungs, tongue feeling rubbery against the walls of your throat. The words blurs but not from the sting of rain, neither the dark haze when your squint your eyes in desperation to shield from the wild onslaught of the elements trying to corrode your skin. Hot wetness warms paths along your skin, neck stinging as his glittering ire slices along that eldritch connection, zapping at your mind.

The utter fury blazing along the bond warms your from within, heart picking up to the beat of the wind that whips unforgivingly across the flat moor, fog rolling in thick, suffocating clusters, sprawling above the fen. Your lower lip trembles as he dives, swooping down, shadows wreathing him in unhallowed darkness.

He crashes into the beasts dragging your human body so carelessly across the boggy flatland, piercing screams tearing from their bodies as they’re crushed beneath his razed sharp claws. The Dæmon lands in a mess of splintering bones, dark blood spraying into the mud as jaws snap viciously, tearing at rough skin as their bodies are pulled apart.

“Azriel…” You’re disbelieving, finally coming to a stop on the biting floor. Power fills the air, frenetic static building, lightening cracking above. It’s his fury incarnate, imbuing the world with depthless wrath as it zaps across the wet fields. Beastly snarls rips from his chest.

You shakily push up, hardly able to move from the bludgeoning numbness. His wings are larger, the talons glittering at their peaks sharper. His arms and legs are transformed into crushing paws, decorated with slicing talons that could spear your entire body. His thick fur curls in the torrential downpour, changed from his bi-pedal form into moving as a predator would, enabling his lethal speed.

He’s hardly recognisable save for scar peaking through the matted hair on his corded throat, a matching pair to the bite marks on your own neck. There isn’t an ounce of hazel in his blacked out eyes, snout searching for life to rip into as he shoves it into the disembowelled stomach of one of the pitiful creatures that’d been crushed beneath his weight.

It happens under a second, one moment he’s a spec in the air and the next he stalks over the bloodied carcasses of the beasts that have been hauling your roughly through the dirt. The once firm land now withers beneath their weight, saturated with blood, their corpses sinking into the morass, swallowed by the land. Pickled.

“Azriel,” his name grates against your vocal chords. You know it’s him. He’s found you, he’s come to save you. Fresh tears wrack your body as shadows slither through the cloying fog, snapping the locks on your rubbed-raw angles as you pull them against your body.

You’re pushing forward on trembling limbs, onto your hands and knees as you crawl forward, rain washing away the grit from your excoriated skin. “Azriel,” you whimper, his body looking so warm and you know even with the wetness soaking his fur you’ll be shielded.

The metallic scent in the air evens out as he shifts into a more familiar form, his own features surfacing, sharp cheekbones splitting through his animalistic demeanour, the darkest shine of hazel breaking in his blacked out eyes. A snarling roar drags from his throat as his gaze settles on you, prowling forward.

The shifting halts, as if frozen. As if he’s struggling to return to his form. Black swallows his hazel as it’s sucked down, size doubling as he doesn’t transform back. His crushing paws sink into the marshland, wings flared wide as he stalks closer.

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

Your name to scramble back but your abraded skin stings. You collapse back into the mud. “Azriel…” you rasp as he traps you beneath his titan-like body. A scream rips from your throat as his jaws drop open, fragments of bone falling out as they enclose over you.

You won’t even make a mouthful as the others had.

But his tongue unfurls, the wet muscle scooping you up tenderly, bringing you into the hall of his mouth as darkness writhes around the outside. A weightless sensation overcomes you as he rights himself, accompanied by the thunderous thump as leathery wings flare, shooting you into the sky as it’s blacked out.

It reeks of blood and flesh, but it’s warm. His tongue is soft, your weight sinking into the tough, slick skin, heating your bones as you melt into the cavern of his mouth. After the overpowering stench of the marsh, the scent of death isn’t that unbearable. Besides, you’re still caked in it, so you wonder who’s really got it worse as you lie on his tongue.

Fatigue weighs on your eyelids, the hotness of the muscle beneath you paired with the repetitive thump of his wings lulls you into needed sleep, darkness filling your vision as you melt into him, stiffness seeping from your bones.

————

You wake to the feeling of falling, your muscles screaming to tense as you slide from his tongue. Blinding light fills your vision, forcing your eyes to shut again. You’re plunged into a warm pool of water, the sensation oddly pleasant as you can already feel the mud being soothingly worn from your skin.

When you break the surface, you’re spluttering, hands trying to scrub your face free of muck. You dip back under, the water burning at your eyelids but it’s preferable to the gunk that’s caking your skin.

A powerful arm hooks beneath your own, lifting you effortlessly from the water, setting you on a submerged ledge that leaves the cleansing water lapping just above your collar bones. Something dry and slightly rough is pushed against your face. A towel, you realise, hands raising to scrub yourself off, to clean your eyes.

You take in your surroundings, limbs resting in the water as your strength completely drains. You’re in a warm coloured bathing area, the vast pool containing creamy looking water, thick bubbles lathering atop the surface.

Beside you, the pool shifts as Azriel settles down, shifting into a form you’re familiar with. Hazel returns to his eyes, colour dancing if you look deep enough. Your eyes trail to his mouth, noting the canines that protrude from his lips, tinted a dark red. Almost black.

He’s still far too big to be normal. You bet if you were stood beside him in his current state, his hips would line up with your rib cage. You look up at him with tired eyes, his own dark ones watching you silently. “Where were you?” You hear the break in your voice, the raspy crackle. Fresh tears fill your eyes, the events returning to you in all their blistering pain.

His brow narrows and for a moment you’re worried he’ll be angry, lock you back up in his room, take away the freedom you were afforded. But he’s brought your to this open space in favour of the washroom that connects to his chambers. Maybe it counts for something.

You grow scared when he doesn’t reply, only watching you. It feels like that’s all he’s doing. “Azriel,” you cry, softly, “where were you?” He remains silent, observing you keenly. Then, he reaches one taloned hand forward. You flinch back, water splashing as you push away from him. His lip curls at the action.

Azriel reaches again, shifting fully as his large hand wraps entirely around your legs, dragging you forward. He’s too strong for his own good, and you go under, water shoving itself into your eyes, stuffing itself into your mouth. You gasp when you’re lifted out, spluttering painfully. It’s only when he pushes the towel into your face again and your eyes are clear that you realise he’s set you between his legs.

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you note his powerful arms are casually wrapped around your middle, keeping you against him. You want to be upset, angry even but all you can do is revel in the feeling of security he gives you. The press of skin against skin, solid warmth behind you. You’re pleasantly surprised by the soft brush of fur, made infinitely silkier beneath water. It’s so nice you lean back, making him grunt softly.

You stiffen. He’s completely bare. At least you still have your clothes on - dirty as they are. Initially, you’re shocked at the hard press against your lower back, then your realise he’s doing nothing to act on it. No attempts to lull you to sleep, no attempts to seduce you into jumping onto his cock. Just allowing you some peace and quiet, while keeping close by.

But you don’t want peace and quiet right now. You want to scream at him. You tip your head back, so it’s pressing against his chest - maybe your ass pushes against him a little - peering up into his dark eyes. “Back out there,” you begin, determined to get answers out of him, “my throat was stinging. Why?” He cocks his head, expression remaining blank, “your throat?” You don’t like the way he says it.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, following down to your chest, your nipples just hidden by the water’s surface. His hips shift behind you, legs widening - allowing you to slide against him, you realise. It’s probably pleasurable to him, you guess. Your head bobs in confirmation as you tilt your head to the side, fingers dancing over where you had felt the pain.

His pupils dilate as he takes in the expanse of your throat, the bite marks. His bite marks. His upper lip twitches, wanting to pull back from his canines in order to refresh the scars. Drink from you. Hear your blood sing for him. It doesn’t help, the way your lower back is pressing tight against him. He’d half hoped you would accept his invitation, when he’d widened the stance of his legs to allow you closer.

Azriel’s mind shudders as you shift between his thighs, lips parting to speak, “the marks. They stung.” That’s all you’re giving him. His claws twitch with the need to touch you, to feel that you’re returned to him. A grin lifts the edges of his mouth, “you were waiting for me to come find you.”

He revels in the way tell-tale warmth flushes your cheeks. You keep your gaze on his, embers slowly heating in your irises as you come back to life. “I had no such thoughts. I was convinced you were the one who had me—” you cut yourself off. It’s far too soon for you to repeat the burning pain you felt, even through memories. You swallow, forcing down emotion, “I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” you mumble, your head lowering, breaking the connection, “I thought I’d spent my use.”

You tense as his arms wind tighter around your waist, feeling as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Cock pressing to your— You swallow. “And that made you unhappy,” he taunts, quietly beside your ear. Awareness lights your skin as his claws wrap around you, so sharp. “You didn’t like the idea of me losing interest in you,” he drawls, the tip of one razor-like talon slipping beneath the hem of your clothing. You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together, in attempt to make yourself smaller, shying away from his touch. “None of my kind - as you so affectionately tend to stress - would revel in abandonment. It means nothing about you.”

Your back cools as he leans against the marble edge of the bathing pool that’s large enough to easily contain a few squadrons of creatures like him. He laughs, darkly, hips shifting so he’s pressing into you from behind, “remember the night we mated?” He drawls, watching as tension lines your small body. “I told you in no uncertain terms, should you continue, you would not deny me,” he taunts, “you’d accept the joining, the breeding.” The talon slices up the inside of your clothes, splitting them in two, making it easy for him to slide them from your torso.

You gasp in shock, legs folding over one another as you frantically try to cover yourself. But his hands have dropped to your hips and you squeal as he lifts you from his lap, turning you to face him. Your cheeks flush hot as you’re torn between covering your breasts and trying to shove him off you. He has no right to hold you in such an objectifying way.

Seeing no point in attempting to push him off you, your arms wrap across your chest defensively. He raises a single brow as your hips wiggle, trying to slide from his grasp. “Let me go,” you demand softly, through your embarrassment. His mouth lifts into a mocking grin, “what will you do for me if I follow that request?”

Your lips drop open as you’re rendered speechless. He hums deep in his throat, a smug glint dancing in his eyes. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, all the overwhelming emotions that had been tearing through you for the past few hours manifesting as seething fury, “you—” Roughly, he pulls you down into his lap, your thighs spreading as he pulls you tight against his front, breasts against his powerful chest, lower abdomen squeezing against his cock, the soft fur brushing invitingly against your stomach.

“What you need,” he drawls once your seated, forcing your head to crane upward to see him, “is a good fucking.” Your mouth drops open as his hips buck gently against your own, and you feel the mocking promise he’s giving you. You want to smack him, to scream at him. Why does he lack such a basic understanding of human emotion?

His hands have loosened around your hips, allowing you to push up from his lap, standing on weakened legs, somehow managing to keep your balance. He only laughs, shadows twining beneath your skirts and up your thighs as he keeps you where you are, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Rage gives way to despair, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tremble in his grip, “fine,” you snap, lip wobbling as you try to push his hands away. Your slim fingers catch on his claws, the razor like blades slicing into you, blood dripping into the pool. His eyes widen marginally with anger as he watches it, scents your blood on his talons. “What are you doing?” He snarls, furious with you for being so careless of your delicate human body.

But you don’t reply, you’ve already settled your thighs either side of him, hand guiding his cock to your entrance. More tears roll as you push yourself down into his lap, burning pain screaming in your abdomen. You look up at him, anguish clear in your eyes, “this is what you wanted, right?” You cry, the stinging only worsening, “so hurry up and get it over with, you beast. Fuck me. Breed me. Whatever it is you so need to do to me.” You’re hitting your fist weakly on his chest as his hands hurriedly move to your hips, so careful not to nick at your skin. “Just get it over with.”

He’s panicked, unaccustomed to the foreign feeling of tension in his throat, heart pounding as he lifts you off his lap. “Don’t,” he snarls at you, anger coating his words as his eyes flick to your hands, bleeding steadily. He shifts into the form he’d been in when you’d met in the forest, claws shrinking into nails, fur disappearing entirely as he frame smallens. “Stop hurting yourself,” he growls, pushing you away from him slightly, panicked eyes flicking between your hands and teary eyes. It’s disarming seeing you like this.

“You wanted it!” You cry back at him, shoulders hunching over as you move to bring your bloody hands to wipe away the tears. He grabs your wrists firmly, jerking them away from your face as he glared at you. “Calm. Down.” Something snaps inside of you. You thrash in his hold, violently writhing, sending water spraying into his eyes.

“Fuck off, Azriel! My back is in pieces, I’ve been dragged for hours across a freezing wasteland, you’ve— you keep doing this. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You can feel your throat tearing as you scream the words, hot paths of water cascading down your cheeks heavily. You want to claw at him, want to punch him, rip his skin from his body with your teeth. He’s unfairly strong. You know you can’t do anything. Meanwhile he can restrain you without even touching you.

You don’t even notice as his hands release your wrists. You fall forward into his chest, sobbing as you slam your fist over his heart over and over, pounding on his cage as if it’ll open up for you if you knock loud enough. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” You collapse against him, sobs still wracking your body.

It’s as though you’re bathing in hot milk and honey, the warm water licking at your wounds, numbing their pain. He’s warm beneath your fingertips, solid warmth beneath your fists. Unshakeable. It’s so unfair. Why can’t you be like him? Why don’t you get to have skin seemingly made of the thickest leather, talons that’ll slice should anyone get too close? You sob harder, tears dropping to the pool. Why are you so weak?

His arms wind around you, almost gingerly. His hands span your shoulders, tucking you against his chest as his shadows skitter across your back, soothing coolness blanketing your skin. You sniff, peering up at him. You almost regret it. His eyes are hard, cold. Glittering malevolence sprawling in their depths. More tears roll as the spark in your chest douses itself. It’s clear he has no attachment to you, only having saved you because you’ve been mated and bred.

Then you freeze.

His hands pull away from you, one wrapping around your wrist as he lifts it to his mouth. His eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly as he uses his thumb to separate your fingers. It’s almost tender as his lips part, licking up the blood that’s ebbing from your slim digits, trailing up to the small cuts. You hiss instinctively, expecting pain, but instead you only feel a vague tingle. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Azriel’s tongue laps over each of your cuts, sealing them so there isn’t even a mark left in their place. When he’s finished, he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead he guides your hands to splay across his shoulders, forehead pressing against your own. “Your back isn’t in pieces,” he murmurs over your mouth, making your brow furrow. You guess it isn’t stinging as it had been, but you had chalked that up to numb adrenaline.

“I know it is,” you snap softly, “I felt every sharp rock, every piece of gritty mud that abraded me.” His eyes lose their harsh cut, the edges mellowing every so slightly. “I carried you in my mouth,” he reminds, lips brushing over yours, making your hairs stand on end, “your back was on my tongue the whole flight. I could taste you.”

Heat flushes your cheeks as you pull back suddenly. His hands automatically tighten on you but relax when he sees you’re not attempting to escape. I could taste you. How can he say that with a straight face. And even after everything that’s happened, you’re left with a singular thought circling your mind. Did I taste good?

You don’t have a chance to foolishly voice the question as his hands lower to your hips, lifting you with him as he stands. Instinctively, your arms wrap over his shoulders and you hiss at the movement, a stinging feel coming from between your legs. He sets you down on the edge of the bathing pool, the cooks tiles pleasant against your thighs. “What— Azriel?” You question, confusion prominent in your tone.

Carefully, despite his now shortened nails, his hands press against your shoulders. The tips of his fingers dip beneath your sodden, still grimy clothes - now the only part of you that was dirty. Finally, your skin can properly breathe as he guides the wet fabric away from your tender skin, slowly stripping you down until you’re completely bare. His eyes drink you in, brow narrowing as he notices a few bruises - ones that are not from him.

His eyes settle on yours as he pushes your legs apart, gently. You resist, scared. You’re stinging, and you don’t want him to hurt you. “What are you doing, Azriel?” You ask, mouth trembling at the looming threat of pain. At this, his demeanour shifts, sending your fear. His hands moves to your waist, thumb brushing over your hip bone, “you’re hurting,” he replies, as if it’s answer.

“I don’t want you to fuck me again,” you manage, your words soft and small, scared he won’t listen. That he’ll inflict more damage upon your already battered body. His lips quirk at the edges, “I won’t.” Then he’s lowering himself into the water, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them.

Oh.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

Carefully, he lifts one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other. Even now, your muscles tremble slightly, remembering the rigour they’ve gone through. You brace for canines, but are instead rewarded by the gentle lap of his tongue. You could almost cry at the feeling as your cunt tingles, the feeling that was zipping through your fingers when he sealed the cuts.

Almost immediately, you feel better, his saliva coating your heat as his tongue heals you. There’s still a vaguely piercing sting coming from inside, but it’s bearable. You wince when you shift your leg, pain prickling beneath your abdomen.

Inadvertently, you meet his gaze and you know he saw the reaction. His brow narrows. Swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke, he’d once muttered to you. And now you can’t shake the urge to tell him. It’s like a strange compulsion. And he keeps watching you, with those dark, knowing eyes.

“Azriel,” you whisper, scared. He stops, giving you his attention, something surfacing in his black eyes. “I—… It’s still hurting,” you mumble. “Where? I can heal it,” he reassures. The second you articulate that emotion, you freeze, brow tightening in confusion. You swallow, shifting then stilling as you ache. “Inside,” you mumble, barely managing the word, shame crawling beneath your skin.

A grin lifts his lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you. “Stay there,” he orders, gently, as power thrums in the air, that same frenetic static as before. His eyes lock onto yours as he begins shifting, “don’t run from me.”

Then his eyes are swallowed by pitch darkness, wings largening, fur lining his body as he grows. His talons return, as long as you are, longer. His hands shift into those paws that can so easily crush things your size as his features are swallowed by more animalistic ones, snout protruding.

Oh.

You suddenly understand why this bathing pool is so vast. It’s built to house him in any form, including this one.

You realise he’s halted his growth, keeping himself from filling the room as you’re sure he would should he completely transform into that beastly body. Instead it a vague in between. He’s probably triple your size, if not more. Maybe a quarter of his true form. You fight against the instinctive urge to run, remembering it’s him.

His pitch eyes drink you in, prowling forward, all the while not making a sound. You keep still, scared but not feeling in danger. It’s an odd combination. He stops in front of you, your back arching as you peer up at him. It takes a lot of will power to not look at what’s most likely directly in front of you.

“Azriel?” You whisper, unsurely. His eyes glint, and you recognise him. Even with his usual features twisted into a more animalistic light, your body recognises him as an integral part of yourself - not something to fear.

Shadows swirl at your body, lapping over your skin like waves. He moves forward, dipping down to be between your legs. You still, “what are you—” He cuts you off when his jaw opens, the wet muscle of his tongue rolling out. Your eyes snap open, lips parting in shock. The end is tapered, but thickens the closer it gets to his mouth. Oh gods.

“Azriel,” you stammer, “you’re not going to…?” He releases a puff of breath over you and you’re the most taken aback that you’ve been this evening. “Did you just laugh?” You inquire, disbelievingly. His eyes spark and you squeal when his tongue moves, dragging down your chest, over your perky nipples, settling between your legs. He huffs again at your surprise, and the tension leaves your body.

The tip of his tongue presses against your entrance, and you brace.

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

All your thoughts melt away as he fills you, saliva already working it’s powers as that pleasant tingling feeling blossoms across your lower abdomen. Your lips part and his shadows guide you back so you aren’t sat upright: reclining into the darkness.

Pure pleasure sings in your body as he starts moving, tongue pulsing inside of you as it slides gently in and out. Your back arches in response, hands cupping your breasts as sensitivity lights you up. His shadows don’t allow that, though. They twine gently around your wrists, replacing your hands as they flick at your nipples, refreshing cool, like a breeze on a hot summer day.

“Azriel…” you pant, peeking your eyes open. He’s already watching. Of course he is. Your toes curl, knowing he’s drinking in every second of your pleasure. You bite the inside of your lip as arousal coils in the pit of your stomach, already about set to spring free. “I’m—” you pant as he grazes a spot inside of you, mouth dropping open as you melt entirely into his shadows.

A growl of pleasure rumbles through his chest, and it feels so fucking good. Silver lines your eyes, flying closer and closer to that high. “Azzie,” you squeak softly, hardly a breath. A scream tears from you as he growls again, tongue vibrating inside you, the base of it pushing against your clit as you hit your peak.

Your back curves as the growls lose their harsh edge, softening as he feels you fluttering around him. He’s purring. His tongue retracts after the last aftershock has faded, shifting into his more recognisable form.

You don’t even think about it as you reach your hands out, making to grab at him. His brow narrows as he slowly prowls forward, “do you need something?” He asks softly, curiosity lying beneath the bland tone. “Come here,” you snap. His brow raises but for once, he obeys.

The second he’s in reach, your arms loop around his neck, tugging him into your chest as your legs circle his torso, locking around him tightly. You bury your nose in his hair, inhaling that scent that is so inherently him, so deliciously soothing. The feeling of his strong body encompassing you sends a shivering thrill humming through you, lighting you with incandescence.

You press kisses into his hair and his eyes widen, muscles locking up. He’s not sure what you’re doing. But he likes it. He likes feeling your soft skin beneath his cheek, having your thighs hugging his waist while your arms keep him tucked against you. He likes the feeling of your mouth pressing tenderly against him, repeatedly.

He decides it’s a good sign. A display of human affection.

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel x reader #demon! Azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #Teeth and Talons part 3 #[***] #Azriel smut #Azriel fluff

[keirawantstocry]

i have been thinking about this non stop recently (I'm working on drawing it)

polly morning crew; Pac fighting/covered in blood and looking great doing it. tubbo and fit just standing there like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️ 'holy shit he's hot like that'. (i saw the clip of fit saying "i like them dangerous" + tubbo saying "i think we all just learnt something about [fit's] taste in men" and it has been in my head for fucking ages)

bloody stuff is so gay /pos

The sharp diamond blade whizzed through the air. Red was as familiar a shade as home. 

The blood on his face was warm. Fresh. A body lay in front of him, he wasn't sure why he attacked. All he knew was his brain was running with thoughts of danger. 

Pac turned around slowly to face Fit and Tubbo. They were both staring at him wide eyed. 

“Sorry,” he said softly. 

“Do NOT apologize,” Fit rushed to say, eyes darkening. “That was…” he trailed off.

“Hot as fuck?” Tubbo suggested. 

Pac flushed. “I don't think that's what he meant.” 

Tubbo sent him a withering look. “That's exactly what he meant. You both have some kind of fucking danger kink. I'm surprised I haven't walked in on you two fucking covered in blood.” 

Fit stared at him agape while Pac started to giggle.  

“Shut up,” Fit finally spat out while Tubbo burst into laughter. 

“Don't worry boss, I get it.” He glanced over at Pac. “You look very good while all concentrated on killing.” 

Pac couldn't stop the grin that split across his face. “Thank you, Tubbo.” 

Fit glared at Tubbo half heartedly. “Hey, stop flirting with my boyfriend.” 

“Your boyfriend is hot, I have no regrets.” 

Pac giggled and came up in front of them. With both hands he reached up and grabbed their faces. “I love you two.”

Tubbo froze while Fit smiled at Pac. “Love you two too,” he laughed a bit. 

Tubbo was looking between them with a panicked look. “I… I don't know if I can say that.” 

“That's okay,” Pac said softly. “We love you. That's enough.” 

#sorry for making everything so sappy it will happen again #qsmp #poly morning crew #my writing #fanfiction #q!tubbo #q!pac #q!fit #fitpacbo

[softagenda]

silver linings (leander)

leander x reader(f)

clothes sharing/boyfriend shirt trope / leander thirsting

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

Leander taps his thumb against his glass, staring into the amber liquid. “A rare catch requires good bait, timing, and most of all: patience,” he murmurs.

Thinking of you in his rooms: naked, those long limbs and lithe muscles submerged beneath the hot water, your hands stroking his soap along your skin, your hair wet and draped around your shoulders, clean and soft and smelling of his herbs and oils…

He’s an excellent fisherman, but at this moment, he finds his patience tested to the limits.

________________________________

“See, this wouldn’t be near as irritating if you hadn’t moved out.”

Lingering on the threshold of the Wick, sopping wet with sticky, putrid slime, you shoot him a withering glare. “Watch it. Haven’t cleaned my sword yet.”

Grinning cheekily, Leander lifts his hands in surrender, his sculpted arms bunching beneath the skin tight mesh of his shirt. “Just sayin’.” His coat folded over his arm and boots sticking, he walks to the bar and speaks to the bartender. 

You debate making the trek back to your flat on three streets over. Your skin burns where the rank slime seeps through your clothing, exuding a thin, sulfuric gas that twists your stomach. The thought of walking through the city like that fills you with nausea and dread. “That dingonek would’ve gutted you from ass to chin. See if I step in next time.”

“For which I’m, as always, eternally grateful,” Leander cuts in smoothly, leaning against the bar and looking you over. “I think this every time we head into battle, but it continues to ring true. Your swordwork is certainly… something to behold.”

It’s another mark against the cruelty of the universe that, despite holding fast barely a foot from you, Leander had managed to leave the fight without a single scratch on him - he hadn’t ducked under the neck of the furious, armored reptile, piercing the hide of the throat and thus getting caught in the spray of acidic bile as the blade tore through its venom glands.

No, he walked away with the lightest sheen of sweat on his chiseled jaw and thick neck, windswept from the rush of the battle, towing a highly sought-after pelt of massive lizard monster back to Eridia like some heroic warrior - and he has the audacity to quip and smolder at you.

You level him an unimpressed look.

He lifts a gloved hand and spins the golden key around his finger. “My doors always open to you, of course.”

And every other simpering fan in the place , you think wryly, before snatching the key out of his hand. “I’m gonna use all those fancy soaps and oils you’ve got in there. Always wanted to smell like the lovechild of an apothecary and a brothel.”

Leander swallows once, his mouth hanging open for a moment twisting into a smirk. “Help yourself.”

“Gonna steal your clothes too.” The venom had eaten away at the fibers of your pants and shirt - there’d be no salvaging them. You pause, gripping the key and checking his expression for permission. Leander’s notoriously generous, to a fault, even - despite that, you still try not to take more than you give back.

Inscrutable, emerald eyes flash bright for a heartbeat before glancing away. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lip before his hand taps on the bar, signaling a request for his usual shot of whiskey. In moments, Rodrick slides a glass across the polished surface, placing the drink perfectly in his waiting palm. 

Leander takes a quick drink before meeting your gaze again. Though the flare of magic had withdrawn, a dark edge still lingers in his eyes.

“Be my guest.” His jaw clenches, a vein jumping along the hard edge, but he smiles like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I insist, even.”

You pause and narrow your gaze. That’s a little….suspicious. “Now I don’t want to,” you mutter, grimacing as that lying smile breaks into laughter.

“I’m afraid Rod here might insist too,” Leander adds, dispelling the strange tension and running a hand through his hair. “The smell alone will send customers running to the wastelands.”

One such customer stumbles to the back alley exit a few steps from the bar and just barely opens it in time for the torrent of vomit that spews from his mouth.

You stare for a moment before turning back to Leander, whose eyes are now full of mirth.

“Well, I’d hate to put off the fine, noble patrons of this tasteful establishment.” With a roll of your eyes, you stride off toward the interior of the inn toward the suite at the end of the hall, ignoring the weight of his gaze on your back.

A door with a familiar crest stands at the end of the hall and opened to a set of comfortable, homey rooms. Gorgeous oak furnishings carry the varied goods and knicknacks that comprise Leander’s existence: leather bound journals on the desk alongside bottles and ink pens, a trunk propped open with the hilt of a sword, a floor length mirror in the corner half-covered with another coat, a dresser with cologne and books stacked on top. More books are heaped on his bedside tables and tucked under in neat columns. Soft, green blankets cover the bed, matching the curtains drifting beside a cracked window.

You pause on the threshold before carefully stepping out of your boots and leaving them in the hall to keep from tracking the slime inside. You drop your coat on top for good measure and step inside on bare feet. 

The archway to the bathroom is tucked in the corner. You tiptoe toward it, conscious of the putrid slime clinging to your clothes and hair before finally reaching the tile floor. The fey lamps alight when you step inside, casting the room in a golden glow. 

After twisting the knobs on the massive claw-foot tub, water barrels through the pipes and steam fills the bathroom. 

You crack the window to let it escape and then strip down, mourning the loss of the clothes. The shirt you can handle the sacrifice - the pants are - were - a favorite. 

In the mirror over the sink, you check the damage to your hair. Congealed blood and drying monster venom sticks your hair in clumps. It’ll be a bitch to wash out. Bottles of various shapes and colors gather on two shelves around the vanity. You read a couple labels before finding a cleansing solution with rosemary, sage, and detoxifying oil. It’ll have to do.

Sighing, you decide to focus on getting the worst of it out now and finishing the job at home after a meal and a tall pint of beer. 

“Still out here, huh.”

Leander’s brow lifts pointedly, eyeing Rodrick over the rim of his glass. 

“Well, it’s been half a wick. Usually you’d have slipped into the hall by now, not to be seen again until dawn.” He’s wiping a clean glass down with a rag, hip braced on the back counter during a lull in drink orders. His mustache twitches below a knowing gaze.

“Not this time,” he answers simply.

“Oh?” Rod inspects him before nodding slowly. “Oh… I see. Playing the long game? That’s rare for you.”

Leander taps his thumb against his glass, staring into the amber liquid. “A rare catch requires good bait, timing, and most of all: patience,” he murmurs.

Thinking of you in his rooms: naked, those long limbs and lithe muscles submerged beneath the hot water, your hands stroking his soap along your skin, your hair wet and draped around your shoulders, clean and soft and smelling of his herbs and oils… 

He’s an excellent fisherman, but at this moment, he finds his patience tested to the limits. 

What a catch you are. All slick and smooth and tempting. A siren. 

He thinks of your bare body rising from the ocean, water trailing in rivers down your skin, dripping from your hair, opening that hot little mouth to reveal sharp teeth and a massive tail drifting in the deep, hooking claws into his flesh to drag him down, all that sharp, deadly beauty….

What a way to die.

Leander lifts the glass and tips the rest of the whiskey down his throat in a burning, sweet rush. Then he shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair, wiping them down his face for good measure, and when he opens his eyes again it’s to find a fresh glass waiting in front of him.

“Good man.”

“Patience should be rewarded,” Rodrick quips back before glancing above his shoulder for a moment. A smirk hides beneath his bristly mustache. “Seems the night has proven very rewarding for you indeed, hound.”

Leander follows his gaze. The glass lands on the counter with a thunk .

Gonna steal your clothes too . 

You’d warned him. He’d known. He thought he was prepared.

You’re striding toward the bar, your hair still damp and sticking to your face and shoulders. Skin flushed and dewy from the bath, you look so - unguarded - so much more vulnerable without your armor and cloak, sword strapped to your hip, the gloves over your hands. That sight alone would have stolen his breath, but oh ….

You’re wearing his shirt. 

The black mesh that once molded over his body now hangs loose on you, the fabric draping over your hips and hovering at mid-thigh. The neckline gapes open too, exposing the ridges of your collar bones, a tantalizing view of your neck and chest. You’d even nicked one of his leather jackets - the midnight leather swallowing you up so completely that you’re rolling the ends of the sleeves up to find your hands. 

Rodrick clears his throat nearby.

Leander’s jaw snaps shut. His mouth is dry.

Not prepared. Not prepared at all .

“Hey,” you greet them, and a cloud of distinctly familiar smells infuses the air. 

Herbs. Mint. Rosemary. Leather. A hint of his cologne that lingers on all his clothes.

Ye Olde gods, have mercy on this sinner .

A strange, garbled sound escapes his mouth before he wrestles back control of his body. “Drink?” he asks, desperately ignoring how breathless his own voice sounds. “My treat.”

You don’t seem to notice. To Rodrick, you say, “I’ll have what he’s having.” 

This close, he can see a drop of water coalescing behind your ear and trailing down your neck, journeying down warm flesh until it wicks into the shirt collar.

You turn toward him. Leander wrenches his gaze up.

“Think the punctured venom glands will depreciate the carcass’s value?”

“What? Oh. Probably, but not by much.” He clears his throat, tries to look anywhere else for a moment, before his gaze is inevitably drawn back to the way his shirt clings to your front, dipping between the valley of your chest, the full shapely mounds tucked behind the wings of his jacket. 

He’s never going to wear that jacket again without thinking of you.

“The other set of glands was intact. If it’s a problem, we’ll just sell it to Kuras. He’s always in the market for monster venom.” He dropped more of his weight on the counter, leaning a little closer to you. 

“I’ll take over negotiating in that case. Kuras run’s circles around you at the bartering table.”

Leander laughs, hears the strained quality of his own voice, and quickly stops. “What can I say, the good doctor can be very persuasive. Think you can do better?” 

Your mouth curls into a smirk, mischief alight in those dark eyes, your face framed by the damp strands of your hair, all wrapped up in his clothes, his scent, and his brain grinds to a halt. 

Tilting your head, you say in a low voice, “I know I can.”

Leander looks at you and believes it. If this vision stood opposite him in the market, he’d fold like a palace of cheap cards in a hurricane.

Rodrick returns and hands you a glass of whiskey. He pauses behind the counter as you tip it back and swallow it all down, then asks, “Another?”

“In a bit. I’m gonna head back to my place and get dressed.”

Snapping out of a sudden, intense fantasy of licking trails of whiskey off your neck, Leander sits up. “Right now?” He flicks a look over you, heat licking his insides. 

“Mm. I’m not about to sit on those stools like this.”

Like this ? He glances down. Thin chausses meant to prevent chafing from armor hide away your skin. It’d be a little cold, perhaps - he could offer to warm you up personally if that was the problem - but it’s not that unusual for hunters to wear them in place of everyday pants.

You notice the confusion and, to his surprise and delight, blush . “Back in half a wick. You’re buying dinner. Steak.”

With that, you stalk off into the pub, draped in his jacket, as his hounds and other patrons part ways around you.

“Sure, happy to…oblige….” he trails off, leaning off the stool to keep you in sight as long as possible, before the front door closes on your shadow. “Steaks on the menu tonight, Rodrick?”

“It is now. Make peace with your coin purse.” 

Leander slowly turns back around and looks at the empty glass. I’m not about to sit on those stools like this . But you were wearing pants, however thin, so… 

He slowly lifts his head as the realization slams into him like a runaway carriage.

You have no underwear on.

_____________________________________________

a/n: comments and likes appreciated!

#leander fic #leander x mc #leander x reader #otome #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved leander #touchstarved imagines #touchstarved

[forever-rogue]

Hey I was thinking maybe a request. Where Eddie survived but is self conscious about his wounds. Takes the reader sometime to convince Eddie that she doesn't see him differently.

AN | Set in the world in which Eddie is alive because he is! Or else! Anyways, this is soft, soft, soft, and broke and fixed my heart at the same time 🥰

Warnings | Language, Non-graphic description of scarring

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your back was killing you from sitting in the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair for hours on end, hunched over as you read your book. You could have left, probably should have left, but you found yourself unable and unwilling. The rhythmic and continuous beeping of the various monitors that he was hooked up to were slowly lulling you to sleep but you refused to give in to them. You knew the moment you fell asleep was the moment he would wake up. You wanted to be there when he did, present and alert. 

Peeling your eyes from your book, you found him still in his deep slumber, his hair even curlier and messier than normal, skin pale and covered in various bandages. His lips were chapped and parted slightly as his chest rose and fell in a steady pattern. But he was here; he was here and alive and that was all that mattered right now. An idea suddenly struck - one that would hopefully keep you awake and maybe he’d hear it too. You turned back to the weathered and well worn pages of your copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, quietly reading the passage you had stopped on: 

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

You were about to continue when you heard a soft sound coming from next to you before something brushed against your leg. You had been so invested in the pages that the touch caught you off guard and you almost jumped out of your chair, quietly squealing in surprise. It was the sound of his soft, weak laughter that brought you back into reality as you found that familiar pair of soft brown eyes watched you intently. He was awake.

“The Riddle of Strider,” his voice was hoarse and scratchy but distinctively him, “haven’t read that in a while. I guess it’s fitting since we made it through Mordor.”

“Eddie,” his name fell from your lips, soft and delicate, and before you could help it, tears had welled up and run down your cheeks, “y-you’re awake.”

“But at what cost?” despite the pain you were sure he was in, he still managed to make a joke. You laughed lightly before dropping to your knees at his side, brushing a few errant, rogue curls out of his face, “hi.”

“Hi,” you echoed, gently taking his hand in yours, “never thought I would be so happy to see you, Munson.”

“Mhmm,” you could tell that he was still tired, still worn and run down but fuck. At least he was okay, “what happened? I’m here…I thought I…I thought I was gonna die.”

“You really think we would let that happen?” you whispered, trying to keep the horrible images of when you were sure that he was going to die in your arms out of your mind, “never.”

“She saved you,” you turned around and found Dustin standing in the doorway, along with Steve and Robin. Before Dustin could stop himself he ran over and gave Eddie the best hug he could without hurting him, “you wouldn’t be here without her.”

“You saved me huh?” his tired grin was stretching across his face as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “I guess I owe you a life-debt.”

“You really think I was going to let a horde of demobats get you?” you teased, “if you’re going down by anyone’s hand, it’s going to be mine. You dumb, foolish, brave man.”

“Dumb and foolish yes,” he said, causing Robin and Steve to laugh quietly, “I don’t know about brave.”

“I - we do,” you insisted, “you, Eddie Munson, are a hero. And now everyone knows that too.”

“A hero, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Munson,” Steve reached down and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “don’t want you getting too cocky.”

“Me? Never,” you snorted at him as he weakly stuck out his tongue, “what a warm welcome. Glad I came back for this.”

“I’m going to go and let them know you’re awake,” you stood up and yawned, “be back in a few.”

Once you were out of the room, Robin took the seat you had been occupying and gave him a serious look. She was glad that her new found friend was alive and well, and even more concerned about the fact that her friends continued to be seemingly oblivious, “she’s been here the entire time you have, you know. She barely even left to go shower or eat. She’s read you about a thousand books. She wanted to be here right when you woke up.”

“I…that sounds like her,” he agreed, a warm flush rising up on his pale skin, “she does too much for me. I owe her everything.”

“You really do,” Dustin agreed, shooting a wink at Robin, “maybe sometimes all it takes is a near death experience to see how things really are. Like the fact that you’re in l-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you walked back in with a nurse, chatting animatedly and looking better than you had in weeks. You caught Eddie’s eye and gave him a small wink as the nurse chittered over him, immediately asking him a million questions as she made some notes on her clipboard. Normally he might have been bothered by all the attention, but right now it all felt…right.

“We’ll leave you guys to it,” Steve pointedly looked at Robin and Dustin as they siddled over to him, “we’ll call Wayne. Maybe see you tonight at the Wheelers’?”

“We’ll see,” you promised, “depending on when he can leave and how he’s feeling. Thank you guys.”

You gave them each a hug, something that had come to have so much more meaning and power than you’d ever thought they would. Something that you could be deprived of in an instant, something you vowed to never take for granted again. You couldn’t wait to give him one again, one that would hopefully tell him all he ever needed to know.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Eds! I’m here!” you let yourself in his trailer with the key you’d had for years, arms filled with a few grocery bags of snacks and treats you knew he loved. You set everything down in the kitchen, frowning when you didn’t hear a response, “Eddie?”

“Bathroom,” you heard him call out softly. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized he was okay, but his tone suggested otherwise. You padded silently down the hall and stopped in front of the door before gently rapping your knuckles against it.

“Eds,” you kept your voice gentle, not wanting to scare him despite your knocking. He’d been more sensitive and easily overwhelmed the past few weeks since he’d been out of the hospital - not that you could blame him in the slightest over that, “I brought some snacks and rented a few movies. Maybe we just have a movie marathon today. Or we can do whatever you want - maybe go for a walk or go to the lake?”

He remained silent for a few moments, but you could hear him moving around in there. You tried to hold back your sigh, but doing so only made your eyes sting with tears. You knew he was hurting, but nothing you did seemed to make it better. You just wanted to make it all better for him; if you could have taken the burden from him you would have in a heartbeat, “Eddie…”

“Can you please just go?” the fact that his voice shook with each word caused you to exhale sharply. You wanted to just barge in there and wrap him up in your arms but you knew that would just make things worse right now, “please. I-I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” you whispered as you put your palm lightly against the door, wishing he could feel your touch, “okay, Eds. Whatever you need. I’ll put away the food and go. Please call me if you need anything. We’re having game night later, at the Byers’ this time. If you want to come over…or I can give you a ride. Just…call me if you need anything. Please, Eddie.”

You heard his shuffling and pacing stop before he sighed lightly. It was a few seconds before you heard him quickly murmur a gentle, “okay.”

You let a few beats of silence pass between the two of you before walking back down the small hallway and into the kitchen. You slowly put everything away and left the movies on the counter where he would easily find them. It was with a heavy heart  that you walked out and locked the door behind you. Part of you wanted to go back in there and refuse to leave, but you knew he just needed time. He knew you were always there for him, just as he had always been for you. Right now it just felt all wrong - terrible - and you wanted your Eddie back.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The phone in your room rang, the sound shrill and loud in the stillness of the night. You almost jumped at the sound, opening your eyes in surprise before you turned on your bedside lamp. It was almost three in the morning according to the bright red numbers displayed on the alarm clock - who on earth would be calling at this time?

Oh. You blinked away the bleariness in your eyes before grabbing the handset and pressing it closely to your ear, “hello?”

“H-hi,” the fact that it was his voice on the other end of the line made you feel a million times better and you let out a small sigh of relief, “I’m sorry for calling so late. Fuck, I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“You are the only person I will allow to wake me up,” you promised softly, “is everything okay, Eds?”

“Can you come over?” his voice was low and quiet, “please? I…I-”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” you were already crawling out of bed in search of your converse, deciding to forgo getting dressed. Eddie had seen you a million different ways over the years, he could handle you in ratty old pajama bottoms and one of his shirts you’d stolen at some point, “okay? Just hang tight.”

“Thank you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you were at Eddie’s and letting yourself inside, it had been just about ten minutes since he’d called. You’d sneaked out of the house quickly and probably broke more than a few speed limits. But none of that mattered right now, only he did.

“Eddie?” you called softly as you walked towards his bedroom, where you could see some soft light spilling out of the slightly cracked door. You knocked softly before stepping inside, “Eddie?”

“‘s okay,” he promised as the door opened and you found himself standing in front of you. This was the first time you’d properly seen him in weeks. It took every bit of strength not to tackle him in a giant hug, “thank you for coming.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” you hesitantly reached over, wanting to see if he’d allow you to touch him. When he didn’t flinch out of your touch, you put your hand on his face and gently brushed your thumb over his cheek, “what’s wrong, Eds?”

“I just…” he broke down in tears before he could even get a full sentence out, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his body. You were surprised at the reaction, the sudden shift in his temperament but gently hugged him back, letting him take what he needed, “I feel so broken.”

“Eddie,” you whispered his name and pulled back so you could look at him. You cradled his face in your hands and tenderly wiped away his tears, “you are not broken. So far from it. What you went through what we all did in varying degrees was a lot. Honestly, I’d be more surprised if you said you felt completely fine. I don’t think any of us are fine right now, but we’ve got each other and we’ll get better in time. You have me - us, all of us, Henderson, Harrington, Robin, the Wheelers, the Byers, the Sinclairs, the Hoppers. All of us are probably way more fucked up anyone should be, but at least we’re fucked up together.”

He made a small sound, something adjacent to a laugh as he lightly nodded. You leaned in and pressed your forehead against his, trying to get to him to understand just how deeply loved and cared for he was, “I haven’t been able to sleep well, eat, and I…I can’t stand to look at myself anymore.”

“Well, I can try to help however I can, even if it’s just being here while you take a nap. I’ll keep you safe, Eddie. I’ll always protect you,” you whispered, “just tell me what you need and I will do it.”

“I keep thinking about that night,” he sighed, “how they tore up my skin and…I know eventually it’ll be better, but my body…I look like a freak. More than I normally do.”

“Eddie,” you took a step back and squeezed his hand, your heart feeling like it had been torn into pieces at his words, “you are beautiful, so beautiful, just as you always have been. You have always been my favorite thing in this world to look at. Then, now, and always.  Scars don’t matter, if anything they tell a story. And these tell a story that you, Eddie Munson, are a hero. That everyone in this stupid town, in this world has to thank for keeping them safe. Eddie, you are a hero, you’ve always been my hero. You've always kept me safe and made me feel protected and loved. This time it’s my turn to give you all of that back.”

“I don’t think I could ever deserve you,” he gave you a teary-eyed smile. 

“That’s what best friends are for,” you replied with a small smile. You wished it was more, you wished you could tell me the extent of how deep your love for him was. But now was not the time to push or make him feel pressured to respond in a certain way, “you’re stuck with me for life, Munson. We pinky promised when we were twelve, and we can’t ever break that.”

“No,” he whispered, “we can’t.”

A silence filled the air between the two of you, comfortable and easy just like it always had. You took his hand and gently pulled him towards the bathroom, and he followed without hesitation. Once you stepped into the small space, you touched the hem of his shirt and looked at him with gentle eyes, “may I?”

“Yes,” he swallowed thickly but nodded, “I trust you.”

Your touch was gentle and delicate as you pulled his shirt up and he held up his arms to let you take it off of him. The soft fabric of his well worn shirt was almost silent as it fell to the floor and you looked him over. You could see the trepidation in his eyes as he tried to gauge your reaction. You touched his cheek before giving him a sweet smile that caused a sense of relief to flood his veins, “just as I thought. Beautiful as always.”

He remained silent and you traced your fingers over one of the scars near his collarbone. It was a sobering reminder that you’d almost lost him. You were happy for the scar because it meant he was here, he was alive. You don’t know if you could have faced a future without him. He inhaled shakily as you ghosted the tips of your fingers gently over his body. 

“Come on,” after a few minutes of quietness during which he’d pulled you back into his arms, you pulled back, “let’s get you a warm shower and then you can try to get some sleep.”

“I don’t know if I can…s-sleep.”

“Will you try?” he gnawed on his bottom lip as he nodded slowly, “I’ll stay with you and make sure you’re okay. I promise.”

“What about you?”

“I can sleep later,” you insisted, “once you’ve rested a bit. Eddie…let me take care of you…please. You’re not in this alone and I’ll always be here for you.”

You turned on the shower and went to grab a clean towel and set of pajamas for him, before ushering him towards the warm stream of water.

“I…I love you,” he whispered as you looked at him with that sweet, innocent expression he adored more than anything. 

“I know,” you smiled lightly, “I love you too.”

“No…like…I love you,” he repeated and your whole face felt like it was on fire, “n-not just as my best friend.”

“I know,” you insisted again, your heart feeling better - lighter - than it had in weeks, “I love you.”

“Yeah?” he asked shyly as you offered him a shy smile, “will you…get in? With me?”

“Yeah,” there wasn’t a moment of hesitation in your response, “you have me, whatever and however you need. Forever.”

“Forever,” Eddie touched your face this time, his heart beating rapidly but for the first time in what seemed like ages, it wasn’t due to anxiety or nerves, “I can do forever.”

“Me too, Eddie Munson. Me too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #st

[sky-scribbles]

The Karlach/Gideon Nav comparisons have sunk deep into my brain at this point, so I think it's about time I laid out my Locked Tomb AU thoughts. Because there are some very fun necro & cavaliar pairings to find among the tadfools and their supporting cast:

For the Second House, we have an obvious cavalier: Lae'zel, trained for the frontlines since hatching, ready to march to war for her Emperor god-queen even if she doesn't know why. Her necromancer is harder to pin down - it could be Shadowheart for the Harrow and Gideon vibes, but I want to use Shadowheart elsewhere. Ghustil Sturnugoss could work, perhaps - until Lae'zel starts to see through the lies she's been raised on...

The Third House smacks of nobility and charm, so my gut says Wyll is our cavalier - yes, he's a spellcaster, but he's the Blade of Frontiers. He wields a rapier; he's Wyll, the protecor. He's asking to be a cavalier. As for his necromancer, the person he's bound to serve, to die for... well, I guess it has to be Mizora, who has plenty of Third charisma herself. Not all cavaliers serve willingly.

We have a much more stable duo for the Fourth: Isobel and Aylin! Isobel is a cleric, made for warding and guarding just like Isaac, and Aylin has a very Fourth House-esque tendency to, as Gideon put it 'charge in headfirst and get all crazy'.

The Fifth house are tricky. They're spirit-speakers, so Withers is the obvious choice, but who's his cavalier? An aged-up Arabella? But she feels more like a necromancer to me, so I landed on an alternative: put an actual spirit into the necromancer role, and make it Thaniel. And have his protector be Halsin, who could fill Magnus's surrogate dad role quite nicely. (Rumour has it that not only does Halsin the Fifth wield knuckle-knives, he carried two knuckles and has a tendency to chuck his rapier away and just slash at you like a bear.)

Gale 'which way to the nearest library?' Dekarios is just begging to be the necromancer of the Sixth House - he even has a House-esque surname, though we'd have to change it so he doesn't sound like he comes from some nonexistent Tenth House (Hekarios? Sextarios?) And if his cavalier is someone who'll remain at his side through thick and thin, protect him from the world and from himself... I guess I have no choice but to make Tara a tabaxi and give her a sword. She deserves it.

I confess to drawing a blank for a really fitting match for the Seventh, so for lack of a better place to put them, let's make it Jaheira and Minsc, since Minsc pretty much sees himself as her cavalier in canon anyway. I suppose if you spec Jaheira as a Spores druid, she does at least have the 'walking corpse' thing down.

The cavalier of the Eighth House is another forced into service: Astarion, serving his necromancer Cazador. He's been trained to be his necro's resource, not his equal; he exists for Cazador to draw on and suck dry. He owns nothing but his sword (and unlike Colum, he doesn't even have his honour; it was tortured out of him long ago.)

And finally, Shadowheart as the Ninth House necromancer - a young acolyte raised in an underground cloister among those who worship silence, darkness and loss; her own memory betraying her, loving her order despite the fact that it has broken her again and again. With her cavalier, Karlach, who just wants to get out of her indentured service already and to be given back her fucking longsword.

#bg3 #the locked tomb #tlt #tlt au #bg3 spoilers #this is very self-indulgent and i don't regret it #i doubt i'll ever write anything for this au but it's fun to kick around in my head

[altbite]

Little Victories *Konig x Reader*

Summary: You have struggled with self h@rm before. You are almost a year clean and Konig surprises you.

Konig x GN!Reader

TW: A LITTLE BIT GRAPHIC AND DETAILED, BLADE AND BLOOD TW

_

It has been almost a year since you last took a blade to your skin. It almost feels unreal. It was hard at first, and although it got easier, you occasionally thought about it. You thought about doing it again, feeling the edge of the blade slice your skin, feel the blood drip down slowly. You wanted to relapse but you also didn’t need to anymore. Sometimes it was boredom that brought you back to it, sometimes a bad day. But the bad days began to wither away. You kept a little journal of dates of when you relapsed. You used to check it often but forgot about it after a while. You only really remembered when you thought about how long has it been since your last. Turns out, almost a year ago. It will be a year tomorrow.

You couldn’t help but feel but proud and sad at the same time. After struggling for so long, you finally made it. It wasn’t the longest you’ve gone but it was still a victory.

You had been sitting on your bed, door wide open as you had walked in a couple minutes ago to grab something, but ended up deep in thought. Konig had walked by, glanced into your room before stopping himself. He stood in front of the door way, and proceeded to knock on the door to get your attention. He could see you were entranced by something. You zoned by in and diverted your attention to him.

“All good, Socks?”, he gently asked, continuing to stay in his spot.

You had told him a few months ago about your struggles. He was the first and only person you told. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare you, not knowing how he would react to. But he was very sweet about it. Even gave you a hug to say how proud he is of you and how hard it can be. He never made you feel broken or fragile for it, never treated you differently. He didn’t pry either. He waited for you to tell him what you wanted.

“Yeah, sorry I just remembered something”, you smiled at him, signalling him to come in.

He walks towards you, “Care to share?”.

You briefly thought about how to tell him. You didn’t want to make it dramatic or too casual. “I’ll be a year clean tomorrow”.

“Hell yeah! That’s awesome”, he raised his hand for a high five, in which you complied to. “We should do something. We should celebrate!”, Konig spoke with excitement that you could see him shaking in his boots.

“Dude, that is kind of a morbid thing to celebrate”, you chuckled as you stood up and started to leave your room. You stood at the door, swinging your arm, gesturing for him to leave the room first.

“Well maybe but its a big achievement”, he walked out and you followed, shutting the door behind you.

“I know but I don’t know. How exactly do you celebrate something like this?”, you asked, hoping for a genuine answer.

Konig brain cogs were turning but he was speechless, and just shrugged. You two walked to the kitchen, and the topic was dropped once you saw the rest of the team.

_

The following morning was an easy one. It was a Saturday and one of the few days you get a lie in. To be fair, you only got out of bed after 10 but now you didn’t have to feel guilty for it. Weekends were quiet. Everyone did their own thing, gone out for the weekend: drinking, partying or fishing if you’re Price, and Gaz occasionally, although you weren’t sure Gaz actually liked fishing. You think Price just dragged him along for whatever reason.

You do a big stretch in bed before sitting up, and contemplating why you sat up. You’re body acted before your mind did, and in this case, you had dragged your fingers over your scars, feeling them one by one. You did it most mornings. It gave you comfort of sorts.

You hear a knock on your door, and groan because that meant you had to get out of bed. Finally you did make your way to your door, but not before sliding into a hoodie. You open the door to Konig standing with a diy cake in front of you. You take a couple seconds to comprehend what is happening.

The cake was, although greatly attempted, badly covered in frosting and sprinkles, and in the middle, one green candle like the ones you see on birthday cakes.

“Happy Birthday!!”, Konig practically yelled out, the biggest smile on his face. You looked at him in shock, amusement and confusion and fell into a fit of giggles.

“You said you didn’t know how to celebrate yesterday and I spent all day thinking about it. Its almost like a birthday so I baked you a cake. Its not perfect but i hope you like it”, he was very forward until the last sentence when he whispered, clearly getting shy about his baking skills.

“That- That is so fucking adorable oh my god”. Despite being in a fit of giggles, you were actually really touched.

“Well, make a wish”, he said as he held up the cake higher.

You stared into his eyes, appreciating him and this moment. You looked down, took the plate and blew out the candle. Once you did, Konig clapped for you.

“Well what did you wish for?”, curiously asking.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true!”

Maybe it was cheesy, but you wish that he would always be by your side.

#cod #cod mw2 #mw2 konig #konig #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #konig mw2 #cod x gn reader #konig x male reader #cod konig #konig fluff #konig x gn!reader #mw2 x reader #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #konig x reader #konig cod #konig headcanons #konig oneshot

[thepaintedlady00]

The Sandman and the Girl Without Dreams

Chapter 9: A Past As Beautiful and Destructive As Me

TW: the fates, knives, dirty thoughts, smut (Soft Dream is here)

I curled deeper into the warm covers, breathing out a sigh of relief at the heat that rolled off of them. That breath was one I could feel hanging in the frozen air, the heat of it visible in the cold as I blinked my eyes open. Everything was frozen. My pillows, the empty space of bed beside me, the windows and curtains, my chair. All of it. As I sat up, the chill filling the warm space I'd left, three figures stood in front of my bedroom door.

The first, standing closest to me, was a young woman in a beautiful sapphire blue gown, her dark hair curled in ringlets around her soft face. "Greetings, fate kept sister."

In a blink she was standing in the back and one of the others was now standing in front of me. She was older, her face slightly worn by the years. Her hair and eyes remained the same as the younger ones. "It is so good to finally put a face to that lovely name of yours, dear Weaver."

Another blink and the oldest of them stood before me, eyes cold and face wrinkled with age and wisdom. Her silver hair wrapped around her like a shroud. "She doesn't look like much, you'd think with the power in those veins she'd have a bit of spark to her."

I wanted to speak, wanted to demand what the hell was happening, but I couldn't. Like the room around me I was frozen in place, clinging to what little warmth remained. The youngest smiled at me. "I think she looks perfect!"

The oldest sneered. "Fate kept, fate kissed, fate bound. Your titles are as endless as that which you would so easily spread your legs for."

The middle one tutted. "Now, now sister-self, we cannot chastise her for answering the song she was gifted. That even remains higher than us."

"Such a sweet song they make together!" The youngest said. "I hope it does not give way to the dissonant cries that threaten to swallow it."

"A butterfly can do little against the storm to come," the eldest remarked.

"She will have to become a dragon then," the youngest replied. "Fire and armor born to weather any storm."

"The question remains if she will heed her calling or if she will bend and break and burn beneath the threads." The middle said.

"Heed our advice, fate touched, do not hesitate to reach out to the cold. For in the frozen depth much truth lies." The youngest said.

The middle reappeared. "Heed our warning, fate kissed, do not bend to those unworthy. It is their stained hands that seek to tear your wings from your back and watch you crawl and wither."

The oldest glared at me. "Heed our truth, fate bound, forsake that which you fear. For the path through flames of molten gold is that which holds your freedom."

A loud crack of shattering ice echoed in my ears, my hands cupping around them as I tried to block out the sound. When I looked back up they were gone. A faint feeling, like a hand wrapping around my arm pulled me from the frozen world. My hand found the knife beneath my pillow and my body moved of its own accord, the world swinging as I threw myself over the top of whoever had touched me and pressed the blade snuggly against their throat.

Below me Pierres eyes were glowing, his hands resting tightly on my hips. "It is good to be back beneath these powerful thighs, Ma moitié."

Breathing heavily I looked around the room, pulling the blade from his throat. It was just as I left it. My head snapped to the bed, now empty save for a single peony that lay on the pillow beside mine. Dream. I looked back to Pierre who looked me over with his heated gaze and winked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was attempting to wake the sleeping beauty, but in our time apart it appears I've forgotten that she has quite the bite when startled." He smiled even wider. "Though I will never complain about our current position."

"How did you get in?" I asked standing up and helping him off the floor.

"The witch," he replied. "Though we both know if I had truly wanted in I'd have found a way." He leaned slightly to check out my ass in the shorts I'd slept in. "The years have treated you kindly."

I slapped his arm. "Eyes up."

He complied with a sly grin. "Oh I've seen it all before, no need to be so prude about it."

"That was a long time ago," I said, forcing his chin upward as he started looking back.

"Ahh so my other half has found herself a new lover!" He teased flopping onto the bed and twirling the peony in his fingers. "A thoughtful one is he?"

I snatched it out of his hand and carefully set it on my nightstand. "As much as I'd love to talk to you about my sex life you have work to do."

He relaxed into my bed. "It is already done."

"You cleaned up three bodies and all that blood already?"

"You say this like it is difficult," he replied, offended. "Have the years made you forget my talents for such things?"

"No."

"Stop worrying, Ma moitié, come lay down with me and relax for a moment."

With a sigh I flopped down onto the bed beside him. He pressed a kiss to my cheek. "It's good to see you Pierre."

"Of course it is, I am spectacular!" He cheered, turning to face me. "Now, tell me of this tall dark stranger the witch claims to have caught fingers deep inside you."

I groaned. "JOHANNA CONSTANTINE!"

***

Dream had watched Penelope sleep until the sun began to rise before he was forced to leave. He hated having to go, hated that she would wake up alone, but his realm needed his attention now. So he'd placed the peony beside her, hoping it would soothe her if she woke up worried about his absence. As he stood in the corner by her door he turned to the raven that had accompanied them. "Stay with her, Matthew. If trouble comes for her again I will not be caught off guard."

And trouble indeed did come, but a kind that Dream had not been prepared for. His jaw was firmly locked in place as he watched the interaction through Matthews eyes. At first he was relieved, proud, to watch her take the man to the ground with ease, a blade to his throat, but then when she retracted it and helped him up his relief twisted into something else. Something green.

When the stranger had not even attempted to hide his blatant lingering gaze on her body Dream felt the green feeling twist inside him. When he leapt onto her bed and grabbed the flower he'd left for her, he nearly lost all his self control and when she joined him in the bed his hands curled into the arms of his throne and the room around him gently quaked. 

Penelope was obviously familiar with this man, too familiar for his liking. But as he watched them he felt no flare of arousal or any feelings from her that indicated this was anything more than a friend. Even without the mark he trusted her, but that didn't stop the bitter taste that filled his throat at the sight of them. He let his connection drop, let his eyes refocus on the throne room. 

His thoughts were a rampant storm in his mind. She may not have felt anything for her friend, but seeing her so close with another man brought a possessive need within him. He was not unfamiliar with this, he’d had many lovers in the past and had felt the need before, but with Penelope it was different. It was so strong Morpheus had to consciously remind himself he could not just show up in her room and trap this friend of hers in a never ending nightmare. It was more than that though, more than mere possessive jealousy that made him retreat inward. 

She was happy. She had been before he showed up in the apartment she shared with Constantine. In all the years he spent locked in that cage he thought of her often, mourned her. He was not prepared to find her alive, healthy and happy in the Waking World. Before Hell, he’d been determined to retrieve his tools, answer her questions and then let her finally be rid of him. Then he saw the torture she’d endured… felt the softness of her lips on his… had her gasping and moaning against him. He did not want to leave her, he did not think he could survive it now, but he worried what him staying would cost her.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed air - he needed to think. He needed to see her.

***

Pierre finally climbed out of the bed after he was satisfied he was caught up in my sex life since our departure, and grabbed a long box from the chair. “I know the last time we spoke, you told me you did not want these, but… Given the recent events I brought them with me just in case.”

At the sight of it I clammed up. It had been years since I’d given them to him… and as he opened the lid, holding it out for me to see the gleaming steel blades within it an old pain filled my chest. I took one of them in my hand, the familiar weight of it digging up a wave of bittersweet emotions. As I looked into the reflection in the blade it was his eyes that stared back at me. Olethros. The pain was one of great friendship and a sorrowful betrayal. 

"I know it's not ladylike… but you really need to learn how to throw a proper punch Miss…"

"Barlow. Penelope Barlow."

"Well, Miss Barlow, are you alright?"

"Better now that I've stumbled onto a knight."

His laugh was deep and heartfelt. "Never been called a knight before, I could get used to it."

"Well, what name does my knight normally go by?"

"I've got a lot of names, Miss. You can call me Olethros."

"Olethros, I'm glad to have run into you."

"As am I, Penelope."

I quickly set it back in the box and closed the lid. “Thank you, Pierre. Could you just… just hold onto them a while longer for me?”

His eyes held the understanding that made Pierre one of my closest friends. He nodded, holding the box with tender care. “Of course, mon amour. Now, get dressed and join the witch and I for breakfast, yes?”

“Of course,” I answered watching him settle into my chair with a shit eating grin on his face. “Get out you sly bastard.”

“Very well,” he said with an exasperated sigh, moving toward the door. “But, if your new lover disappoints, perhaps we will reconnect in a different way?”

I rolled my eyes. “You and Johanna are the worst with boundaries!”

He laughed as he closed the door with one final shout of, “That was not a no!”

“NO!” I hollered, sitting on the bed and grabbing the flower Dream had left for me with a smile.

Pierre had been the person I trusted most in this world before Johanna and now Dream. He had been by my side in my darkest moments and had seen me through it all with kindness, patience and laughter. He was perhaps the most annoying person I'd ever met, but single handedly the most loyal and loving individual. I knew he wouldn't betray me, no matter how we left things or how long it'd been since we spoke through the years. Pierre would never betray me, would never do anything to cause me harm, would never abandon me.

It was nice to have him around again, nice in a mostly annoying way, but with him he brought a lot of messy history. I had no doubts that Dream had his own unpleasant moments in his past and I truly didn’t think he would care about some of mine, but I still felt nervous, still felt ashamed. What if the things I’d done made him see me differently? What if upon learning of the years I’d spent without him was just too much? Nothing could ever change the way I see you. He’d said those words, not long ago. He’d said them and meant them with everything he was. I set the flower back on my nightstand and smiled. Dream wouldn’t scare so easily.

A soft noise echoed from the top of the curtain rods and startled me. “Would now be a good time to tell you I’m here?”

Matthew perched above me, awkwardly. “Oh my god Matthew! How long have you been here?”

“Since the sun came up,” he said. “Dream had me stick around just in case there was any trouble. You know so he could come help and all that.”

I sighed, letting the tension release from my shoulders. “I should have known he’d leave you behind. I’m sorry you’re stuck on babysitting duty.”

"I don't mind!" He insisted, flying down to rest on the bed. "It'll be fun."

"Will it be?" I asked.

"Yeah! We can get pizza or go to the movies," the raven sounded very excited at the prospect of a normal day.

"Missing life as a human Matthew?"

"Just a little," he said. "Being a bird is great and all and I enjoy The Dreaming and everyone there it's just…"

"A lot of change in a small span of time. I get it." I finished for him. “I’m not sure what the day has planned, but I’ve got to warn you it might not be the typical human outting you're wanting."

His head cocked to the side a bit. "Yeah, I doubt most humans deal with constant threats of being attacked." Clearing his throat he hopped towards me a bit. "Speaking of… You don't have to tell me, but, uh, I am curious about what exactly you've got going on."

I smiled tensely at him. "You remember Hell? Those, uh, memories you saw?"

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "Those are kind of hard to forget."

"The doctor from the asylum is the head of the sixty, hell, it might be seventy now, year long hunt I've been avoiding."

"The doctor?" He questioned. "Shouldn't he be, I don't know, dead?"

I picked at my fingers. "Yeah, he should be. But those… The, uh… The procedures he did on me… They gave him enough biological material to create a prototype of his weird eternal life elixir or drug or whatever. He took it and used the extra time it gave him to link up with the cult assholes that trapped Dream with Roderick Burgess. They mixed their weird magic and his mad science to make a better version of the prototype. He and his closest confidants took it and have been using it to keep them alive."

"So these assholes don't die?"

"They do. Their new elixir only preserves their life… Their minds I guess. Their bodies still age and decay just at a slower rate than normal." I sighed. "He's running low on my material now though, he has been for the past tenish years."

Beside me Matthew cawed. "That's why they're coming at you so hard."

"Yeah," I whispered. "If they can manage to catch me, it'll be the end this time. He'll take every last bit of me and…" I shook my head. "But that's not going to happen."

"Yeah, I mean you've got Dream now." Matthew said. "He'll take care of it."

"No." I couldn't even think of what the worst bad outcome would look like. "He's going to stay out of it. If they think he's a threat they'll just find a way to trap him again, or worse. He needs to keep himself and The Dreaming safe."

Matthew looked up at me. "Does he know that?"

"No," I breathed out, trying to keep myself calm. "No he doesn't. But… He'll understand."

A chuckle and another caw. "I think we both know it's not gonna be that easy. This is Dream we're talking about."

I laughed. "Yeah, he's kind of an ass."

“He’s much better around you,” Matthew stated calmly. 

Smiling down at the raven I shrugged. “I don’t think he can really help it. He can’t exactly hide things from me, not for long at least.”

“Well, whatever thing you two have got going on I’m happy for you. The boss needs someone like you around.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone that will call him out on things,” he clarified. “Someone that’s not afraid to tell him he's wrong.”

Well, that was certainly something I could do. “Okay, shield your bird eyes dear Matthew while I get dressed for our human outting.”

He flew to the corner of the room, pushing his tiny head through the curtains and observing the street down below as I threw on the thinnest turtleneck I could find, adjusting it so the nearly faded bruising wasn’t visible before securing Jessamys’ feathers back around my neck and pulling on a light long skirt. I was covered head to toe, so any cuts or bruises I hadn’t noticed or hadn't healed yet would stay covered and not draw anymore unwanted attention my way. I set a magazine up for Matthew as I washed my face and did my hair. Listening to the bird comment on movie stars was one of the most amusing things I’d heard in a while. “You should start a podcast.”

He laughed. “A raven with a podcast, that would be hilarious!”

Once I’d gotten on a comfortable pair of shoes he flew to my shoulder and perched on me as I left my room to greet Johanna and Pierre who sat on complete opposite sides of the sofa, leaning away from each other. “Wow, don’t look too comfortable you two, someone might think you like each other.”

Johanna flipped me off. “Fuck you.”

“I would never!” Pierre said at the exact time.

“Breakfast,” I said. “Who's buying?”

Pierre’s eyes were glued to Matthew. “Are we not going to address the bird?”

Johanna smiled. “Nope. Don’t you say a word to him.”

“This is Matthew.”

Pierre's face grew even more confused. “The bird has a name?”

From my shoulder Matthew bristled and let out a caw. “Yes, he has a name and you’re not making a very good first impression.”

“When do I ever, mon amour?” He asked with a wide grin.

“Point taken, now let's go, I'm starving.”

Johanna pulled on her jacket. “Yeah, you haven’t had a real meal since Hell.”

I felt somewhat bad for Pierre as he looked between us with absolute confusion. “What has happened in my absence?”

The four of us walked to a nearby cafe and Pierre and I grabbed a table outside while Johanna went in and got our breakfast sorted. He’d pulled his chair right next to mine and leaned into me the whole time, something Pierre never grew tired of was physical attention. Matthew had perched on the opposite side of the table, beady black eyes boring into the French man beside me. Pierre stared at him for a while before turning to me to ask, “It cannot kill me, can it?”

Shrugging my shoulders I smiled at Matthew. “No clue, that's why you need to be nice.”

It was only when Johanna returned either coffee and plates of food that we got back to the situation at hand. They were back in London and if last night was anything they knew I was here too. Pierre spoke first, "So, no running this time eh?"

"No," I said, picking at the food in front of me. "Not this time."

"Why now?"

There were so many answers. I'm tired of losing the ones close to me. I'm tired of letting them push me around. But one that held the most truth. "I'm tired."

This made Pierre wrap his arm around me and squeeze my shoulder. "Finally. I have been waiting for you to turn loose the dogs of war!"

Johanna rolled her eyes. "We need to be smart about this. These cunts have people and resources, we can't take them in an all out fight."

"We have her," Pierre insisted. "No one is better in a fight than our Penelope!"

I looked down at the table, my mind drifting back to the hulking mass of red hair from all those years ago. "Fighting isn't just about numbers or strength, Inky. You have to slow down, think through the moves before you act."

I'd watched him attempt to bend the paper into the shape of my butterfly for almost an hour as we talked, still to no avail. "I've thought out the moves, Olethros. I can't win if I don't know how to actually fight."

"God damn paper," he muttered, tossing the paper into the pile with all the others. He sighed. "Why are you asking me this now?"

"You're the one that said I needed to know how to throw a proper punch!" I replied, reaching over to help guide his fingers. "I'm not asking you this lightly. I know how seriously you take fighting."

"Fighting almost always leads to death and destruction. Are you prepared for that?"

I shook my head. "No, but I don't have a choice. I have to do something, Olethros. I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't." 

I pulled my hands away from his and looked down at the disfigured butterfly. He let it fall onto the desk. "Don't think I'll ever be able to make one like yours."

With a gentle tug I pulled the paper butterfly off of where it hung on my necklace. I stroked over the soft worn paper, smiling at the memories of the friend that had given it to me, before holding it out to him. "You take it. Until you make one of your own."

"Inky…"

I set it in his palm. "Consider it payment for teaching me how to fight?"

His rich eyes bored into mine, fingers curling around my own. "Fine. But just some basic moves. You're no killer, Penelope Barlow. I just want to keep it that way."

Pierre nudged me, hand squeezing my shoulder. "You drifted off, Ma moitié. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I answered, straightening up in my chair. "Yeah I'm fine. What were we saying?"

Johanna watched me carefully. "Pierre and I were arguing over strategy."

"Once she picks up those blades of hers we won't need your strategy!" Pierre replied.

I shook my head. "I'm not picking up the knives. Johanna is right we need to be smart about this."

He sighed. "But-"

"I don't want to lose anyone else, Pierre." I looked up at him with watery eyes. "I can't."

Cursing in French he pressed a soft, quick kiss to my lips and hugged me. "Alright, mon amour. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you."

Matthews wings flared out as he cawed, eyes focused behind us. I turned, looking over Pierres shoulder at Morpheus as he stood across the street. Smiling at him I looked at Johanna. "Are you guys good or do we have more to talk about?"

She glanced at Dream and smirked. "No, we're good. Come on Frenchie, let's go hit up a few contacts."

Pierre followed our eyes and grinned. "Is that the new lover? He is handsome."

"Very," I agreed, shoving against his chest. "Now get out of here.

He pressed one last kiss to my lips, longer than the first one, trying to get a rise out of Dream. And, if the way the shadows seemed to move over him meant anything he'd succeeded. I shoved again, slapping the back of his head, but he only smiled at me. "I have to make a good impression, no?"

"Fuck off." I laughed as he slid out of his seat, glancing at Dream as he walked away with Johanna.

Dream stayed still for a minute before he moved to join Matthew and I at the table. "Good morning," I said happily.

"Good morning." His tone held no indication of, well, anything. 

I tiled my head, watching him take a piece of bread from the table and hold it. "How are repairs in The Dreaming coming along?"

"Well," he said. "I should be regaining most of my lost subjects soon."

"That's good," I said. He was off, but I couldn't quite tell why. A familiar feeling rose up in my chest, along with the sound of the raging ocean waves hitting thick wood. I shoved it down, watching Matthew peck at a plate of food, not able to get it all. I reached over, grabbing the plate and starting to cut up the food into smaller pieces.

His eyes looked down the road, where Pierre and Johanna had gone. "Was he a friend of yours? Or an old lover?"

"Both? Neither?" I chuckled. "He's my friend. We slept together a few times, but it was mostly out of convenience. I trusted him, he trusted me, we didn't have to think about potential dangers or something going wrong. We didn't have to think."

Dream nodded. "Does he know this?"

"He was there for me during a difficult time. And when he was offered an obscene amount of money to trick me he refused." I met Dreams' eyes and sighed. "I know he's a lot, but Pierre is one of the few people that didn't betray me."

"I understand," he said. "If you trust him..."

"I do trust him."

"And I trust you." He said simply. "So long as he keeps his mouth to himself you'll not hear any complaints from me."

"Your mouth is the only one I want, Dream Lord." I insisted with a wide grin.

Nothing. No smile, no teasing, just the same blank expression. After a few minutes of silence he spoke calmly, "I'm assuming there were no other attacks in my absence."

"No," I replied, bracing myself for this part of the conversation.

A nod. "Good, it won't take too long finding the individuals behind this."

"About that," I said nervously. Taking a deep breath I met his cold gaze. "I don't want you to get involved."

A flash of annoyance and anger filled him, curling around me. "What?"

"It's just…" I sighed. "These people are dangerous, Dream-"

"All the more reason for me to deal with it."

"They're well organized and well versed in both magic and science. If they find out you're involved in any way they will trap you," I said, watching his eyes flare with memories of his cage. "I'm not going to risk that happening, not ever again."

His jaw clenched. "I will be discreet."

"No." I could see the understanding fill his eyes as my aching worry reached out to him. "I have lost far too many people to this crazy cult mad scientist bullshit. I am not willing to risk losing you too."

"Penelope-"

"Promise me, Morpheus." I bit back a sob. "Promise me you'll let me handle it. Please."

He nodded, every inch of him rigid and tense. "Very well."

"Thank you."

Dream watched as I held the now smaller bits of food out to Matthew, who took it almost too eagerly. "You shouldn't indulge him."

"Oh leave him be," I said, the tenseness slowly dissolving. "He was human once, it's only fair that he gets some treats."

"If he gets too fat to fly back to The Dreaming it'll be on your head then."

I laughed. "If your magic ravens get fat from a few pieces of biscuit then that's just poor execution on your part."

Matthew ignored us both in favor of the food, but made quiet content noises from beside me. Dream continued looking around with his lips pouted. I could sense the emotions he was feeling, but couldn’t identify them. It was like a glass wall separated them from me, and looking at him I could just tell he was doing it on purpose. To keep me from being forced to feel them perhaps? Or to keep him from having to open up to me about what was wrong. Of the two the second seemed far more Dream.

I nudged his leg with my foot, bringing his emotionless eyes and face back to me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Dream…” I began. “I can feel something is off with you. Something you’re keeping from me.”

He sighed. “It is not important, Penelope.”

“I don’t care, I still want to-”

“Please.” He said, a flash of tenderness filling his eyes for a moment. “I do not wish to burden you with trivial things.”

With a sigh I handed Matthew the last piece. “Okay, but I want you to know that I’m here. No matter what it is, or how trivial it may seem, I’m here.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, sounding almost pained by the kindness of my words.

I didn’t push it further. Dream was stubborn and if he really didn’t want to talk to me, he wouldn’t. Trying to pry more out of him would only result in a fight, and after eighty years apart I did not want to spend our newfound time together fighting over little things.

After paying for the food we began walking once again. In one hand he held his bread and the other hand was stuffed in his pocket. I missed the feel of his arm wrapped around mine, but respected his space. I knew that it wasn’t something he did to appear cold or to purposefully hurt my feelings. Even in his sour mood I didn't think he'd act cruelly. He was a private person, that was all.

I followed him to a nearby park where he took a seat on a park bench and slowly began picking away at the loaf of bread, tossing the pieces to the pigeons. This was odd. Dream of the Endless was not the type to sit in a park and feed pigeons. I looked at him and just as I was about to ask what he was doing his hand snapped up, catching a rogue ball as it came hurtling towards my face. The young man that came to retrieve it apologized and complemented Dream’s catch before turning and going back to his game. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

His eyes gave me a once over and then the silence returned. That feeling began to aw its way back up just as I spotted the black boots approaching us. Everything was washed away with the warmth of her. With a bright smile I leapt up and threw my arms around her. “Death!”

She returned my embrace with an even tighter one. “It’s so good to see you, Penelope.” She pulled away, fixing my hair and looking at me with the warm loving gaze I hadn't seen in years. “You look good, how are you doing?”

The last time I saw her was the night I nearly died. I’d almost begged her to take me then, and she’d been the one to assure me that there was still so much for me to live for. I smiled even wider, ignoring the tears that started to fill my eyes. “Better.”

“Good.” She said looking down at Dream, her face contorting into confusion. “What’s he doing?”

I shrugged. “No clue, he’s in a mood.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she assured. “Why don’t you go do something fun?”

He looked up at us now as the words of his sister registered, but before he could speak I held up my hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay within your line of sight.”

Dreams' jaw was tense as he nodded. “Thank you.”

Death gave me a look, but I waved her off, walking over to a nearby tree and plopping down. The two of them had a lot to talk about, and if anyone was going to get Dream out of his mood it was her. Matthew joined me shortly, nodding to the small hot dog cart off to the side. “Hungry?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, but I’ll get one for you.”

“You’re the best Penny!”

***

Death sat down beside him with a sigh, watching him closely. “What are you doin’?”

“I’m feeding the pigeons.” It was a simple answer, one that Dream knew would not keep her from digging up what was truly on his mind. His older sister was wise and had a talent for getting the truth out of people.

“‘You do that too much, you know what you get?’” She asked with a grin. “‘Fat pigeons.’”  When he didn’t react she laughed quietly to herself. “That’s from Mary Poppins. Did you ever see it?”

“No.”

She watched a child run through the group of birds that had gathered in front of them, her joy among the humans was something he found odd, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he envied her. She saw them, truly saw them, for all that they were and she loved them. “Okay, so what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. I mean look at you. Sittin’ here, moping, pigeon-feeding. It’s not like you.”

He sighed. “No. Perhaps it isn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re right. Something is the matter.” He paused as she got comfortable on the bench beside him. “When they captured me, I just had one thought. Vengeance. And then…” His eyes found Penelope, mind racing with all the memories of her being chained and beaten in front of him. Death seemed to understand. “Then it wasn’t just about me, and my hunger for that vengeance grew.” With another sigh he shook his head. “It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected. Meanwhile, my kingdom had fallen apart. My tools long since stolen and scattered. And so I embarked upon a journey to find them. Which I did, along with the girl I’d spent eighty years mourning. She’s here, healthy and happy and I’m more powerful than I have been in eons. And yet…”

“Here you are feeding the pigeons.” She finished for him, gently clapping her hands together.

“You see, until then, I’d had a true quest. A purpose beyond my function and then suddenly, it was over, and…” He made a face. “I felt disappointed. Let down. Empty. Does that make sense? I was so sure that once I got everything back, I’d feel good… that I’d be able to let her go and move on. But in some ways I feel worse than when I started. I feel like… Nothing.” He tore his eyes away from Penelope. “You asked.”

Death put a comforting hand on top of his knee and smiled at him. “You could have called me, you know.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She rolled her eyes and stood quickly. “Oh, I don’t believe it. Let me tell you something, Dream.” Taking the bread out of his hands she pointed it at him accusingly. “And I’m only gonna say this once, so you better pay attention. You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centered, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification on this or any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over and you haven’t got the balls to go out and find a new one.” Her bread wielding hand gestured over to Penelope. An obvious message. “You’re as bad as Desire. No worse.” She threw the bread at him with an exasperated sigh. “Did it never occur to you that I would be worried about you?”

“I didn’t think-”

“Exactly! You didn’t think.”

The white ball flew through the air toward the back of Death's head. She whirled around and caught it right before it could connect and with a sigh she handed it back to its owner. “Wow. You’re as good as you… friend there.”

Looking back at him she shrugged. “He’s not my friend. He’s my brother. And he’s an idiot.”

He returned to his curled up position, tossing more crumbs down into the grass. “I’m just feeding the birds.”

“Look, I can’t stay here all day. I’ve got work to do. You can come with me if you want, or you can stay here and sulk.”

His eyes flickered back to Penelope. “What about her?”

“Is she not allowed to be alone all of a sudden?” Death joked.

“There are people after her,” he said, watching his sister's face grow more concerned as she looked over at Penelope. “I do not want to be far, just in case…”

“She can come with, if she’s comfortable with that. She's good for you, by the way," Death said with a smirk.

Penelope sat under the shade of a large tree, tossing bits of hot dog up to Matthew who swooped down making attempts to catch them before they hit the ground. She'd made a sarcastic comment about his eyesight, resulting in Matthew dropping the hot dog into her hair. He made playful attempts to get it, pecking her head and tugging on her hair lightly. They chased each other around the tree, her laugh lighting up the whole park.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, though he didn’t really need an answer. It was obvious.

She pointed to him. "You get that look when you see her, even when you’re sulking."

"I don't have a look."

"You do. It's cute!"

"Dream!" Penelope shrieked, running over to him and ducked behind him so he was in between her and the raven. "Control your pigeon!"

"Pigeon?!" Matthew hollered. "Low blow!"

She peeked out from behind his shoulder and flipped the bird off. The two bickered with him between them, yet all he could do was smile. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister's knowing grin and immediately forced his lips down. "Settle down you two."

Finally the two relaxed and Penelope turned to his sister and asked her about work, as if it was nothing to her, speaking to Death. After a minute he realized she still hung onto his shoulders, using him as a perch, not unlike the raven she bickered with. "Is there a reason you're hanging off of me?"

"Not particularly, why am I weighing you down, mighty Dream Lord?” She teased in his ear.

"Not physically. Mentally you are quite the weight to carry." Though his tone hadn’t changed, Penelope caught onto his playful meaning instantly.

She gasped and groaned, slumping forward, now fully hanging off him, acting as if she’d been struck. "You wound me, my lord! Oh! I fear I’ll never recover!”

“I wish to accompany my sister for a while.” He said, looking at her from over his shoulder. “Will you join us?”

“I don’t want to impose,” she said, nervousness flaring in him.

Death smiled. “You won’t be. I’ll tell you when to stay put and we’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” she replied, squeezing his shoulder and moving to stand beside him as he rose to follow his sister. She moved further in front of them and he immediately reached out to her. She gave him a comforting smile.

“You can stand with us,” he said.

“You two have a lot to talk about,” she insisted sweetly. “I don’t want to intrude.”

He let his hand return to his side. “Stay within my sight.”

“I know, I know.” 

Dream watched her walk forward, Matthew perched on her shoulder, and he felt a piercing pang of guilt fill his gut. He’d told himself he would say goodbye to her and let her live the life she’d built without him. She was happy, the feel of it warmed him. His presence would only bring her trouble, but she was already in trouble. The white coats and the doctor were a thorn in his side, but the even bigger thorn was her. He recalled her words to him, her gentle plea that barred him from involving himself in the matter. If it’d been up to him he would have already hunted them all down and put an end to this. He could do it still. But what would that cost? Her? 

“Look!” Death said sweetly, drawing his eyes from Penelope to the stand of fruits and vegetables. “Yum! Okay two please.”

“None for me, thank you.”

She looked back at him with that loving sisterly gaze he’d missed so much. “They’re good for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can just have it later,” she insisted with a shrug. When he didn’t budge she turned back to the vendor. “Just one, thanks.”

He watched the man clean the apple off and hand it to his sister with a warm smile. “There you go. It’s a gift.”

“Aw. Thank you! That’s so nice.” She turned, taking a large bite of the apple and then nodded to the vendor. “Mmm! That is delicious.”

“You are good with them,” he noted.

“Apples?”

“Humans.” His heart dropped when Penelope wasn’t where she had been. He took a long stride forward, Death's hand on his arm stopped him. She nodded to a small covered stall just a few steps ahead of them where Penelope knelt letting a child observe Matthew, who perched on her arm with his wings spread wide, clearly showing off. His heart slowed and he took a deep breath. She stood, urging Matthew to hop back onto her shoulder as the vendor, the child's father he assumed, handed her a bouquet of flowers. He listened to her whisper a soft thank you to them before glancing up to find him and Death before continuing onward, smelling the flowers as she walked.

Death watched him with her knowing eyes, practically beaming beside him at how obviously and pathetically enthralled he was with the human girl. She held the apple out to him, a smug smile on her face. “Bite?”

“No, thank you.” He replied.

“Hmm. Have you seen any of the others since you’ve been back?”

He shook his head, looking over at her. “Have you?”

“We did have one family dinner when you were away. The twins were in high spirits. Mmm, Desire was anyway.”

“With me gone, I have no doubt.”

“I don’t know. I think Desire missed having their usual sparring partner across the dinner table.”

“Any word of the prodigal?”

Death shook her head sadly. “No. Still missing. You were both missed.”

Dreams' eyes stayed locked onto Penelope as the crowd began to thin. She spoke to the raven beside her, not caring if anyone looked at her oddly, the joy he’d felt in her since this morning hadn’t dwindled at all, not even when she'd asked him to stay out of things. It was always there, buried in whatever else she was feeling. How does she do it? He questioned. She was being hunted like an animal at this very moment. Anyone else would have been terrified, paranoid at every noise or stranger, and yet she was here walking in front of him acting as if nothing was wrong. Death nudged his shoulder. “How are you sis? How have you been keeping? Aww. I’m well, Dream. Thanks for asking.”

He didn’t fight the smile this time, leaning into her and asking, “How are you, my sister? How have you been keeping?”

“I’m worried about my brother,” she answered honestly before perking up and holding out her nearly gone fruit. “And I’m enjoying this apple.”

Penelope’s sigh drew his eyes back to her. She swayed to the sound of the violin playing in the distance, twisting and twirling to the soft melody. He couldn’t help but stare at her, wondering how anyone could be so beautiful. Death pulled him to a stop, looking up at the building. “Can you hear it?”

“I know this piece,” he realized. “I haven’t heard it in two hundred years.”

“Come on,” she whispered, urging him to follow. 

He looked back at Penelope. “Wait here. We won’t be long.”

She jumped up onto the stone wall and smiled. “We’ll be right here, Dream.”

***

I watched him follow Death into the yellow house where the violin had stopped playing and sighed, turning my face up to the sun. Matthew had hopped off my shoulder and settled beside me. “So, this isn’t exactly the human outting I was expecting. But it’s nice. Kind of relaxing, which is weird considering we’re walking with Death literally behind us.”

“She’s sweet,” I assured him, pulling a flower out of my bouquet and setting it on the stone beneath us. “Far more friendly than any of the others I’ve met so far.”

“Was Destiny a dick?” He asked with a chuckle. “Seems like he would be.”

“No,” I answered with a smile. “He was polite, but very cryptic.”

Matthew fluffed his feathers a little and watched the people walk past for a moment before asking, “Are you scared?”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, scared they’re gonna try and grab you at any minute?”

I looked around at the crowd of people and shook my head. “They’re not here.”

“How can you tell?”

Shrugging I watched the faces of smiling people pass and listened to the roar of their conversations. “They’ve been hunting me for eighty years. I’ve gotten pretty good at picking them out of crowds.”

He sighed. “I can’t even imagine what that's like.”

“It’s not all bad,” I said gently. “I just moved around a lot.”

“Yeah, and literally had people try to kidnap you more than once!” 

“You get used to it after a while,” I answered. “It sounds sad, I know, but I did okay after a while. Lived as much as I could moving from town to town. I got to see the world, got to live in places I’d never even heard of.”

Matthew looked up at me. “You’re probably one of the most positive people I’ve ever met. It’s kind of annoying.”

***

As Death and Dream exited the house he felt relieved to find Penelope in the same place he’d left her, for once. Beside him Death smiled. “She’s lovely.”

“I do not deserve her.” It was honest, but he hadn’t meant for it to sound so hopeless.

“Maybe not. But she’s here all the same.” She said, “And from what little time I got with her it’s quite clear she’s not going to just let you disappear.”

He looked over at her, silently surprised that she’d read him that well. “I-”

“You're my brother, Dream. I know you. And I know you’re an idiot, big enough of one to think that abandoning that girl over there was a good idea.”

“She’s lost so much of her life already because of me.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve to lose anything else.”

“What do you think you’ll be doing if you leave her now?” Death asked. “Because the way I see it, you’ll be robbing her not only of any future with you but also her choice in deciding if that’s what she wants.”

Death said nothing else to him, she simply made her way to Penelope and helped her off the wall with a smile. They waited for him to join them, and then they continued on. His sister's words echoed in his mind as they walked across the bridge, leaving Matthew and Penelope behind them. He hadn’t thought of what he would be taking away from her by just removing himself from her life without say or warning. 

From his side she said, “I thought he was sweet, didn’t you?”

He thought of the old man they’d just left. “Sweet? I don’t know. Perhaps. My sister," He’d meant to tell her earlier, but had forgotten in his haste to move. “When I was captured, it wasn’t me they were looking for. It was you.”

Death nodded, a sorrowful smile on her lips. “Yeah, I know.”

He felt the ball of pain in him as the unanswered question exploded. So they had known, had known and did not come to his aid. She used his shoulder to kneel down and take off her boots. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking my shoes off. You should take yours off too. It’s good to touch the Earth with your bare feet. It’s grounding.” She was so odd, in a way that made him wonder how they were related. Grounding? Why would he need grounding? “Come on, I don’t want to miss the next one.”

Looking back at Penelope as she looked out at the water, a look of something in her eyes as she turned to look at him. Before he could even think the thought she’d smiled and waved him off. “I know, Dream.” 

She was insufferable.

***

The water moved and rippled beneath the bridge as I bent over the side to look down at it. Matthew watched me curiously. “So, rumor has it you threw a car off a bridge.”

“I did,” I admitted, resisting the curl of adrenaline that surged through me at the memory of the car falling and the water surrounding me.

“Why?”

“It seemed like my only option at the time,” I said, chuckling. “Though that might’ve been all the sedation drugs I was coming off of.”

Matthew cawed and said, “He’s different than he was when I first met him.”

“Dream?” I asked, looking down at him. 

He gave me a tiny nod. “Yeah, he was all doom and gloom the first few times I interacted with him, I mean he’s still all doom and gloom the majority of the time, but, when he saw you it was different. It actually looked like he gave a shit about something, which was new considering his resting face looks like it does.”

I laughed, my heart fluttering at the thought, before the undeniable weight I felt in my gut returned. “He’s gonna try leaving.”

“What?” The raven demanded. “Why would he do that when he’s so obviously, I don’t know, in love with you?”

“I don’t know if he’s in love with me,” I argued. “Maybe it’s just this, just tension. Once we take that leap it’ll be gone and he’ll want to move on.”

Matthew laughed. “That’s not at all what this is and you know it.”

I focused back on the water. “I just don’t want to be blindsided again.”

“You’re not gonna get blindsided, Penny.” He assured me, tapping my arm with his beak in an attempt at a pat. “He’s not going anywhere.”

***

Dream watched the woman, the new wife of the man his sister had come for, cradle her husband's body in her arms and wail. He’d known that pain, he’d lived with that pain for eighty years. The only difference was that his grief and mourning had been put to an abrupt end by the woman he thought he lost. As he and Death returned to the bridge he felt an uneasy weight in his chest, a realization, as he looked at her. She had mourned him too. When they first reunited she’d told him that she tried to come back to the Burgess house to free him. It had been left unsaid, but obvious that this attempt was what led to her current troubles. Because of him. No. For him.

Penelope was a lot of things, but a victim of circumstance was not one of them. Everything she’d been forced to endure she did so with blood and fire. She could have bent under Rodericks thumb or under the doctor's blade, but instead she burned brighter and fought and raged until the chains that held her broke. She had not chosen to be stuck in the basement with him, to receive the mark that bound them, but she’d chosen every action that followed. And each time her choice was the same. Him. She chose him every day for years, most likely far longer than even he knew. He looked at her and felt her steady heartbeat in his chest, felt the swarm of joy and love that filled her as her eyes found him across the bridge. If he gave her a choice he knew what her answer would be and that scared him. 

Death looked up at him and nudged him forward, and they reunited with the duo just as she’d finished pulling a flower from her bouquet and placing it on the bridge. He nodded towards it. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just felt like leaving a little piece behind.”

Death smiled and rubbed Penelope's shoulder. “That’s sweet.”

“Where to next?” She asked as Matthew settled back on her shoulder. 

Death watched him with a curious gaze as he watched Penelope continue down the new street, not even batting an eye at what they were here for, not questioning any of it. “What?”

“How do you do it?” He questioned. 

“Do what?”

“This. Be there, for her, for all of them.”

She shrugged modestly, as if what she did wasn’t that important. “I have a job to do. And I do it. When the first living thing existed, I was there. When the last living thing dies, I’ll put the chairs on the table, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave. And I’m not there for all of them, there are exceptions. Mad Hettie. Penelope. And then there's your ongoing project. How’s he faring up after all this time?”

“Who? Hob Gadling?” Dream sighed. He hadn’t thought of the man in a long while. “I don’t know. I was forced to miss our last appointment.”

“Well I’m sure he’d love to see you.” She said, “They’re never too keen to see me though.”

He looked at her softly. “Does it not bother you?”

“I actually used to think I had the hardest job in all our family.”

“Oh did you?”

“They fear the Sunless Lands, yet they enter your realm every night without fear.”

He smirked. “And yet I am far more terrible than you.”

She laughed for a moment before a nervous guilt passed over her features. “It was fine in the beginning. Dying and living were new things and people did them with the enthusiasm they always bring to new things. And then after a bit, it just got harder.”

“But you continued.”

“I thought about giving up. Walking out.” She walked into the house as he looked up the road at Penelope. 

“Don’t wander,” He reminded her, noticing she’d gone further than he’d thought.

She turned back around and came walking towards him with a sarcastic salute. “Apologies, Dream Lord Sir!”

He rolled his eyes and followed his sister inside.

***

I sat on the steps of the house Death and Dream walked into a few minutes ago, pulling another flower from the bunch and setting it on the step beside me. “No more questions dear Matthew?”

“You’re kind of an open book to be honest,” he replied from his perch beside me. “Though I am curious as to what your theory is on your whole situation.”

“That’s a very loaded question.”

“Aren’t those the best kind?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask.” I retorted, avoiding the answer.

He looked at me expectantly. “Come on, you have to have some theories.”

Shrugging I sighed. “I mean I did a long time ago, or at least I thought I did, but eventually it all just molded into one very dark theory.”

“Let's hear it.”

“I’m cursed.” I finally said, looking away from him, anywhere else. “It’s kind of the only thing that explains everything. Anything I touch, anything that I get close to gets ripped from the world because of me. It’s why I never… Why no one…”

Matthew was quiet for a while before he said, softly, “I don’t think you’re cursed, Penny.”

“Thank you.”

***

Dream had watched his sister take the child with a heavy heart and thoughts filled with the memories of his own son's loss. He exited the house, Death close behind when they walked into Penelope and Matthews conversation.

“I’m cursed.” She said after what appeared to be a long moment of silence, looking out at the sky. “It’s kind of the only thing that explains everything. Anything I touch, anything that I get close to gets ripped from the world because of me. It’s why I never… Why no one…”

Dream felt her sorrow mingle with his own as Matthew softly replied, “I don’t think you’re cursed, Penny.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was strained, on the verge of tears as Death closed the door loudly.

She stood quickly, not even turning to look at them before she continued forward, moving out of their way. When they all stood together for a moment, to travel to Death’s next appointment she didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on the ground in front of them, twisting her necklace between her fingers. How long had she thought this? He wondered. How long had she been waiting for him to abandon her as well because of some curse?

In the next location he watched Penelope more closely, watched her leave a flower in the room of the patient across from his sister. She made small talk, laughed alongside the stranger and bid them a gentle farewell when it was time to leave. Her sorrow had lessened when she rejoined them, walking closer and closer to them each time they moved now, but still out of reach.

"You were there that night. The night she should have..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

Beside him Death nodded. "Yeah, I was."

"What happened? Why didn't you take her?"

"Because she pulled herself out of that river and breathed." She said simply. "She was alive again."

"How..." He wanted, no needed, to know. "How did she feel about that?"

His sister met his gaze and smiled sadly. "She wanted to come with me. She was one of the first that ever has."

“Could she have?” he asked.

“No. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Will you take her eventually?”

Death shook her head as they walked down the alleyway. “I don’t think so. Something tells me she’s not meant for my lands, not for a long, long while at least.”

Dream looked at Penelope where she stood on the sidewalk by the street as his sister worked beside him. She left a flower on a small ledge of a nearby building with a smile. And when some loud drilling or construction work echoed from a few streets away she covered her ears with her hands, a wave of fear hitting her, and him, like a truck. But, just as he moved to go to her he felt her take deep breaths and heard the soft words that left her lips as she pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m here. I’m alive.” When they rejoined one another she’d calmed down, so much so he wouldn’t have even noticed what had happened if he hadn’t been looking. 

In the field she waited on the path for them, leaving a flower on a nearby bench as she knelt down and played with a group of dogs as they and their owners passed through. She was so bright and full of life, even though only moments ago she was nearly curled in on herself with a residual fear. As they resumed their movements he could only focus on one thing. How resilient she was, had always been from the beginning. No one else would have survived, and they certainly wouldn’t be as she was, not as courageous, not as happy, not as alive.

“It’s funny, looking back now,” Death continued beside him. “I used to think I had to do this all by myself.”

“But you do.”

“No. At the end, I’m there with them. I’m holding their hand and they’re holding mine. I’m not alone when I’m doing my job. And neither are you. Think about it. The only reason we even exist, you and I, and Desire and Despair, the whole family. We’re here to serve them. It isn’t about quests or finding purpose outside our function. Our purpose is our function. We’re here for them. Since I figured that out, I realized I need them as much as they need me. I’ve seen so many cool things and people and worlds. I’ve learned so much. Lots of people don’t have a job they love doing, do they. So, I think I’m really lucky.” 

She said it all with a passion he’d long since forgotten. Dream didn’t even truly remember the last time he enjoyed making his creations. “Listen, I’ve got to head back soon, but before I go I need to say this. That girl is in love with you, Dream. She has been from the start, she was the night I found her by that river. And if you leave her after everything you’ve both been through she will never forgive you. You’ll never forgive yourself and I certainly won’t forgive you. So, just this once, don’t be such an idiot.”

He stepped in front of her and held her hands. “You’ve taught me something I had forgotten. I thank you, my sister.”

She smiled. “Aw. That’s what family’s about, little brother.”

Penelope had stopped off to the side but quickly joined them when Death turned and opened her arms. She embraced her tightly and Dream watched her sink into the hug, soaking in the warmth of his sister's embrace. “Will I see you again?”

Death chuckled. “I don’t know when it comes to you.”

“Then I guess we’ll see,” Penelope replied fondly.

“Goodbye, Penelope. I might be seeing you.”

“Goodbye, Death. I might be seeing you too.”

***

As we walked through a small crowded alley Dream set his hand against my back and led me through the crowd of people. Once we reached a larger area he stood close beside me, his hand occasionally brushing against mine. "I'd like to introduce you to someone. A friend I need to reconnect with."

I opened my mouth in amused surprise. "Friend? That's a big word for you, Dream."

He rolled his eyes, lips twitching to fight the smile. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course," I said, falling into step beside him.

Looking up at him through my lashes I watched his eyes fill with that signature gloss of fondness. "I've not seen him in a long time, he may not be too happy with me."

“Oh?” I nudged him. "What'd you do?"

“What makes you think it was my doing?"

"Because I know you," I said laughing.

"I may have insisted I had no need for his friendship."

I hummed. "You know, you're kind of an ass, but I'm sure your friend will let it slide."

That soft smile finally graced his lips. "How very optimistic of you."

"Well one of us has to be."

Dream and I walked a ways before a familiar old tavern came into view. Beside me Dream looked sad, his eyes staring at the old building as if it had meant something more to him than I understood. I stayed quietly beside him, letting him work through the emotions I could feel bubbling against whatever barrier he'd kept between us, something I hated more and more with each passing minute. It felt wrong, not feeling what he did, even more so being able to feel something, but not all of it. Finally I said, "I came here once before it closed."

"You did?" He asked softly.

I nodded, leaning against him a bit. "Yeah, the place was an absolute shit hole, in the most endearing way of course."

"You should have seen it when Death first dragged me here." He chuckled a little. "They had livestock inside with the food and drinks. Absolutely abhorrent."

Looking up at him I smiled. "Don't lie, you loved it."

"I did not," he insisted. "But I suppose I did grow fond of it over the years. More so the friend I made here."

"Were you supposed to meet him here?"

"I was, a long time ago."

I pointed to the red graffiti. "Maybe he went to the new one?"

Dream sighed, turning and following the red that lined the fence. I didn’t need the bond to feel the nervousness rolling off of him. Did he and his friend leave things so horribly between them that he felt afraid they weren’t waiting for him? I leaned into him a little more, offering up a reassuring smile. Just around the corner, across a small section of tall grass was a beautiful brick building with white trim labeled The New Inn. Small tables with green umbrellas shielding them lined the patio as Dream and I entered.

Inside was decorated with old pale blue wallpaper and dark trim, blue curtains lined the large windows and antique looking tables lined the wall across from the bar. It was busy, but not so much that we couldn’t move through the space. I pulled away from Dreams' side. “Go look for your friend, I’ll hang out at the bar for a minute so you two can catch up.”

“You do not need to-”

“Go, Dream,” I prompted with a smile. “Unless you want me there for your grand apology.”

He nodded, moving through the space and around the corner, out of view. When he disappeared from my line of sight the ache slowly began to build again and I found myself worrying that if I followed he would be gone. God I was pathetic. If he was going to leave, why would he invite me to meet his friend with him? If he was going to leave, why would he still be around at all? I sighed, leaning against the bar counter, my eyes finding his black clad figure as he stood beside one of the tables, with his friend I assumed.

“Can I get you anything?” The bartender asked with a comforting smile.

I smiled back, recalling the man I’d met at the old tavern. “What’s the oldest whisky you have?”

***

Dream looked down at Hob Gadling with a smile, one Hob returned with a chuckle. “You’re late.”

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting.” The man's smile widened and he nodded to the seat across from him, which Dream took with a lightened heart. He was so sure that Hob would be angry at him, yet the man simply seemed happy to see him.

The two spoke for a while about what Hob had been doing in Dream's absence, but then something at the bar caught his friend's eye and he smiled even wider. “How many more immortals do you have running around?”

“They’re not my immortals,” Dream said simply. He supposed now was as good a time as any to explain a few details to the man.

Hob nodded to the bar. “See that knockout of a woman over there?”

Dream turned, his eyes immediately finding Penelope sitting at the bar, making polite conversation with the man behind the counter as she swirled a glass of whatever drink she’d ordered. He turned back to Hob with wide eyes. “Do you know her?”

“I met her at the old tavern, waiting for you actually.” Hob said with a chuckle. “She has not aged a day! So, I assume she's one of yours then?”

He was surprised to say the least. First Penelope had met his sister, then his brother, potentially his mother and now she'd apparently met Hob Gadling. He looked back at her, just as she rose from her seat to come find him. The warmth of her smile almost made him miss the fear that was twisted in her gut. He wanted to inquire about it, but as her eyes slid to the man he sat with and her smile grew he had to push the thought away. She pointed to him, squinting a little. "Hob?"

He laughed, standing and embracing her. "Strange Penelope. I should've known you were one of his immortals."

"I should have known you were! You're so obvious about it with all those age jokes!"

Dream watched Hob take his seat, trying his best to ignore the way his eyes lingered on Penelope as she pulled a chair up beside him and sat down. She looked at him and nodded to Hob. "So, this degenerate is your friend?"

"Yes, yours as well it appears."

She shrugged. "I wouldn't say friends. We met once, drank a little and then I never saw him again."

Hob scoffed. "That's about the same thing he and I do every hundred years. I don't even know his name!"

Penelope turned to him with wide shocked eyes. "You haven't told him your name? How long have you been meeting?"

"A very long time."

"Are you serious?!"

Dream sighed. These two were going to be absolutely unbearable together.

***

My stranger, Hob, was my Dream Lords best friend. God it was funny. So funny I had to physically restrain myself from laughing multiple times as the two interacted. Dream told Hob his name and explained a few little details and I watched poor immortal Hob Gadling eat the words up with glee.

Once he'd had his fill of Dreams answers he turned to me and smiled. "So, how long have you been around?"

"A hundred years. Well a hundred and twelve years."

He smiled and shook his head. "You're just a newbie then, aren't you?"

"A hundred and twelve is hardly new!" I argued.

Hob shrugged. "Have you ever killed anyone?"

I tensed. "Why?"

"Well, as an immortal myself it's kind of a staple of the experience."

Trying not to think about just how many that actually was I nodded, my fingers curling into my glass. "Yes."

"How many?" He asked, leaning forward with a smile. Hob was curious, rightful so, I was the first immortal he'd met.

"A lot."

He hummed. "What was the first one? How'd you do it?"

"My father." I answered stiffly. "I tore his throat open with my teeth."

Hob made a face. "Well, I've never done that before."

"I don't recommend it," I took a drink of my whisky. "Takes weeks to get the taste out."

"Oh I can imagine!" He said. "Now, what's the worst way you should've died? Mines a tie between starvation, thrilling I know, and hanging! Interesting story that-"

My eyes were glued to the amber liquid in my glass as I thought about all the ways I should have died. There were so many… All under the pale eyes of that damn fucking doctor. Dreams hand wrapped around my thigh, his thumb drawing tiny circles into the skin. "You're here, with me."

I smiled at him, putting my hand on top of his, the memories fading away the more I looked into his eyes. Hob continued on describing his most noteworthy deaths, but he didn't ask me about it again. As the sun began to set Dream and Hob began reminiscing on the old days.

"Do you remember what the place looked like at the beginning?" Hob asked, laughing. "It was god awful!"

"Yes," Dream agreed. "I believe the livestock was partly to blame for that."

"Livestock," Hob shook his head looking around. "It's crazy how far humanity has come since then."

"How did the old tavern end up closing?" Dream wondered.

His friend shrugged. "Some people wanted to turn it into an apartment or something. Project fell through a little while after I found this place. I do miss it though."

"Why don't you two go back and look at the place?" I asked. "It's just around the corner."

Hob gave me an odd look. "It's locked up though."

"Hob Gadling, are you telling me you've never broken into a building before?" I laughed.

"I've never really needed to before," he mumbled.

Turning to Dream I said with a smirk. "I know for a fact you've broken into plenty of places. Fancy a walk down memory lane?"

He smiled a little. "I'm not opposed to the idea."

"Good! Because I want to hear all about you two idiots over the years!" I stood, nodding at the men to follow.

The gate was easy, so easy Dream hadn’t even gotten to offer his assistance before it slid open. The two looked around, pointing out things that had changed before we even stepped inside the musty space. Dust coated all the leftover furniture and the remaining sunlight that peaked in through the busted windows made the space feel even more like some far off memory. I stood at the bar, in the same spot I had been sitting the night Hob wandered over and smiled. What were the chances of us meeting? What were the odds of it being on the day he was waiting for the same Sandman that I, in one way or another, also waited on?

Hob settled in beside me, smirking at the fond memory. “Still the prettiest girl in the place.”

“It’s good to see your moves haven’t gotten any better,” I replied as Dream looked around the space.

“And what about your moves?” Hob asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Strange Penelope,  what ever happened to the bloke you were getting hot and heavy with that night?"

I nearly choked and sent him a look, heat rising to my cheeks as Dream's gaze fell on me."You noticed that?"

"Oh I think everyone noticed that."

"Well, I wouldn't know what happened to him. I never saw him again."

"A one night stand, how scandalous!" Hob sang.

I groaned and shook my head. "No, we kissed a little and I left."

"Was he that bad?" 

I shrugged, eyes gluing to the floor. "It wasn't him. I just... Couldn't get someone else out of my head."

When I looked up and met Dreams gaze it was dark and hot as pride and tingle of something else twisted between us. I took in his posture, the way his jaw had tensed, the way his hands had curled into themselves. Was he jealous? Before I could ask, Hob turned to him. “So, you’ve got some kind of… Magic, right?”

“I do,” he answered coolly. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was just thinking the best way to give Penelope a taste of what things were like in the old days would be, well, through some kind of magic.” He answered. “Can you turn back time or something?”

Dream scoffed. “I am not a magician Hob Gadling.”

“Well what can you do?” He inquired.

He looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “I can cast a simple illusion. It should suffice for your purposes.”

Hob nodded with a wide grin. “Alright then, let's give the girl a proper tour!”

Dream waved his hand and the room around us filled with smoke and livestock and people from long ago. I looked around at them, listened to the near incoherent conversations they had before turning and looking at Hob, who was now dressed head to toe in rags. Suppressing a laugh I nodded. “This was the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Oh shut it,” he scolded. “This was what everyone wore back then. I get better!”

“When was this?””

“1389,” Dream replied from behind us.

When I turned to look at him I was taken aback at the sight. His hair was longer, brushing against his shoulders. The black tunic he wore had long intricate sleeves that flared away from his wrists in a dramatic fashion and his ruby hung around his neck. I nodded at him. “Not bad, Dream.”

“Oh come on he looks as ridiculous as I do!” Hob argued before he scoffed. “You know what just take us to the next year!”

Dream merely smirked as he waved his hand again, the illusion around us shifting. The smoke cleared and things had gotten a little cleaner. The people's clothes changed as they shifted through the space. Hob was still dressed poorly, but less so than he had been. His hair was cut shorter and combed through and his brown attire looked at least somewhat cleaner and finer made. I pointed to his hair. “At least you improved a little.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, let's all make fun of the dirty little peasant!”

My eyes slid over to Dream. His hair was also shorter, framing his face similar to the first one. His black attire was slimmer, better fit to his body, the long cloak flared behind him in a very Dream way as he moved through the space, inspecting the fireplace by the table in the corner. “It’s a bit simple for you.”

He chuckled. “Simple?”

“Yeah, your usual style has a bit more flare to it. Fancy boots, your little midnight coat, you know Dream things.”

Hob looked at the fireplace with Dream and laughed. “I can’t believe I was going on about chimneys and card games.”

Dreams eyes slid away from me, a dangerous glint in them leaving me wondering what trick he had up his sleeve. “Indeed, it was quite riveting to listen to.”

“1589 then?”

With a nod Dream did his magic and the space lit up with the warmth of the fires. Everyone was dressed finely, making conversation and Hob had changed the most. He was dressed head to toe in an elaborate silk tunic adorned with blue designs and frilled cuffs. His hair was pulled back and his face framed with a goatee. He held his arms out nodding enthusiastically. “It’s good right?”

I nodded back, running a hand over the fine fabric of his shoulder. “An improvement for sure, Hob.”

“Ah, no then I was known as Sir Robert Gadling!” He proclaimed proudly.

I leaned back against the table and laughed at him. “Sir, what did a degenerate like you do to get such a fine title?” 

He leaned in and whispered, “I don’t actually remember.”

Just as I was about to ask where Dream had gone he walked around the corner and my heart stopped, mouth falling open slightly with a breathless, “Oh shit.”

He was dressed head to toe in glossy black leather. His hair was slicked back, revealing the glint of an earring. God this is not fair. I bit my lip, eyes focusing on the ruby that reflected in the candlelight as he walked leisurely towards me, each step echoing through the space. I was blushing, I just knew I was. Hob had moved to look at something across the room and I had never been more thankful for his absence as Dream stood, dark eyes looking down at me.

 “Well, what is your verdict, my lady?” He inquired, tilting his head a little, flashing his neck. 

“It’s…” My voice was hoarse. “It’s a good look.”

His brow arched and he smirked down at me. “Good?”

A shiver ran down my spine and straight to my core. God damn you and that fucking voice. His smirk grew and he closed the little space that was between us. I tried to keep my thoughts from straying, but as soon as my hands touched the soft leather of his chest, in an attempt to steady myself, the filthy image filled my mind and if the unbearably hungry look in his eyes meant anything his too. It was a simple little fantasy. Dream, dressed in this newfound leather attire, throwing me on top of the table and fucking me relentlessly in the tavern full of people.

His lust smoldered between us as he took in the new information. “Is that how you think it would go?”

“Am I wrong?” I asked, straining to keep my eyes on his and not on his lips. 

“Perhaps we’ll have to test that active imagination of yours,” he whispered, lips moving closer to mine. “Later.”

Then he pulled away from me entirely and it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on me. Hob rejoined us, asking to continue through the fun, while I glared at Dream. You’re an asshole. 

The next hundred years Hob had lost everything, dressed back down to rags and disheveled hair. Dream however was dressed elegantly in black, long hair cascading down his shoulders. I glared at him as Hob looked down at himself and complained. I should pull your dumb long hair. He merely chuckled at me and we moved forward.

A hundred years later and both of them were dressed in high collars and well adorned outfits. They looked good, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of their hair curled and prim and proper. Hob rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what fashion was back then!”

“I don’t,” I said between laughs. “But my god your hair!”

A flash of gold entered the illusion and I turned with wide eyes staring at Johanna. Dream hummed. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten about this.”

“Is Johanna immortal too?” I asked looking at the image of the woman in front of me. 

“No,” Dream assured me. “This is her ancestor. Though the resemblance is uncanny.”

“She would absolutely hate this,” I said with a smile at the thought of her disgusted face looking at the poofy dress.

I saw Dream’s 1889 look first this time. A simple black overcoat, short hair slicked back underneath a long top hat. He quickly took them both off, revealing a form fitting black shirt with his ruby around his neck. He looked good, and he knew it, but I refused to give him the satisfaction after his rude teasing. So I turned to Hob, who was dressed in simple gray and white with nicely styled hair. “Looking good Hob!”

He beamed at me. “I told you I got better.”

I ran my hands down his shoulders and smiled back at Dream. “Don’t you think this is a good look for him?”

Dream glared at Hob, then at me and sighed. “It looks fine.”

Eventually, the sun set and Hob retired for the evening, but not without making Dream promise to return soon… before the next hundred years, to make up for missing their last meeting. Then it was just he and I, walking along the mostly empty streets. “So, it looks like I know your friend.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was not expecting that.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

With a quiet sigh he looked at me and smiled. “Would you come with me back to The Dreaming?”

Warmth filled my chest and I turned into him. “Of course. But I need to grab a few things from my apartment first, and tell Johanna.”

He nodded in agreement, using his sand to take us to my room. I packed a small bag of clothes, knowing full well I intended on staying as long as he’d let me, before I left in search of Johanna. Dream waited in the doorway as I searched the living room. “Jo?”

“In there,” she said from the office. She was knee deep in a box of crosses, grumbling to herself as she tried to fish out a particular one. When she saw me she smiled. “Have a good time with your man?”

I rolled my eyes, moving through the mess to grab the bag of trinkets from my desk drawer. I’d wanted to show Dream some of the things Jessamy had found, but with the insanity of his arrival and everything that followed there hadn’t been time. “Shut it. I’m going with him for a few days, I hope. Will you and Pierre be alright here?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. He’s annoying as fuck, but the french man is very good at handeling himself. And I’m, well, I’m me so no worries there.”

“Be safe, and please don’t kill him while I’m gone,” I said, giving her a one armed hug over her mess. “I want to be there for the show.”

She laughed, but looked in my eyes with a seriousness unlike her. “You seem off. Everything okay?”

I sighed. “I’m about to find out.”

“If we need to kill him, let me know, I’ve got some people that might know a trick or two.”

“Goodnight, Johanna.”

As I made my way out the door she hollared back, “And if you fuck him I’m going to want the details!”

I laughed all the way back to my room and smiled at Dream when he gave me a curious look. “All set to travel, Dream.”

He set a hand on my back and I curled into his stiff body. Something was still on his mind, but I couldn’t tell what, so I elected to ignore it… I’d wait for him to bring it up, or at least until I couldn’t wait any longer. 

The sand took us somewhere different this time, the boards of the pier creaked and groaned with the soft gentle movements of the water. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but the deep sapphire and the reflection of the misty star filled skies. The air smelled like rain as a light breeze surrounded us, making me curl deeper into Dreams embrace. For a moment we stood in the silence, content to just exist, but then Dream cleared his throat and stepped away. He pulled the bag of Jessamys ashes out of his coat and smiled down at me. "She would have wanted us to do this together."

I nodded, holding my hands out and letting him pour half of the ashes in my palms before he poured the rest in his. Together we slowly let the ashes spread in the light breeze and the glistening waters below us. "Goodbye, old friend."

"May you finally be at peace," I whispered.

The silence that had once been comforting was now filled with uncertainty as I felt my gut twist the longer we stood. "Morpheus."

"Yes?"

"Are you going to leave?" I watched the water, afraid to look away.

He sighed, hands clasped behind him. "I thought about it."

There it was. The answer I didn't want to hear. Stinging pain, echoes of the countless abandonments and betrayals over the years filled me. Tears threatened to spill over as I said, "I would understand if you did." He hadn't been expecting this, his eyes looking down at me. "I can't imagine what it must be like, being thrown into the mess of my life."

"That's not at all why I'd been considering it, Penelope." He turned to me, his hand settling on my arm. "Look at me, please."

I did so with my jaw clenched. "Then why?"

His eyes looked even brighter here as he looked down at me. "I don't deserve you."

I laughed a little, tears rolling down my cheeks. "If you don't then no one does. You're not perfect, Dream, I’m not expecting that of you. I’m not perfect either."

"You are far better than I am."

"Maybe, or maybe both of us are imperfect." I pulled him down by his cheeks, pressing my head to his. "Have we not given enough? Do we not deserve even the chance at happiness?"

He closed his eyes, sinking into my hands. "You do deserve that."

"So do you. You are my chance at happiness you idiot," I breathed. "You always have been... You always will be."

His hands cupped my face as he pulled away enough to look down at me. "I am far from what you deserve, but so long as you want me I will always be yours, Penelope Barlow."

“I meant what I said the other night. I want all of you, Morpheus."

“I’m beginning to see that.” His eyes softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. My hands slid into his hair as the kiss deepened, quickly filling with the heat and pent up need we’d both been keeping reigned in since Hell, maybe since long before. I felt one of his hands leave my hair and then a slight tingle rushed over my skin and when I pulled away we were in his bedroom.

His eyes watched me take in the change of scenery, the depth of their want barely contained as I smiled. “That’s a very impressive trick, my lord. Do you have any others?”

"I have plenty of tricks," he said, pulling me back to him.

"Will I get to see them?" I asked breathlessly.

"Maybe a few." Heat ripped through me. "Now," he whispered, breath fanning across my face. "Where were we last night?"

"I'm pretty sure I was on top of something." I mused, pretending it was difficult to remember. I felt the hard wood behind me as Dream lifted me up onto the top of the replica of my desk. "I was wearing a dress and you'd just torn one of my favorite pairs of panties." The slight wave of his fingers sent a chill up my spine as my clothes shifted to a silk dress, not unlike the one I was in last night, soft and cool against my bare skin, already bunched up above my thighs.

"Anything else?" His voice was low and rough.

Fisting his coat in my hands I pulled him closer. "Just you."

He gripped my legs tightly as our lips connected. Soft hands dragged up my thighs, moving beneath each of them to drag me further down the desk and into him. I groaned at the feeling of his hard cock straining against his pants. My hands slid under his coat, pushing it off his shoulders greedily as Morpheus' hands moved again, under my dress to pull my thighs apart as wide as he could. 

I gasped at the sudden chill of my exposed ass on the bare wood as he shoved the dress up higher, holding it in a tight grip in one hand while the other gathered the slick from my soaking folds and lifted them to his lips. I watched his tongue curl around his fingers with a needy whine. "Are you going to show me what your mouth can do when you're not pouting?"

He chuckled, returning his fingers to my core, circling around my clit torturously slowly and drawing out a strangled moan from my chest as I held onto his arms for dear life. "Next time."

"God, Morpheus," I gasped as his fingers pushed into me.

"You're so beautiful like this," he mumbled against my skin as he buried his face in my neck. He pressed soft kisses to the faded bruise left by the white coats, soothing over the skin with his tongue before biting and sucking new marks along my collarbones. "Falling apart already and we've only just started."

His pace quickened and my hips moved against his fingers. I gasped, the coil that had formed in my gut tightening every second. "You…" Another gasp as his fingers found the deliciously sensitive spot. "Ah, you… Make falling apart easy."

"Show me, my lady," he whispered as my fingers gripped his hair, tugging roughly at the roots.

His voice alone was enough to send me over the edge with a loud breathless moan. His fingers coaxed me through the orgasm, and slowly began building me up to a second before they stopped. I gripped him tighter, whimpering as he pulled away from my aching cunt. "Morpheus, please!"

With a chuckle he grabbed me by my thighs, and lifted me off the desk. "As much fun as that position is, I'd prefer take you on the bed this time."

The chilled silk sheets caressed every inch of me, now completely exposed before the Dream Lord. I scoffed up at him. "That's hardly fair."

"Maybe not," he admitted, eyes running over every inch of me, drinking in the sight with lust.

"Are you going to relieve yourself of your clothes as well, my lord?" I asked.

"I want your hands on me," he rasped. "If you'd like to do the honors."

I moved to sit up, running my hands up the sides of his things, under the black shirt he wore. Our eyes stayed locked as I relieved him of his shirt, pressing light kisses along his abdomen and working on his pants. When he was at last standing in front of me just as bare as I was I bit my bottom lip to keep in the groan. My eyes ran over the defined lines of his muscles, the memories I had of his naked body did not do him justice. Wrapping my hand around his hard dick I looked up at him, watching his eyes roll back and his mouth fall open slightly. "God you're pretty."

"Enough teasing," he gasped, wrapping a hand around my wrist to stop me. "Tonight, I will worship you."

"Worship can go both ways," I reminded.

Dream smiled, stroking my jaw. "You may worship me all you wish, later."

"Later," I whined as he gently pushed me back onto the bed. "I'm starting to think you like that word too much."

"I like you a great deal more," he whispered, kissing the scar along my thigh. He moved to the next scar, my knee and then the next, my hip. Every scar I had received his attention and every inch of skin between them was worshiped with kisses, bites and hickeys until he finally reached my collarbone. 

"Morpheus," I heaved, every inch of my skin burning with the adoration he poured down the bond. "You said no teasing."

He sighed against my skin, his head moving toward my breasts. "My apologies, my love. Let me make it up to you."

When his tongue darted out and swirled around my hardened nipple I nearly choked on the moan. He continued the same attention to the other, seemingly attempting to draw out as many noises from me as he could and I was in no position to deny him. Every touch felt like fire, fueling the coil in my core until I couldn't take it anymore. "Morpheus, please!"

Smiling against my skin, his teeth grazed my nipple one last time, tugging on it lightly before he moved to press a searing kiss to my lips. "What do you want, my lady?"

"You!" I whined breathlessly. "Please."

Without another word his eyes locked onto mine as he lined his leaking tip with my entrance. My nails dug into his arms as he slowly pushed into me. Head thrown back against the silk I gasped beneath him and his hand beside my head fisted in the sheets. "Oh my god!"

A strained chuckle vibrated through him. "Not quite a god-"

"Endless," I said, a moan interrupting me as his hips finally came flush with mine. "I know, I know just shut up and fuck me."

Dream took my words to heart, his free hand gripping my hip tightly as he pulled back, almost pulling out of me entirely before thrusting forward. Oh god! My hands found purchase in his hair, tugging tightly and earning a moan from him as he continued setting a brutal pace. "I've thought of little else since our reunion," his voice in my head was too much as I writhed beneath him, the sounds spilling from my lips were absolutely unhinged. "Yet, in all my fantasies I could never have imagined just how wrong I would be. You are far more exquisite than I could ever imagine."

"Morpheus!" He looked down at me, his breath fanning across my face as he began thrusting harder, lifting my leg over his arm to push even deeper inside me.

"Keep making those sounds for me," he ordered.

I moved my hips against his, panting and scratching at him, blinding pleasure building even faster in me as his dick hit just the right spot. "There…" I breathed, pressing my lips to his in a sloppy, desperate, needy kiss. "Don't you dare stop."

He bit my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth as he moved even faster, both hands on my hips, lifting me slightly up off the bed and pushing me down against him to match his pace. "Come for me, Penelope," he urged.

The coil wound tighter and tighter and then he moved his fingers to my clit, circling it quickly to match his thrusts. I came beneath him, my toes curling and head thrown back with a cry so loud I was certain at least half The Dreaming heard. He didn't slow, his thrusts growing faster and more erratic as he chased his own pleasure. With a few final movements he came, hands gripping me tightly as we both heaved against one another, sweaty and satisfied. Between us a steady hum of love and adoration flowed.

Morpheus gazed down at me for a moment before he pressed his forehead to mine. "I love you."

I smiled and breathed out a content sigh. "I love you too, Morpheus."

"We should have done this from the start," he said, rolling to the side, still holding me in his arms.

"Absolutely," I agreed. "But, the wait was worth it."

His smile was more beautiful than the stars. His fingers caressed over my back, lovingly tracing the scar up my shoulder. "You are so beautiful."

"As are you," I whispered back, my body melting into him. "So, do Endless dream kings sleep?"

"I can sleep," he said, waving his hand, encasing both of us in the silky blankets.

"Will you sleep with me then?"

"There is nothing I want more, my love."

***

When I woke the next morning the feel of his cold smooth skin beneath my palm sent a wave of happiness through me. He'd stayed. I moved, my cheek rubbing against his bare chest and his arm wound around me a little tighter. "Good morning." God his voice was even sexier now.

Looking up at him, bathed in the gorgeous light of the rising sun I smiled. "Good morning."

His fingers ran through my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp as I lifted myself a little to press a kiss to his jaw. "I trust you slept well."

"Better than I ever have," I said, burying my face into the crook of his neck. "Though I should have expected as much with the king of dreams in bed with me."

His lips pressed into my hair. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what was that bag you brought?”

Oh! I sat up quickly, reaching over to where my bag lay beside his bed. Magic is the best. I could feel his eyes roaming down my naked body as I fished the smaller bag out and set it on the bed. “Ta da!”

“It would certainly be more impressive if I could see what's in it.”

He sat up and then it was my turn to admire his naked body. I hummed, looking at him before leaning to press a kiss to his shoulder as he settled in beside me, pulling the bag open to reveal the shiny treasures within. “It’s mostly junk. But I wanted to bring it so you could see some of the things Jessamy found.”

Goosebumps rose on my skin at the coldness of the air, so Dream stroked a hand down my back and pulled me in for a kiss as a pair of the clothes I’d brought magically appeared on my body. When I pulled away I grumbled in disappointment at the sight of him also redressed, he only smiled. “There will be time for that again later.”

“Later again,” I groaned. “Fine, but it better be good, great king.”

“Was last night not?”

“That was perfect,” I assured him. “I’m just saying you owe me some mind blowing sex for robbing me of your naked beauty.”

“I could use the same argument for you.”

“Please do,” I encouraged with a wicked grin. “I have plenty of mind blowing ideas.”

He began sifting through the bag, looking at each small trinket with bright eyes and a smile. I told him the story behind all of them, moving so I was between his legs and leaning back against his chest.

When he pulled the old wired ring out I sighed. “This was one of the last things she brought me.”

“I know,” he said. “I sent her to get it.”

“What?” I turned, looking back at him with furrowed brows.

“You were crying,” he said softly, running his fingers along the stone. “She told me it was because you were worried for me. So, I sent her to find it.”

I looked down at the beautiful opalescent moonstone. “Is it from The Dreaming?”

“No,” he replied. “I told her to find a moonstone that she liked. Where she found this particular one I’m not sure.”

“Why a moonstone?”

With a small shrug he smiled at me. “Sometimes when you’d look up at me from that basement floor your eyes would catch the light and shine like these stones do. I figured it was as good a gesture as I could offer at the time.”

My heart filled with joy as I curled back into him, kissing his neck and jaw before pressing a longer one to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Well, not yet, it's not.” He curled his fingers around the ring and when he reopened it the beautiful stone was set in a dark, intricate band that shimmered and shined with starlight everytime the light hit it. “There, now it is perfect.”

“Morpheus,” I gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

He slid the ring onto my finger and kissed my knuckles. “I’ve enchanted the stone as well. If you ever need me, just invoke my name and I shall find you, wherever you are.”

“Probably a useful trick to have, all things considered,” I said, stroking his cheek.

“That reminds me, Lucienne requested my presence in the library. She wishes to go over a few things she’s found that might explain your disappearing act.”

I kissed him, intending for it to be short, but he cupped the back of my head and pulled me into him. The easy, soft kiss made every inch of me tingle with a gleeful happiness that was alien to me. It felt like I was finally where I belonged. He sighed against my lips when he pulled away, his thoughts swimming with my own. I lightly pushed against his chest. “Go, before we get lost in all those filthy thoughts of yours.”

“As if yours are much cleaner,” he teased.

Blushing, I shrugged. “Can you blame me? You’re far too good looking for clean thoughts.”

“Go back to sleep, it’s still early for human standards. I’ll be back as quickly as I’m able and we can continue this discussion.” He kissed my head and made his way out the door, sparing me one last glance before he closed it after him.

I smiled as I lay back on the bed, running my finger over the new shimmering ring on my finger. My eyes closed and I breathed in the absolute perfection of the atmosphere. When I opened my eyes next, everything was too bright. Lines of colors flared in my vision no matter where I looked and my head swarmed with a blinding pain. I grabbed my head, my hands digging into it tightly as everything began to twist and pull around me.

I stood, falling to my knees immediately and gasping for air as the pain began to lessen and my hands slammed down onto the glossy red floor.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

"Come now, Petal, we don't have all day." A familiar voice purred as my vision started to return to normal. With a groan I looked up at the figure clad in black standing before me. Gold eyes and red lips twisted into that wide grin. "There she is, our baby Weaver."

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[a-la-campanella]

Finally got a chance to watch Ruan Mei's Myriad Celestia trailer! What a beautiful video. I hope I win my 50/50 while pulling for her.

A few thoughts:

She says "plum blossoms (梅花) bloom and wither", and I can't help but think of the double meaning where the plum blossoms would refer to her, Ruan Mei (阮梅). In her eyes, life is transient and to live is to be lonely... though the way I see it, that's part of what makes life so beautiful. It's what you make out of life that makes your life meaningful.

We all saw the connections to Shuhu, or if not Shuhu then at least some other kind of abomination of the Abundance on "No Man's Land" right? That is undoubtedly a reference.

Other people have already pointed out that these look like Blade's eyes, and it's pretty well established among people that Mihoyo/Hoyoverse does not play around with stuff like coincidences. It's definitely intentional, and there's absolutely a connection.

The design reminds me of the eyes from the Herrscher of the Void in Honkai Impact 3rd, though I don't know enough about that game or its lore to comment anything else there.

"I understood the vastness of the universe too early[...] birth, growth, death... lamenting the process of life is the origin of my thinking." A lot to unpack here.

More importantly to me, I get where she's coming from. Her train of thought follows, if life is meant to die anyways, what's the point of existing/living? It's too hard to comprehend. There's no simple answer for something like that, and people dedicate their lives to finding answers or making satisfactory responses of their own.

The "pure" thing she's trying to achieve, the "fundamental" research she's looking for, the "mysteries of the universe" and "deeper answers"... it's likely something above the realm of life and beyond the laws of nature, born out of her laments.

It becomes quickly obvious that Ruan Mei's research is investigating the Abundance Propagation, especially given her interest in biological sciences.

"It is born of wonder, does not resist, and does not grieve." Is... is she talking about the fucking critters? My bet's on "it" being kind of artificial life-form, and the critters are the only thing I can think of right now that's relevant to her character and what we know about the next update.

In quotes: "It asked me... where does the research end...?" Why is the "it asked me" part quoted too in the subtitles? Is this going to be a line in a quest? Regardless, Ruan Mei's pursuit of that which transcends mortal bounds is... probably where her research will end. Depends on if she'll ever make it that far, who knows?

In pointing out the color in life then saying "it has nothing to do with me", she establishes distance between herself and her mortality. Which. I mean. When you live in a universe where what must have been long thought to be impossible has become probable, and an individual can outlive the rise and fall of civilizations, I guess she's not wrong. She could be effectively immortal if she wanted to; think of her colleagues, Herta and Screwllum. But that's such a sad way to look at life, detaching yourself from caring at all... nothing to lose, nothing to gain, so she says. What an objective approach to everything. No care for the details at all.

The part I think that caught the most attention: "dissect Remembrance, control Equilibrium, deconstruct Beauty, and reproduce Permanence" via manipulation of life. A lot to say here too, but I can workshop that in another post.

Obviously, these refer to the various Aeons, in order being Fuli, HooH, Idrila, and Long, the latter two of which are dead.

The subtitles censor the word, but it's rather clear she says "perhaps I, too, can become an Aeon". At least, it's clearly heard in the English version.

In the Chinese video what I ended up hearing was "成为星" (literally means become a star) but the subtitles say "成为██", which indicates she actually meant to say something else and is missing a second character. Aeon in Chinese is 星神 (star god), so it's more likely than not that the word she said here is Aeon.

I don't even know with the Japanese dub, man. I turned on subtitles and saw the ██, but thought I heard 「イーオン」 (aeon, but with a Japanese accent). I don't play in Japanese dub so I have no clue if they say 星神 as Aeon read with katakana or as the way it's intended to be pronounced in Japanese.

I'm of the opinion that Ruan Mei doesn't actively want to be an Aeon. To begin with, her interests don't have to do with ascending to the position of one anyways, but rather, being an Aeon brings her a step closer to what she actually wants to achieve: finding the secrets within the universe. She can work towards that goal even without becoming an Aeon.

She points out that children behave better when given rewards, and at the end of the video mentions she'll reward her "assistant"/the Trailblazer. I get where she's coming from, but that is such wild whiplash to end on.

Great video, 10/10, would watch again. I did. In three of the four languages the video was officially released in... I don't understand Korean. The people casted for her voice did a fantastic job. Looking forward to seeing her soon, and good luck to everyone pulling!

#honkai: star rail #hsr #recall and retrieve #ruan mei #love her but fell in love again #this video does a good job at highlighting the charm of her chatacter #awaiting the next update and her release! #put the read more thingy there to make scrolling easier #for the people who don't wanna deal with annoying long posts

[psychee92]

Why Elain giving back TT is significant [ACOSF & CC Spoilers] 

In ACOFAS, we learn what happened after Elain used TT to stab (or kill) Hybern.

“You honestly think he’d ever give up Truth-Teller?” “He gave it to Elain,” Mor said, admiring a moonstone necklace in the counter’s glass case. “She gave it back,” I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the King of Hybern’s throat. But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. Mor hummed to herself.”

I have seen many people using this argument against Elain having a connection to TT—when, in fact, it means the opposite, especially considering what we learn in both ACOSF and (most importantly) HOSAB.

But first, let’s recap what we know about Elain’s (alleged) connection to TT:

Azriel had never before let another person touch that knife—until Elain.

Elain, who had never used a weapon, accepted it, despite having rejected other options before (remember, Cassian had offered her a weapon prior to her accepting TT from Azriel).

Elain actually used it—and by using it, answered Feyre’s plea for help, thus saving Nesta and Cassian’s life.

When using TT, Elain stepped out of a shadow, something we have only ever seen Azriel do.

And by using TT, Elain ultimately changed the course of the war.

What is also interesting is that we see this scene through Feyre’s eyes—and the Cauldron’s, so we get a glimpse of how the Cauldron feels about Elain.

Now, at the end of HOSAB, we learn that TT is connected to the Starsword.

And what do we know about the Starsword?

That it actually answers to two people, not one. It recognizes and chooses both Ruhn and Bryce.

Yet Cormac glowered at the Starsword peeking over Ruhn’s broad shoulder. “Rumor has it that the sword sings for my bride, too.”

Ruhn seemed to force himself to look at Bryce as he said, “It’s true.” So he’d seen her glare, then. “The sword’s as much yours as it is mine.”

The Starsword deemed Ruhn worthy, and recognized Bryce as kin.

“That your son, not you, retrieved the Starsword from the Cave of Princes in Avallen’s dark heart. That your son, not you, stood among the long-dead Starborn Princes asleep in their sarcophagi and was deemed worthy to pull the sword from its sheath.”

Her sword—it was her sword, and Ruhn’s. And with that light in her veins, with the star that slumbered inside her heart, the Starsword had recognized her not as a royal, worthy Fae, but as kin. Kin to those who had forged it so long ago. Like called to like.

So we now know that TT can also have two owners: one deemed worthy, and one it recognizes as kin.

Because what else do we learn about these weapons?

“That sword belongs to Theia’s female heir. Not the male offspring who corrupted her line.”

These weapons are passed down the female line, not the male.

I am still surprised when I see readers connecting Bryce to Azriel through TT, when we know from HOSAB that the weapons belong to the female descendants of Theia, NOT the male.

Also interesting to note: Bryce does not want the Starsword—does not want to claim it.

“I don’t need a fancy sword to add to it.” “But I do?” “Honestly? I think you don’t know how special you are, Ruhn.” His blue eyes flickered. “Thanks.” “I mean it.” She grabbed his hand, and light flared from her chest. “The sword came to you first for a reason.”

The sword came to Ruhn first—just as TT came to Azriel.

And even more interesting: the scene where Bryce uses the sword.

The Starsword sang with light, her power flowing into it. Activating it. And nothing had ever felt so right, so easy, as plunging the blade into the bony chest of the wounded Reaper. It arced, bellowing, black blood spurting from its withered lips. The others screamed then. So loud she thought the sewer might come down, so loud she nearly dropped the blade to cover her ears.

Which mirrors the scene where Elain uses TT:

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step. Choking, blood dribbling from his lips, the king gaped at Nesta.

Unlike with Bryce, however, we do not have Elain’s POV of the events leading up to this scene, or how she felt during it, so we do not know if the knife responded to her in the same way.

But it does make you wonder: did it feel as right to her, as it did to Bryce? Given how afraid she had been up until that point—vomiting from terror—she appeared as an avenging angel in this scene, almost as if she’s done this before, almost as if it felt right.

Also similar is the return of the sword and knife to the men who found the weapons first, who were deemed worthy to possess them. Despite Bryce using the sword, it returns to Ruhn, and stays with him until he asks her to take it with her.

Similarly, Elain returns TT to Azriel after using it. Will TT find its way back to her? Will Azriel, like Ruhn, offer it to Elain again?

Remember: when Azriel picks up the sword in HOSAB, it does not react to him. We do not see a change in him when he touches it, nor do we see any change in the sword when near the other IC members.

The male’s face didn’t soften as he picked up the sheathed Starsword, then gestured for her to step closer.

Elain is, of course, absent, and I am 99.99% sure that Sarah hinted at her being somewhere nearby (bread and roses) for a reason. Could this be it? Will the sword react to her the same way it reacts to Bryce? The same way the Cauldron reacts in Elain’s presence?

Could Elain activate the Starsword? Did she activate TT the way Bryce did, the way Nesta infused other swords with her power?

“Yes,” Amren said. “Only the Great Powers could do that—Gwydion was given its powers when the High Priestess Oleanna dipped it into the Cauldron during its crafting.” Cassian’s blood chilled, waves rippling over his skin. “One touch from Nesta’s magic while the blade was still hot …” “And the blade was infused with it.”

I still think that Nesta losing most of her powers at the end of ACOSF was done on purpose, to make Elain take center stage in future events. At this point, she is the only being alive who has Cauldron-given powers, similar to the Starsword and TT.

“You stole from the Cauldron,” I said to Nesta, who seemed ready to jump between all of us and Elain. “But what if the Cauldron gave something to Elain?”

And what does Bryce need at the end of HOSAB?

And she had no way to get home. Unless Aidas or Apollion knew how to use the Horn. Had magic that could charge it.

Bryce ends up in Prythian because she is looking for someone who can help. Sarah mentioned during one of her interviews that her ending up in Prythian while looking for help is not a coincidence—help is in Prythian.

With Nesta’s Cauldron-stolen powers mostly gone, Elain is the only one who can both use the Horn and the only one who has the power to charge it.

“Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.”

“When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her, presented itself in a dream.” All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta. “You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”

#elain archeron #elriel #hosab #maasverse #maasverse theories #acotar 5 #pro elain

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐌

( you may be able to prolong your life, but it's not like you can escape your inevitable death, is it? )

chara : leon kennedy fandom : resident evil quote cr : also from re4 ☆ ('▽^人) a/n : reader is a separate companion / not meant to replace ashley but she's not mentioned in here though . in spirit she is around bc we love and adore her !! @so-mordor-itis ԅ ( ̆ω ̆ ԅ)

( 1 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, WELCOME HOME.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN HOPE & DESPAIR. you are so far from home, you lonely little lambs, minds on the brink of corruption, blood spilled and meant to be stained with eternal damnation. you venture further into doom, surroundings crumbled into debris and desolation, places once full of life and vigor and a brewing evil now withered into a type of dead you have killed over and over again.

you are so far from home. something greater and something more sinister than nostalgia embeds itself in your existence, sinks itself in the crevices of a hauntening. everywhere you go -- zombie after zombie, death of the undead, every shot fired, every inch of a silver blade covered in red, you hear it, these whispers among the rot : welcome home, welcome home, welcome home, WELCOME HOME.

you wonder if you are losing your mind amidst the violence. in the quiet, it is easier to lose control, fall back into the rabbit hole you once desperately crawled out of before. you inhale, feel the dreadful air bring a heaviness into your lungs, threaten to crush a racing heart.

you ignore the feeling. some things are better that way.

you wrap leon's arm with bandages, movements delicate as to prevent further pain; your expression is somber, mind deep in thought, so you fail to notice the way leon looks at you, fail to notice how he calls your name in that firm yet somehow gentle tone.

"something tells me that you aren't thinking about me right now."

you blink. the trance is broken. you finish tending to him, and instead, your hand slides down and rests on his. it's almost instinct that he turns his hand over, grabs yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles in silent consolation. he leans in to take a better look at you, check if you're wounded-- and it's only just the slightest bit but somehow already too much.

"i'm not, sorry." he smiles wryly at your words. you run your fingers through his hair, find some comfort in this rare respite, force yourself to express the worries that run rampant. "i have a bad feeling... just--" a pause. "something is going to go wrong, leon. something bad is going to happen and--"

"and we'll survive it."

it is almost fascinating -- the shift of tenderness that hardens into resolve in those blue eyes. you almost feel a semblance of safety, but a paranoia, a guilt, accompanies it, engulfs it entirely until it is nothing in existence. gone, void, and leon knows this.

"look, nothing ever goes as planned. you know how it goes." he leans closer, and maybe there is something of reminiscent sorrow that lingers, and maybe he remembers raccoon city and the brutality of death there. "i can't promise nothing bad will happen, but i can promise that we'll make it out of here. both of us."

you nod. the numbness sinks in, one foot in the grave.

you are so far from home.

( 2 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU ARE MEANT FOR THE SAVING.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART BURSTING AT THE SEAMS , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home ; the air becomes more suffocating as you continue forth. the weight of each step becomes heavier. you almost wonder if your footprints in the mud will become the last fragment of yourself, should you get lost in the dark.

the hollows of the earth you step on become a walking grave. it is a very tragic thing that you cannot see the crimson that seeps into the roots of her tragedies, this place corrupted with a madness of some higher being.

something in your chest hurts. it burns, almost -- a sensation akin to terror, and you have almost forgotten that feeling, last felt anything remotely similar when you first learned what it meant, killing another for the sake of survival, dead or undead. you force the calm, anchor it yourself, but you cannot see in this building, the staleness of the air suffocating.

you linger behind leon, keep to yourself. you should be stronger than this, but something in your gut, your instinct, tells you that something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and you've got to get him out of here, because better him than you and--

in the quiet, leon picks up on your breathing, senses a shift in the air -- a panic, a trembling, but there's something else he can't quite figure out, something else that isn't part of you. something approaches, silent, so he turns on his heel, hardly able to make you out in the dimness of this cramped room.

something is coming. something bad is coming. it is coming and it's coming soon and it's coming now. you hear nothing, but you feel it : this ominous presence, this dreadful dance with death and something that will infect your bloodstream, try to make you something that you're not.

SOMETHING IS COMING.

neither of you can think, fail to move in time from an omniscient being. the last thing either of you remember is a loud chaos, the destruction of a temporary safekeeping, then the collision of your bodies, then nothing.

nothing.

( 3 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, IT HAS BEGUN. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but this is where you are meant to be, you foolish little lambs. you should know your place, know that you are destined to be at the altar, worship in your veins, adoration drowned in black.

you wake up with an ache. when you come to, you are surrounded by a familiar warmth and comfort, realize that leon is holding you, arms supporting your frame. you have seen fear in those eyes too many times before, but there is something so visceral and heart wrenching this time. your vision blurs for a moment, head throbbing so violently that you can't quite make out what he says to you, but you understand the urgency in his voice.

"--with me?"

"leon, sorry, i--" you can hardly hear yourself. you feel the way his muscles tense as he pulls you closer. "hold on, i-- it's okay, it's okay-- i'm with you." you shut your eyes tight, feel that recognizable yet painful sensation in your chest.

you open your eyes, see the horror in your visage reflected by a cool blue. there's a relief to be found somewhere, if you looked hard enough, but you feel guilty from worrying him so much, so you look away, pat his arm gently in silent request for him to let you go.

"you're with me." he tells you, breathless.

you nod. there's a lump in your throat.

"always with you."

there is something heavy in your chest and you know it is not grief. you know what that feels like. this is different. unnatural. you wonder if he feels it, too.

"how are you feeling? you okay?"

"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. i'm okay if you are."

neither of you have enough clarity to understand what happened-- to deem something as strange or out of place is rare nowadays, given both of your histories and roles in these catastrophes. but what need, what purpose is there to attack and flee? it would have been easy to rid of both of you, bring an end to the disruption to this corruption.

something is wrong.

( 3.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, A FALSE SAVIOR WILL DEEM THIS AS CORROSION, TELL YOU THAT THERE IS A WAY OUT. BUT THEY ARE SIN THEMSELVES, AREN'T THEY? BE CAREFUL.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN LIMBO, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home, but the reluctant acquaintance you find company with is neither unwelcomed or welcomed.

"las plagas, huh? some vacation."

luis's words echo in your mind. a parasite made for the end of all things, set to blossom, devour, destroy, and it's in your heart. there's a small inkling of hope-- something like that, you guess, had it not been for the former umbrella researcher's roundabout words.

you lean your head against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with leon. the taste of blood lingers on your tongue.

"some vacation." you repeat those words, mind in a fog. "some vacation."

he takes your hand in his, all too aware that his other one is stained with his own blood. no pep talk this time, you muse. that's okay. the silence is enough for now. even with a wavering resolve, you both know that this story is yours and that there is always an ending to reclaim.

"you with me, leon?"

you rest your head against his shoulder. he smiles, bittersweet. there will be an end to this, and it will be a good one. you've got a future together, after all.

"always with you."

( 4 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, THIS IS MERCY. SALVATION. WON'T YOU GIVE IN?

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and you are closer to losing yourself forever. you can feel it, that numbness and burning in your chest, in your heart. in your dreams, you find yourself drowning, surrounded by figures cloaked in black. unfamiliar.

when you dream, leon never leaves your side. call it love, call it fear, call it cowardice, but he holds you tightly, the shelter you have found a temporary haven. in the dimness, he makes out the foreign lines that run haphazard on his skin. a grimace.

there is an malevolence and hatred flowing in his veins, but such a thing does not exist in his heart. the black flows through his body, consumes the red entirely, spreads its parasite and curse. it grows more and more, and he almost wonders if this is how his story will end. his jaw clenches. he shakes his head, knows he cannot humor such thoughts. he has too many people to save, too many people he cares for. it can't happen again. not this time.

his vision distorts. everything becomes heavy. he is so tired. the taste of rust overwhelms his senses, suffocates him. maybe he is underwater too, drowning just like you are.

time is running out. he has to hurry.

it can't happen again. not this time.

( 4.5, REVERSED ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, TIME IS NEARING. I HOPE YOU'RE READY.

YOU ARE IN AN UNBELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH A DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are so far from home and everything you know, everyone you know. something poisonous engulfs you, takes over your mind and body whole. the visions, the whispers-- you shudder, feel that cool metal against your skin.

no, this isn't right-- you won't call it betrayal because it's not, because you can't be betrayed by someone you don't know, even if leon is the one who holds the knife against your throat. how terribly wretched this is, lover against lover, minds plagued with a reckoning. the virus continues its course, black adorning his countenance. it's coming. he is running out of time.

this isn't him. it's not. you know leon, know he would never put you in harm's way. you know the cause of this, recall the times you felt you weren't yourself, lost in the chaos of las plagas, mind set ablaze, a superficial deity echoing terror in your soul. you know leon, know this isn't him. you don't call this betrayal.

you are too afraid to speak, feel like one word will lead to demise. speak and you lose. stay silent and you lose. move, you lose. stay still, you lose. you cannot win here. there is no good ending, no optimal end game, no way around it unless he can restore himself.

you are helpless and weak and you cannot even save the person you love.

your mouth runs dry. his hand trembles. you feel him regain himself, barely, but the blade meets flesh anyway, draws the slightest amount of blood. part of you hopes, prays, that maybe the sight of you being harmed is what will bring him back, but it doesn't. the knife digs deeper. something trails down your neck. you shiver, instinctively take a step back, his name falling from your lips without a single thought, pleading. one step back, another forward.

you cannot distance yourself from this violence. you don't know what to do -- draw your gun, unsheathe your knife, act like you'll hurt him if he continues? would they care if leon died? would they care if you died? you are simply part of the flock, after all. your deaths are meaningless. you do not know if pain would even snap him out of this. you can both push it to the limits, wait and see what happens, but it doesn't matter, not if they see you as another useless puppet.

the possibilities are both endless and limited. something warm continues to run down your skin, leave a faint crimson in its wake. it's now or never ; there's no winning with inaction. another step back. you draw your gun, aim it down at the ground -- somewhere far in the distance, and shoot, once, twice. it's stupid. it'll draw attention. you can't think of anything else though, adrenaline sending your thoughts in a spiral.

it works.

a sudden wild bewilderment in blue eyes-- he jerks away from you, then you hear the knife clatter against concrete. you let out that breath you've been holding for too long, unsure if it is relief or some semblance of hurt that decorates your features.

leon is quick to put the pieces together, sees the wound on your neck. that was him. it was him. he hurt you, he--

"don't think about it. it wasn't you." you grab his wrist, ignore the way he reflexively tries to pull back in possibility that he could bring harm to you once more. "we have to go and we have to go now."

so you do. you run in search of safety together, but there is something that shatters the soul, breaks what little is left of the hearts that cling to humanity.

you run. you keep running. together.

( there is nothing to grant forgiveness for. there is no need for apologies, but you hear them endlessly, anyway. he is careful to tend to the wound, but his hands shake. his hands shake, so you hold them until they still. until he knows you're okay. )

( 5 ) : LOST LITTLE LAMBS, YOU HAVE TURNED DOWN GOD'S WILL, REFUSED YOUR OWN STORY. WHAT WILL YOU MAKE OF THIS?

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY IN DARK WATERS, HEART INFECTED WITH DEPRAVITY , TORN BETWEEN SURVIVAL & DEATH. you are closer than ever to being lost, but you are closer than ever to being found. your lungs burn, your limbs ache. the exhaustion weighs you down, but you and leon support each other, fend off the hallucinations that threaten to break you. you're underwater again, drowning, but the surface is right there, so close--

you cough up blood, wind knocked out of you by the ravaging plague. leon is on the verge of vanquish, but he fights through it, knows that your story together is yours and only yours to reclaim, so he pushes through, even if his body hurts so terribly much. he's so close-- there is no stopping now. luis's lab is nearby.

he's too close. he cannot stop now, even if everything turns into a haze, even if the darkness nearly takes him. so he picks you up, movements clumsy and weak, silently apologizes when he hears your muffled cries of pain.

when you reach the lab, leon rushes to put you in the chair. you do not know what will come next. your lips part in protest, but he is quick to shush you, tell you to save your strength. the parasite inside you lies dormant, but it will wake soon, and then you will be gone, lost forever. you don't have time, but neither does he.

you are afraid. you feel yourself going in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy, your head lulled to the side. you close your eyes, feel leon's hand on yours.

you are so afraid. it will hurt. you know this.

it does.

( 5.5, ENDGAME ) : WHAT WAS LOST IS ALWAYS FOUND. YOU ARE CLOSER TO HOME THAN YOU THINK.

YOU ARE IN A BELONGING, BODY ABOVE THE TIDES, HEART CLEANSED FROM PLAGUE , BEATING , ALIVE. you are closer to home than you think, the pain spread through your body slowly fading. you are more tired and more awake than ever, the pain in your chest obsolete. you are safe, and so is he.

leon is knocked out cold, entirely still as he lies in the chair. had it not been for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought to check his pulse. you rub your eyes, try to fend off the fatigue. you may be safe, but you are only free from the virus. still, you do not wake him, know that you both have been running on fumes.

you are not entirely sure how you managed to switch places with him ; your muscles ache in protest. surely you will be sore tomorrow. you smile weakly, rest your forearms on the arm of the chair. you put your head down, take a deep breath. you close your eyes, fall into a slumber in which you do not drown.

you wake up with an ache. this all feels so very familiar.

"--with me?"

when you come to, you raise your head, greeted by the sight of leon's warm gaze. he smiles when you sit straight up, shake your head as if it'd shake off the grogginess.

"good morning, sunshine. are you with me?"

you do not answer at first, though you both know exactly what will be said. you scoot a little closer, a faint worry in your eyes as you study him intently. the black has faded entirely, all signs of infection gone. you glance at the computer, confirmation made by the notification that pops up on the screen. still--

your hand trembles ever so slightly as you reach out for him, but part of you is scared that maybe it's wrong, maybe there's a chance that things could still go south.

"it worked. i'm okay." leon's words are gentle and reassuring ; he grabs your hand, leans into your touch in hopes that it will ease the panic that threatens to bloom in your heart. "it'll take more than that to get rid of me, remember? you're always with me."

something almost chokes you-- everything you have ever endured, whether good or bad, everything you have ever swallowed in attempt to keep it somewhere unheard, unnoticed. your eyes sting, but you nod anyway.

"yeah." you whisper, voice shaking. "i'm always with you, leon."

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4r #leon kennedy x you #if this flops i Will Die i will simply stop living #eats my hand. it's all abt the repetition it's all abt the parallels it's all abt the always !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #congrats leon kennedy for getting a 3k word fic from me i dont remember if i have broke 3k on a single character #imbecile . heathen. boyfriend. wife #.: writing

[thequeenofthewinter]

Harvest

AO3 Link

1191 words. Made for a bingo prompt. Card linked at the bottom. I hope you'll enjoy it. <3

As the months pass and summer sheds its tenuous warmth to make way for the cool touch of Autumn, Eastmarch changes rapidly from one season to the next. What was once bright green and lush with soft blades of grass quickly turns a dark crunching brown of dead undergrowth—all save for the forests of great evergreen trees. 

People come and go. Those who had brought their family to vacation and bask in the warmth of the Hold’s famous hot sulphur springs pack up their summer cabins and campsites and go back to their far more temperate and palatable homes. While the Nords may be a hardier people who embrace the cold, ice does not run through their veins and even the majority of them balk at the thought of an Eastmarch Winter. Better to get out now before the first snows make travel more difficult or even impossible. 

However, the generations who have lived there, have grown up there, have made their lives and died there know there is a small period of refreshing calm which exists between the two seasons, an opportunity they have to make the most of. Harvest, the short two week period of time where green fades to gold before withering into the bleak nothingness of inert death. They know they have to move fast if they want to make preparations for the Winter, so every man, woman, and child takes to the limited, yet fruitful fields to pull anything and everything they can from the soil before the first tendrils of frost wrap their fingers around their hopes, choking and snuffing them out. If it is not the cold which gets to you in Eastmarch, it will be the lack of food.

During the heart of that time, Dahlia and Ulfric make their way through the towns and small hamlets of Eastmarch before the first frost, touring the lands on an insistence by the High Queen to bring more provisions to the people. Why should they have so much when others struggle? While the temperatures are more frigid in Windhelm, they are better prepared for the Winter than other more remote populations of their Hold—at least they have trade ships regularly coming in, plenty of fish, and the main roads into the city proper are kept clear. The backroads on the other hand are often too hard to traverse more than once a month. So, it is for that reason, Ulfric currently finds himself riding beside his stubborn wife through the thick autumnal foliage of the southern reaches of their Hold.

While he cannot deny that the colors have their appeal—even finding them aesthetically pleasing himself—he can’t help but worry about leaving the Palace behind, especially with the uncertainty of what will happen next. They might be experiencing the strange lull of peace, but he knows how fragile the echoes of the sentiment can be. One wrong move, and it all comes tumbling down.

“Ulfric, would you stop worrying for once in your life and just enjoy the fact that we are out of the Palace for once.” Dahlia turns her head towards him, leaning back into his chest as they ride towards Darkwater Crossing.

He sighs, wrapping a hand around her waist to pull her closer to him. “It’s my job to do so, my heart.”

“More like you make it your job to worry about everything. You need to have more fun. Relax.”

“Easier said than done.”

The edges of her lips pull up into an impish smirk. “I’ll bet that by the time this whole thing is over, you’ll begrudgingly find yourself having a good time. So, I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Of course she would. His wife takes everything as a challenge. He shakes his head and smiles in spite of himself as they ride on in silence until they reach the small mining town.

Iron ore might be the settlement’s major export and what the majority of residents dedicate themselves to; however, everyone needs to eat. And there are precious few people who take to farming this far out in the wilds. Of all of their settlements, perhaps this is one of the most needy. 

Small fields of sparce squashes, sheafs of golden grain, and a single cart of cabbages meet them, and Dahlia frowns. From what Ulfric has told her, there are some 100 people who live in Darkwater Crossing, and from what she sees, the current selection won’t feed them for more than one month, let alone the long 4 months of hard Winter which await them. How was it that they got by before this? She frowns as another thought occurs to her. Or is this perhaps a consequence of the Civil War?

Things are more dire than she had thought. How naïve of her.

Two women, older and surely no longer suited for work in the mines, are the only people to be seen standing out in the fields. One holds a half-tarnished sickle, swinging the heavy tool with more force than what Dahlia would have estimated for a woman approaching her twilight years. The other collects the grain, making sure to bundle and tie the strands together with a roll of twine almost thinner than the wheat stalks she is collecting.

With a single look back at her husband, Dahlia communicates everything she needs to say:

 I told you so.

Ulfric sighs heavily as he stops the horse as he knows full well what she will want to do now. There is no sense in trying to fight her on it.

Quickly descending their horse and signaling to the cart of provisions following them, Ulfric trails after his wife over to the harvest field to speak with the two women.

On one hand, he is rather proud of her and happy that she has taken well to the duty thrust upon her. However, sometimes he wishes that she did not take every single project upon herself personally. Despite the fact that it would appear he is unhappy with this current arrangement, he knows that it will do both of them good. And in the end, his wife is right which is why he allowed her to drag him away in the first place.

Not that he would ever tell her that.

A small smile curls its way onto his face as he watches his wife speak animatedly with the two women, and then take the sickle and give it a few test swings. It awkwardly cuts through the air before Dahlia accidentally drops it. Both of the ladies chuckle, not unkindly, at her, and he follows suit. While Dahlia might be a woman of the people with a common upbringing, it is clear that she never spent any amount of time on a farm.

“And what are you laughing at, your Highness?” She shouts to him, hands on her hips and face red. “Get your ass over here if you think you can do any better.”

Somehow, despite himself, it only makes him smile more, and it would appear that she was right, yet again. He is having a good time.

Bingo Card:

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #ulfric x dragonborn #dahlia wintersnow #winter writes

[sprout-fics]

Yooo WITCHER AU LETS GET DIS BREEEAAAD.

König being a massive blanket-coat-mattress is nipping at me tootsies

There's so much I want to share about this idea.

So first of all, Witchers 141 are more elite monster hunters than strange magical hybrids. They're men, but strong and knowledgeable. Super soldiers. Mysterious too. They're armed to the teeth, carry blades made only of pure silver, wear dark cloaks and ride black horses through misty midnight forests. I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to the 🌟Aesthetics🌟. May have to make a moodboard or two on one of my study breaks.

There's more ideas too. I was considering Ghost wearing a plague mask as opposed to a skull mask to fit the era. Soap, instead of being a demolitionist, has some knowledge on potions. Gaz is an archer, still occasionally takes a fall tumble not from helicopters, but from trees. Laswell is a point of contact- still gives the group intelligence, but in monster hunting and the arcane arts as well. She has to tread very carefully to avoid being burned (quite literally) by the people she knows.

Here's a teaser of the chapter so far:

"We shall call the Witchers."

The Witchers.

Monster hunters. You thought they were the stuff of legend, mercenaries who roamed the land in search of powerful prey, hunting down goblins and ghouls and creatures of the night. Born and raised by the silver blade, the closest thing to a demi-god you'd ever heard of.

You shouldn't have been surprised Kate knew of them, with her glinting eyes and many mysterious secrets. The wise woman, they called her, the one who lived on the other side of the woods all by herself, and yet seemed to know more than the rest of the elders combined. It turned out Kate not only knew of the Witchers, but how to contact them.

Cost, she said, was no concern. For she knew the captain, an old friend, one who owed her a debt. If she called him, he would come.

And come he did, before the next moon.

You were in the village square when they arrived. There's chatter and then the sound of hooves, and the sudden motion of their arrival made the scarlet hem of your cape flutter in the breeze. On black horses who chuffed at the frigid autumn air, their withers looming over your height, a man with a beard, a cap and a grim gleam in his eyes stared down at you, flanked by three other riders. Brawny men, scarred, serious, emanating danger from their mere presence.

"We were summoned by Laswell." He told you with no introductions, not that any were needed. You knew from the mere sight of them who the men were, with their ink dyed cloaks and silver blades, the dulled armor glinting in the scant afternoon sunlight. Soldiers, warriors, of a different breed. Ones who had earned their titles from years spent seeping their swords in black blood.

"On the other side of the forest." You told him unflinchingly, refusing to back down from his unwavering stare.

"Guide us." Was all he offered in return, offering a single leather gloved palm down to your form. With a jump and a hoist, you found yourself sat behind him as his steed nickered and stepped uncertainly under you. You clutched at his rider's cloak nervously for a moment, at which point a coy glance was spared your way, and you settled yourself, offering only a small, indignant silence in return.

"Go on then, Rotes Mädchen." He encouraged gruffly. "Lead us to our summoner."

#fic: rotes madchen