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erisenyo · 1 year

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I very much agreed with @lizardlicks that this post had Sokka vibes and then a fic somehow happened. Enjoy!

“—So when you lost consciousness and fell down like an overwhelmed Victorian woman—”

“I fell normal!” Sokka protests, trying to get off the ground and allowing the EMT to stop him. “I fainted in a normal way!”

“You put the back of your hand to your forehead and spun around,” the EMT says, dry, snapping a fresh pair of latex gloves onto his hands.

Yeah, because Katara’s cut suddenly started spurting when the other EMT pulled off the flannel she’d been using to apply pressure, like they’re in some kind of 70s samurai film and apologies if Sokka didn’t think it was cool and neat like everyone else— “That never happened,” Sokka protests, feeling his face coloring despite himself. “I fainted in a normal or maybe even masculine way.”

“A masculine faint,” the EMT repeats, raising his eyebrow—only one, with that scar, but Sokka is more trying to get another look at his eyes without being obvious about it because in the light of the streetlights above them they looked almost gold, and maybe Sokka did hit his head on the way down…

“Yes,” Sokka insists, refusing to cringe like part of him wants to because god, he can hear himself, alright? He knows. “A very masculine faint.”

“Masculine faints, Victorian woman faints, that from your fancy med school, Sozin?” the other EMT suddenly calls from where he’s finishing bandaging Katara’s arm, and Sokka feels himself flushing even darker at the words. “I must have missed that one with my plain ol’ technical year.”

“Yes, Jet, you must have, thank you for pointing that out yet again,” the EMT—Sozin?—says, giving his colleague a look just this side of a glare.

The other EMT just grins—smirks, really—the toothpick in his mouth somehow accenting the gesture.

“Sokka, just let the man look at you,” Katara huffs, rolling her eyes. Like Sokka is the one bleeding, like Sokka is the one who got bumped by a stumbling fair-goer and who even knows what she slashed her arm open on but it was probably rusty and full of tetanus and why is everyone else acting like it’s no big deal. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, giving him a knowing look. And then giving her EMT—Jet? Is that his real name?—a very different kind of look.

“Alright,” Sokka’s EMT says quickly, catching the look Sokka is giving Jet. “Let’s just focus over here for a moment, okay? Do you always faint at the sight blood?”

Sokka sighs, reluctantly setting aside Jet and his worry for Katara and the huffy feeling in his chest over Sozin’s choice of words to describe. Which regretfully only leaves the fact that his EMT is hot. High cheekbones and thick, shaggy hair and warm golden skin and a scar that only makes his face more interesting and that Sokka thinks bleeds into a tattoo around his collar and making that polyester uniform look better than it has any right to.

And he just saw Sokka fucking swoon like some Regency romance heroine.

“I didn’t faint,” Sokka insists, quickly closing his eyes so he isn’t staring at the guy from not even a foot away, which somehow makes the sensation of Sozin’s fingers testing for sore spots, gently and confidently running up the back of his neck and over the curve of his skull, that much sharper.

“Sure,” Sozin says, the raspiness of his voice even more apparent when Sokka doesn’t have anything else to focus on. And so clearly humoring him. Sokka feels something longing twist in his chest even as he tries not to visibly shiver. “Do you always decide to take a break at the sight of blood?”

“I didn’t,” Sokka repeats, unsure why he can’t let it go. It’s no like he would think poorly of someone who did faint over blood. It’s supposed to be inside, it’s suddenly on the outside. He hunted with his dad every winter he can remember up until they moved, but he gets it. It can be unsettling.

And normally Sokka wouldn’t care what some random person thought about him, not even a cute guy. But Sozin is hot, and he and the other EMT and future-neurosurgeon-pediatric orthopedist-gynecologist-she-has-to-decide-one-day Katara didn’t even bat an eyelash when she suddenly started gushing blood. And Sokka…did.

“No pain, that’s good,” his EMT says, fingers disappearing. “Any headache?”

“No,” Sokka sighs. Though he’s sure he’ll be banging his head against his headrest once they finally get to the car enough to fix that.

“Hm. Open your eyes for me?”

Sokka does, caught somewhere between reluctance to admit this is all happening and wanting to stare as long as he’s going to get the chance to because god, those eyes are definitely gold. “Do you wear contacts?” he blurts before he can catch himself.

“No,” his EMT says after a pause, giving him an amused look. “Do you?”

“Uh, glasses, sometimes,” Sokka says. “Not all the time, but for like, reading and stuff. Not like, I don’t need them need them,” he adds quickly, thinking of Gran Gran’s reading glasses. “But like, sometimes when the print is small and the contrast isn’t great and your eyes just strain?”

“You wear glasses,” Sozin finishes for him. Definitely amused, but Sokka didn’t tell any jokes, and…shit. “So if I ask if your vision is blurry…?”

“It’s fine,” Sokka says quickly, straightening and glancing around for something to read. The side of the ambulance—no, that’s huge. The make and model off a car? But he could recognize that by sight. A license plate! He can read out a—

“Good,” Sozin says, apparently happy to take his word for it which…shouldn’t leave Sokka feeling quite so deflated. “And can you concentrate on the end of my flashlight here—” He carefully moves the little penlight left to right and up and down, Sokka diligently tracking its movements and blinking but holding still for the quick flash of the light into his eyes, trying to look into the middle distance and not just lose himself in his EMT’s impossibly gold eyes because he doesn’t need the man to think he’s any weirder than he probably already does.

“I really am fine,” Sokka says as the penlight disappears into Sozin’s pocket. “Not that I don’t appreciate the little head massage and checkup, but—"

“I’m glad to hear it,” his EMT says. Back to humoring him. “Any nausea?”

“Because vomiting on a cute guy is just how I need to cap off my night,” Sokka says before he can catch himself, freezing when he belatedly registers the words.

Sozin pauses, lips pursed, before continuing to rummage through his medical kit and Sokka just…dies a little bit inside.

“Can we just…forget I said that?” Sokka says, squeezing his eyes shut again as the hopeful flutter in chest wilts. Fuck he just…really is trying to face plant in every literal and metaphorical way he can right now, isn’t he.

“Generally I do need to keep track of signs of confusion or repetition, so sorry. Gotta remember that one.”

“Got it,” Sokka says, slumping and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Makes sense. Look, Sozin—”

“Zuko,” his EMT interrupts, Sokka dropping his hands to give him a blank, confused look. “It’s Zuko,” the man repeats, tapping the nametag on his chest that…does not say Sozin. “Sozin is my last name.”

…Right. Right. The nametag has great contrast and giant letters, too. Fuck.

“Look,” Sokka sighs, tugging on his wolf tail, “I didn’t faint, I just—Katara is my only sister and we basically raised each from when she was like, ten years old and I was twelve, okay? And she was hurt, and we handled it, and you guys got here, great, awesome, she’s in good hands. But then, you know, the whole spurting blood thing and it got worse and…”

Sokka trails off, trying to find the words, some part of him hoping his EMT—Zuko, his name is Zuko, and he isn’t Sokka’s anything—will be able to fill in the gap. But Zuko is just quiet, rummaging in his bag far more than he probably needs to considering he isn’t pulling anything out. Probably just looking for something to do with his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Sokka rambling and making an idiot of himself and humoring him, again, but fuck, Sokka is going to try to explain it anyway because he didn’t faint, okay, he didn’t.

“Look, people can take turns for the worse, okay?” Sokka says, hearing himself fast and clipped and aware that he’s being cryptic and hoping this doesn’t get him another check in the ‘confusion’ column like his fucking contacts question probably did. “It can all seem fine and like you don’t have to worry anymore, but then you do. It happens, okay? So it was just—it was a lot. Emotionally, I mean. But I didn’t faint, I’m not—I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he says, the heart of his frustration finally spilling out of him. “It doesn’t—I wouldn’t care, I wouldn’t try to make your life harder like that, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t lie,” he repeats, feeling himself running out of steam when his—the—EMT still doesn’t respond. “I wouldn’t,” he finishes softly, frowning down at his sneakers against the asphalt. “I’m not like that.”

A long beat of silence except for the faint murmur of Katara and the other EMT’s voices, the fair behind him, the distant sound of cars along road, until finally Zuko stirs, the rustle of his uniform overly loud between them. “What’s your name?” he asks, glancing up, and Sokka sucks in a quick breath.

“Sokka,” he says, something hopeful trying to root in his chest again. “It’s Sokka.”

“Sokka,” Zuko repeats, nodding a moment before suddenly rising smoothly to his feet. “Let’s do your balance check.”

Sokka closes his eyes a moment, letting the fluttering edges of a new crush truly wisp away before he rises to his feet, carefully following Zuko’s instructions. His eyes are more on the pavement still than anything else but he can say that’s just for balance, just for focus as he obediently stands on one foot and then the other, touches his nose, leans to the side, feeling like he could jump and spin just fine, throw in some fancy footwork no problem, but just…not wanting to.

“Everything looks good,” Zuko finally says, and Sokka lets his arms drop, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, mustering up a smile and glancing over to see if Katara’s ready, too. “Thanks, man.”

“Hm.” A considering look as Zuko peels off his latex gloves, then, “Are you sticking around for the rest of the fair.”

“If Katara can,” Sokka shrugs. “But I know, none of the crazy rides, take it easy, don’t stare at screens, if I feel a headache coming on don’t push it. I have been concussed before, I do know what it feels like.”

Zuko purses his lips, carefully balling up his gloves. “From fainting?”

Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hockey.”

Zuko nods, carefully checking over his kit before zipping it shut, all studious, careful focus and Sokka is trying to decide if maybe he can just…melt back from the edge of the parking lot to exit this situation when Zuko suddenly says, “I was actually going to say that Jet and I are working for the fairground. Not like, as city paramedics.”

“Okay,” Sokka says after a beat. Is this—are they going to get billed, or…?

“Which means we’re on shift at this location.” Zuko’s eyes flick up, his voice almost diffident. “My shift ends in two hours. If you’ll still be around.”

“Oh, that—” Sokka blinks, making himself actually replay the words. “Oh.” Is that—is Zuko--?

“I could check on your symptoms,” Zuko adds, glancing up again and…definitely looking through his lashes. Oh. Oh. “Test your hand eye coordination, make sure it’s still good? I hear ring toss is good for that.”

“Yeah, that—yeah.” Part of Sokka is still a little bit disbelieving, but Zuko is still looking at him, holding eye contact, lips curling at the edges, small and shy and pleased and cute, cute, cute and yeah, Sokka is going to let himself belief it. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” Zuko says, hefting his bag as he stands again, all easy strength and grace and he’s a few inches taller than Sokka and Sokka has the feeling he’s going to like looking up into his eyes. “Meet by the Ferris wheel?”

“Absolutely.” Hopefully there aren’t two of them here. Sokka and Katara barely got to explore before she got hurt.

“You should practice your ring toss in the meantime,” Zuko says, serious and grave and teasing, definitely teasing, and Sokka can’t help but grin in answer.

“I don’t know, I gotta keep it a fair competition when you show up,” Sokka says, buffing his nails against his shirt and teasing back and his entire body feeling light when Zuko’s eyes crinkle in the corners in response.

“You better practice, then,” Zuko says, all confidence and challenge and Sokka thinks he if does end up feeling faint tonight, or dizzy, or weak in the knees—hopefully not nauseated—that it is very much going to be Zuko’s fault.

He can’t wait.

“…Did you just pick up your paramedic?”

Sokka gives her a sideways look. “Did you?”

“…Let’s go get funnel cakes and not talk about it.”

“Great idea,” he says quickly. He has a feeling they’ll both get their answer in one hour and fifty-eight minutes and counting, anyway.

#fic writing #Sokka #Zuko #Zukka fic #my writing #quick fics #This is unedited and stream of consciousness so enjoy everyone!#tw: blood mention #(no one is actually really hurt)

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herearedragons · 2 months

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Homecoming

(3,876 words; Dorian/m!Lavellan; angst, post-Trespasser)

written for a Florence + The Machine prompt from @greypetrel : “Can you protect me from what I want? The lover who let me in, who left me so lost?”

read on AO3

On a summer night, the Pavus estate stands empty.

Not empty of visitors or of the presence of its owner - empty of everyone. There are no guards at the gates or in the garden; no cooks in the kitchen; no servants in the hallways. Its rooms are cold and unlit, illuminated only by moonlight breaking through the large windows and painting bright geometric shapes over surfaces and decorations.

In the study upstairs, one of those shapes falls directly over an armchair with a small wooden table by its side. On the table, a freshly opened bottle of wine; in the chair, the last remaining resident of the estate raises a glass to his lips, appreciating the fine vintage.

A staff rests balanced on his knees. An artisan dwarven clock with twelve handles ticks away on the wall beside him.

Magister Dorian Pavus drinks his wine, and waits for the man who is supposed to come kill him.

“All staff have been escorted off the premises, Magister.”

“Marvelous; thank you, Valeria.”

The captain of his guards regards him with a look that is familiar: respect, alertness - and the slightest hint of suspicion. She is saying, without speaking a single word aloud: you are behaving unusually, and I would like to know whether my job of keeping you alive is about to get harder.

“What are our orders?” she asks.

Unfortunately, she will not like the answer Dorian has for her.

“Go home,” he says. “Forget everything you’ve seen and heard here today.”

If she has an immediate reaction to his words, it doesn’t register on her face. Wait, no - it does, just very subtly; a slight tilt of her head to the side, a twitch of her brow.

She’s saying: excuse me?

“Magister, I beg your pardon, but I’ve been led to understand that someone will attempt to assassinate you tonight.”

Valeria is highly professional. A slight emphasis on the word “assassinate” is all she allows herself as an attempt to communicate extreme incredulity to her employer.

“Exactly - and I want you to be as far away as possible when it happens.” He sees the resistance brewing beneath her composed exterior and adds, quickly, before she has a chance to speak again: “This is an order.”

The resolve drains from her at once; an expression of defiance becomes one of defeat. She will not argue; this is above her station.

“Yes, Magister.”

Her tone, though subdued, is unbearably miserable; he can’t possibly end the conversation on this note.

“Oh, don’t look so grim; you don’t have to shop for a new employer quite yet,” Dorian says. “I can assure you that I have every intention to survive the night - and, when I do, I’d like to have your services still available to me. That last part will be tricky if you are dead; reanimated guards have fallen out of fashion, I’m told.”

Confusion, writ large across her face; the veneer of professionalism broken.

“This is about protecting me ?”

“This is about protecting all of you, if I can help it. You are very skilled, and I would trust you with my life - I do , in fact, trust you with my life, regularly - against any threat but this one. If you are here when he comes, you’ll be in his way, and you will die.”

Her brow furrows. He’s gotten through to her; there was enough gravity in his words to make her realize that his decision to send her away isn’t a foolish whim.

“And yet you will survive… him?”

“I certainly plan to. Now - ” Dorian raises an eyebrow - “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Valeria nods shortly and hastily collects herself; their little moment of eye-to-eye sincerity has passed.

“Of course.” She hesitates. “...Have a good evening, Magister.”

The setting sun shines in bright oranges and reds on the back of her armor as she walks away.

In the moonlit garden of the estate, there are shadows.

Their presence is subtle and easily overlooked. Their footsteps make no sound; their clothes blend perfectly with the dark greens and grays of the night, hiding them behind pillars and in foliage, in solid blocks of shadow and in the mottled patterns of bright moonlight filtering through leaves.

There are twenty-seven of them, in total. Fifteen serve the Divine, and have traveled to Minrathous in secret from various corners of Thedas. The remaining twelve are Dalish, who have made the long, long trek from Wycome to one of the most dangerous places for their kind - just to be here tonight.

Some of them are on the outer side of the fence. None of them are inside the building. They are scattered across the perimeter, and, when the intruder comes, they will make no attempt to stop him.

They are not a wall keeping him out; they are the iron teeth of the bear trap, waiting to close on him once he has taken the bait.

The morning sun reflects off the crystal embedded in his transmitter amulet, each facet polished to perfection. He’d be able to spot his reflection in one of those quite easily, had he tried.

He doesn’t.

“Tonight, then,” Dorian says. “Are you sure?”

A small blue glow ignites inside of the crystal for a fraction of a moment, indicating that his message has been sent properly. Some seconds pass as the other party speaks their response, and then the amulet vibrates with the familiar voice of the Inquisition’s former spymaster - or, as she is more widely known these days, Divine Victoria.

As always, the sound of her speech comes with a pinprick of irritation in his chest. This is not what this amulet is for, and no, he has not gotten over that gripe after four years of it being used in this way.

Still, it would be foolish not to use it at all. The ability to instantly communicate between Minrathous and Val Royeaux has granted them an immense advantage in their hunt.

“As usual, we don’t have much evidence when it comes to his intentions - but what we do have shows that it is likely.”

Dorian allows himself a moment to process her words, taking his thumb off the back of the amulet so that it would not record and send the sound of him taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, with only the slightest shudder at the end.

He always knew that this was a possibility; hoped for it, even, on some of the worst (and best) days.

He tries to parse his own feelings. Fear is certainly present, his self-preservation instinct kicking in (good - it’s still working). There is also anxiety - different from fear; the vague tremble of uncertainty rather than a call to action - and something like… excitement.

Hope, even?

No. Not hope. He’s made some good progress from the point of denying himself hope for anything at all, but hoping for the best in this particular scenario feels too daunting.

Excitement, however, is something he can definitely work with. He did always love a challenge.

The amulet vibrates in his palm again.

“Is everything alright?”

He puts his thumb back on the warm copper.

“Never mind the pause; I’m still here. Now, what are our plans for tonight?”

The Magister finishes his glass of wine and sets it aside. He looks at the bottle for a moment too long, but does not reach for it.

This was his first and last glass for tonight. It was certainly good, even though he could barely taste it after the first sip; his mind is elsewhere, try as he might to anchor himself in the present.

For a moment, he thinks that he hears footsteps echoing downstairs, but he dismisses the thought. The sentries will not enter the building - and it couldn’t have been him , either.

His hand, idle without the glass, moves to rest on the grip of his staff.

The Magister knows: when he shows up, no one will hear any footsteps.

The first of the Dalish arrive soon after Valeria leaves.

Two figures at his front gate; two elven women with scarves on their heads, their faces bare, carrying large baskets. Servants; no one would look twice.

Through the study window, Dorian sees the taller of the two set her basket down and stretch; as she does, her hands form the signal gesture that was described to him.

He activates the spell inscribed into the wrought iron, and the gates swing open of their own accord, letting the two women inside.

He comes downstairs just as the front door opens. The first thing to cross the threshold is is one the baskets, which look even more enormous up close; the women haul them in and set them down unceremoniously, the shorter of the two slamming the door shut behind her.

Both of them acknowledge him with a brief glance before beginning to furiously wipe their faces with their scarves, removing the thick layer of makeup that was necessary to hide their vallaslin.

“Would you like some water?” he asks.

The taller - and older - woman takes the scarf away from her face, meeting his eyes in earnest for the first time. Hers are brown and warm, just as he remembers; her hair, also a painfully familiar brown, has more grey streaks than it did the last time he’d seen her.

Four years and six months ago.

His last visit to Wycome before he left for Minrathous; the last time he has seen her son.

“Would you like some water” is not, by any means, an adequate greeting for the situation they’re in, but - even after years of imagining their next conversation - he doesn’t have anything better.

To his own surprise, Dorian realizes that a significant amount of his fear has nothing to do with the impending attempt on his life, and everything to do with meeting her again.

Adria Lavellan smiles - a small, humorous smile; just a quirk of her lips and a slight rise of her eyebrows - and nods.

“Yes, thank you. Both to drink and to wash up.”

Nothing about her tone or demeanor is hostile. She’s friendly, and the attitude she projects suggests that she is genuinely glad to see him again.

Something in his chest tightens and tightens until it hurts. He tries to say something in response, but finds his mind horrifyingly blank, and his tongue heavy.

He silently nods and walks away.

More elves arrive. Most of them come in pairs; some come in a group of three, or alone. All in the guise of servants.

Many of them carry baskets. Inside - armor, weapons and traps.

The sun disappears below the horizon, the sky painted twilight purple in its absence.

When he speaks to Adria again, she has donned a set of ironbark armor - her husband’s finest work, no doubt - and is in the process of stringing a longbow.

It’s strange to see her like this. Every time Dorian has met her in the past, she wore dresses and aprons and seemed to prefer the role of hearthkeeper; here, she is in charge of a party of eleven, armed to the teeth.

He starts by complimenting her armor. She thanks him with the same small smile; still unbelievably non-hostile. She compliments his house in turn.

Be it any other person, Dorian would have interpreted her attitude as cleverly disguised contempt - but this is Adria Lavellan ; he knows her, and he knows the son she raised, and she would not lie to him.

He wants to ask her a question.

How -

No, why -

Does she -

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t write to you,” Adria says all of a sudden. “If the Inquisition was still around, they could have gotten my letter to Minrathous - but without them, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She’s throwing him a lifeline, giving him an easy topic for conversation - and, shamefully, he elects to take it.

There is, at least, a question he can ask here.

“…Why would you want to write to me?“

The words come out without his usual flair. Flat. Vulnerable.

Thank the Maker that no one else seems to be listening, for the moment.

She regards him kindly with her warm, brown eyes.

“I lost my parents and my first husband almost at the same time. I remember what it feels like; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m glad that you held up well.”

“…Well. Yes.” Dorian clears his throat. “I try. I - “

This is the perfect place to say something clever, perhaps some witty remark about his father’s demise, but the words do not come. This woman’s presence is equal parts comforting and terrifying to him, and it causes his brain to stop working.

He must do something about this. Now . He absolutely cannot remain a bumbling fool around - around his - around Neilar’s mother.

Dorian takes a deep breath.

“Why are you so calm?” he asks. “Why - “ his voice quivers - “Why are you not furious with me?”

A slight frown appears on her face as she parses his words.

“Well,” she says after a moment’s pause, “Those are two questions, and I’ll answer both. Why am I so calm: I’m not. I’m worried, and scared, and angry, and many other things - but those feelings are for me, not for the world. Sharing them with the world right now won’t help me or my children. And for the second question, I’m not aware of anything I should be furious about.” She tilts her head to the side slightly and perks up her left ear, which is closest to him. “ Have you done something I should be angry about?”

…Yes? No? He has spent countless sleepless nights trying to answer this exact question, and he still has no idea.

Is he to blame for what happened? Should he have postponed his return to Tevinter? Should he have been more thorough with his questions when he spoke to her son through the amulet that is now being held by the Divine?

Should he have dragged him away from that bloody Well by force before he could ever drink?

“I don’t know,” Dorian says.

Adria’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, inspecting him.

Judging?

Then, she nods and turns her attention back to the bow.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” she says. “Not any more than I blame him. Everything you two did, you did out of love, and it was right; now we must deal with the consequences. I don’t like those consequences, but I don’t think that you could have chosen to do anything differently. If you could, you would have been different people.”

It’s not forgiveness or absolution, but it is something much more precious: acceptance.

A creature walks through an empty hall.

Despite the dry summer night, beads of condensation shimmer on the edges of its form. Its movements make no sound, save for a faint dripping noise.

The creature has taken nineteen lives so far. Thirteen throats slit open, bodies found in pools of their own blood; three of them Dalish Keepers, one a First. One a Tevene Magister.

Six more bodies found drowned or strangled, floating face-down in a body of water or inexplicably buried in undisturbed soil. All six served what remained of the Inquisition; all six died on duty.

Thirteen assassinations. Six casualties.

In the Magister’s study, the temperature begins to drop.

He was right - there are no footsteps. In fact, there is nothing at all; not even an ominous whisper on the wind, a creaking door or the howling of wolves in the night to herald the intruder’s arrival.

The doorway is empty. Then, Dorian blinks, and it’s not empty anymore.

His only exit out of the study that isn’t a window is blocked by a wraith with glowing eyes the color of veilfire. The dark figure stands unmoving just past the threshold, every detail of it obscured by shadow.

Tonight is the night.

His entire body tenses as fight-or-flight kicks in; he forces himself to relax again, easing back into the chair. He remembers the investigations of previous murders; the target was never struck on sight. There will be a trigger, something that will set off the assault.

Outside, twenty-seven fighters are getting into position.

“You came, then,” Dorian says. His voice does not betray him, thank the Maker; it manages to produce the exact amount of sarcastic aloofness he had hoped for. “And all I needed to do was to get rid of my guards and staff and sit alone in the dark for a couple of hours. Who knew it was that easy?”

The figure steps forward, over the threshold and into the rectangle of moonlight streaming in from behind Dorian’s back. At once, it ceases to be a shadow and becomes a material presence.

A revenant.

His face is pale in the moonlight, the green vallaslin of Ghilan’nain appearing dark grey. Scratches and dirt on every visible part of his skin; grown-out, unkempt hair with leaves and twigs caught in it. Eyes glassy, pupils glowing veilfire green.

When he speaks, his voice is low and rasping, barely familiar - but familiar nonetheless.

A single word.

“Vhenan.”

Fuck. He can’t do this. This is too much - this is wrong - he can’t -

No. It’s too late now. Either he sees this through, or he dies.

“Amatus,” Dorian states dryly. “Long time no see. Next time you decide to become possessed and disappear forever, maybe leave a note? ‘Dear Dorian, just letting you know that I’ll be away for a while. The ancient spirits I let into my brain have finally claimed my soul and I’m going to spend four and a half years murdering people on their behalf. You were right about everything and I should have listened to you. Love, Neilar.’ ”

It feels good, at least. Sure, he’s just rambling to buy a few more minutes for the people outside - but, while he’s at it, he might as well get some things off his chest.

Now that he’s been forced to work through the fear and the guilt at an incredibly fast pace, all that’s left is anger; quite a hefty amount of it, with the name of this glassy-eyed idiot written on it in giant glowing letters.

“Or how about using the amulet? You know - the magical marvel I invented specifically for the purpose of talking to you? It didn’t cross your mind to maybe mention all the sleepwalking and speaking in tongues that was happening? No! It’s all I’m alright, Dorian , and things are fine, Dorian , and I have to spend a month wondering if the amulet is broken before Leliana calls to tell me that you’re gone - ”

A sharp edge against his throat, clutched in ironbark fingers. Appearing without the warning of sound or motion, like Neilar himself.

The others should be about ready by now, shouldn’t they?

Neilar speaks. Ancient elven.

Dorian understands every word; he’s been doing his homework on everything elven and ancient ever since the disappearance.

“The will of Mythal demands your demise.”

The blade presses deeper - fuck - no, not deep enough to end it.

It takes all of his willpower not to start casting. Not yet. This isn’t just about saving his own hide; this is about capturing him for good.

The signal. Any second now. Surely -

“...Hold on, just a second - he’s not peeking, right?” Dagna asks, adjusting buckles and leather straps.

“I can’t - he’s covering my eyes!” Neilar protests.

His eyelashes tickle the inside of Dorian’s palms, as if to prove the point.

“Well, good - keep covering them. It’s all wonky and misaligned and you’re not allowed to see it until it sits right.”

Dorian can relate to her fretting. This particular project was, in many ways, a work of passion, and the necessity to finish it as soon as possible only added to the frantic energy of everyone involved. His own part was relatively small; he chimed in at the design stage and provided some arcane support at the tail end of the process, drawing on his necromantic knowledge of animating limbs.

It looks good, though. It should also work well; they’d checked everything a thousand times over.

Dagna finishes the adjustments and leans back to inspect her work from afar. Satisfied, she nods:

“Alright, let him see it.”

He takes his hands away from Neilar’s eyes and steps aside, making sure that he can see Neilar’s expression as he looks at his new prosthetic.

The look in his eyes is blank, at first, processing what he’s looking at. Then - surprise, curiosity; he leans closer to the artificial arm, inspecting it for details.

“Try holding it up to your face instead,” Dagna suggests.

“But how do I - ”

“Don’t think about it too much! Just do it.”

The arm moves, rising up to eye level and turning, allowing Neilar to look at it from different angles.

Silverite-inlaid ironbark, the metallic parts lovingly engraved with images of vines and halla.

Dorian can see the exact moment when Neilar finds the writing hidden among the designs. His lips move silently as he reads the text.

The same quote in elven, dwarven and Tevene, snaking along the vines:

“Wounded and blinded, I will find my way home.”

A line adapted from the tale of Ghilan’nain, changed ever so slightly to make it into an oath; the same oath Neilar had taken, years ago, upon completing the trial to earn him a place among the clan’s scouts.

Despite the recent revelations from Solas, it seemed appropriate. Dorian doesn’t remember who was the first to float the idea for adding text, but the approving look he received from Taren - Neilar’s father - upon suggesting that particular quote has been firmly burned into his memory.

And yet… This is all fine and good, but the most important question is -

“It’s… perfect.” Neilar sounds almost puzzled, as if liking their gift is a surprise to him. “I didn’t know what it would look like, but now - I can’t imagine it looking any other way.”

Dorian feels something inside of him deflate with relief. Neilar keeps inspecting the prosthetic, turning it this way and that, then starts playing with it, testing how far the fingers can bend and how quickly he can shift from one gesture to another.

It’s not as good as the real thing, it’s a little slower; Dorian knows that for a fact.

Still, right now Neilar doesn’t seem to mind; after messing with the hand some more, he shifts his attention to Dagna and pulls her into a hug, thanking her. Then, it’s Dorian’s turn.

The hug is tight enough to make his ribs hurt.

For the first time in weeks, it feels as if everything will be alright, after all.

A sharp whistle cuts through the silence.

Neilar freezes, both ears perked up. Distracted.

At the sound of the signal, relief floods Dorian's system. He feels the corners of his mouth twist into a smile of their own accord.

“I still love you, for the record,” he says, “But letting you slit my throat is a little too much, don’t you think?”

With a snap of his fingers, the lightning glyph he’d drawn on the floor of the study hours ago detonates.

#dragon age #dragon age inqusition #dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #pavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #mild swearing #oc: neilar lavellan #herearedragons writing #IT'S DONE #uh #tw: death mention #tw: grief #tw: blood mention

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icespur · 5 months

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FERAL OVERPROTECTIVE BOYFRIEND AKECHI IF HE WAS IN PERSONA 5 STRIKERS

Related to above post

Edit 12/11: Upon Comment notifying I don't need to censor certain words, I've changed some to the original intention.

Edit 12/18: Uncensored whole post

Sees Zenkichi as an immediate threat. Tries to throw hands with the man and gives him death stares 24/7.

Gramps sealed his fate the second he openly revealed to the PTs that he's a cop. Akechi is like "I'm a former ally of the Police, I know what you're group does and what your true intentions are probably. Your "cool dad" vibe isn't fooling me one bit. I could care less what happens to most of these idiots BUT IF YOU SO AS GO WITHIN FIVE FEET OF MY JOKER WITH HANDCUFFS OR A GUN, YOUR ASS IS GRASS."

Akiren has to constantly be on watch to make sure his feral lover doesn't successfully snipe Zenkichi while he isn't looking. Because he definitely tries. Akiren just told him he couldn't shoot him with his gun, but he didn't say anything about killing the man with a sniper while hiding in a very convenient tree or hiding in a very out of place suspicious Trash Can or Bush. If it weren't for Akiren's Third Eye being able to see where Akechi is hiding, Gramps would be laying in a pool of blood on the pavement already.

"Why is that brunet man glaring at me?" Zenkichi points at Akechi hiding behind Akiren, but definitely not out of shyness. He's hugging Akiren in practically a death grip and staring at the Cop over Akiren's shoulder. If looks could kill, Zenkichi is certain his exploded headless corpse would be laying on the ground.

Extra: Akiren would try to get Akechi out of his "Detective mode" when trying to look for the next Monarch. By happily dragging him around every hotspot in a new city they travel to. Just because they are on a mission doesn't mean they can't take some time off and enjoy the sights!

"Babe, look at all the food stands! We have to try them all and fill the van full of souvenirs."

"Did you forget we're not soley on Summer break, but traveling because once again your freedom is on the line? We're investigating for more intel on the current Monarch first, then perhaps we can indulge oursel---AMAMIYA, LET ME GO."

Akiren literally grabs Goro by the arm and drags him away from the people he was questioning, and to the food stands. "Romantic sightseeing and shopping spree first, Detective work later."

"We are literally in the middle of an investigate--"

"ROMANTIC SIGHTSEEING. AND SHOPPING SPREE. FIRST. INVESTIGATION. LATER."

#persona 5 royal #persona 5 strikers #akiren #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #goro akechi #akeshu #akeshu hc #shuake #ren x akechi #overprotective #feral behavior #zenkichi hasegawa #on thin ice #tw: gun mention #tw: blood mention

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the-three-whumpeteers · 10 months

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The whumpee thought rescue would go smoothly, with them seeing their friends again and being happy- but it quickly became far more compl than that. The caretaker can only hold on to the whumpee as they try to stop the bleeding, both of them waiting for help to arrive, and the caretaker keeps trying to quietly comfort the whumpee as best they can.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #tw: blood mention #caretaker #stab wound #not explicitly but like basically #rescue

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mythicalmagical-monkeyman · 9 months

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Macaque: Wear your safety glasses and your rain coat 'cause there will be blood. And lots of it.

#lmk incorrect quotes #lego monkie kid incorrect quotes #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #lmk liu er mihou #tw: blood mention

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timaeusterrored · 6 months

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((Tw for violence and Vax being unhinged. But Kovachek getting what he deserves))

Man I wanna write a completely unhinged scene where Vax hears Kovachek has been giving Kerry shit still after the space station, and Kerry’s mind had been set on V so he was being taken advantage of again. So Vax, without a word, breaks into his house and waits for him to get home, then beats him within an inch of his life. Completely silent, ignoring Kerry and Vik blowing up his phone.

He leaves Kovachek on the floor, with a promise to leave Kerry alone. And as Vax sits in his car, counting to calm himself… he swears he hears Johnny telling him he did a good thing for Ker.

#tw: violence #tw: blood mention #vax deserves to be unhinged #cyberpunk 2077 #kerry eurodyne #cyberpunk kerry #kerry #cyberpunk v #male v #male v cyberpunk #vax eurodyne #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne x v #kerry x male v #male v x kerry #v x kerry #otp: supernova

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undertale-writing-times · 6 months

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Can you do US Sans, US Papyrus, SF Sans, SF Papyrus, FS Sans, FS Papyrus, and HT Sans for this ask plz? How they'd react?:

His S/O is scared of needles and needs blood drawn according to doctors. S/O doesn't want to, of course, and tries to just not get it done or run off to hide. If he catches them doing this, they argue some.. n tears.. cause they're scared and about to have a panic attack, but eventually agree but asks him if he'll come with them. Very obviously embarrassed.

I would love to write this one for you ^^ Sorry it took so long to get out to you. It's uh been a while :-|

Blueberry: Blueberry would stick with you no matter what! He understands being afraid of needles, as the idea of being poked like that was scary. He went to talk to the doctor about something that they could do to make it easier on you, until he went back and saw that you were gone! He gasps then huffs and starts to run around trying to find you. Y/n, he understands your fear, but you can't just run off to hide from the doctor! When he finally finds them, he looks at them frowning "Y/n, I the magnificent Sans, know that you are frightened of the needles but you cannot just run off like that. You scared me!" they start to argue with him, tears in their eyes that they don't want to get their blood taken, the needle is scary. He frowns and calms them down, putting his arms around them "Y/n Y/n, calm down, I'll be right there for you! You can hold my hand!" He chirps, happily and leads them back to the room holding your hand, and he'll let you squeeze it while you get your blood drawn. He doesn't like seeing it all that much.

Stretch: Stretch does understand why you would be afraid of the needles but running off to hide isn't going to help anything but make people nervous. When he went back to tell you that it was time and he saw that you weren't there? He felt panic shoot through him. What the hell? Why would you just run off like that? He starts to head around trying to find you without getting in the way of anyone around them. Damn it Y/n, you know that he feels awkward talking to people, honestly just being near them. When he finally finds you, he sighs and crouches down beside you "Y/n... you can't just run off like that. What are you doing?" you start to quickly explain that you don't want your blood taken, you don't want to be poked. He frowns, and starts to try to calm you down, petting the top of your head and pulling his fingers through your hair. He explains that it was needed, and he'd help you out the best that he could, you could hold his hand if you wanted, and he would make jokes and puns. Finally, you agreed, and they head back to get your blood drawn. He wants to go home right afterwards... he doesn't want to be outside any longer.

Lord: Lord dislikes needles as well, he dislikes most things that are sharp even if he wouldn't admit it. When he came back in to see you so he could tell you that the doctor would be there soon, he sees that you were gone causing him to tense "Oh no" he mumbles. Where the hell did you go? He starts to go around to try to find where you ran off to. He hates it when people wander off, it always makes him worried, maybe because of how Mutt would often wander off and almost get hurt. He finally finds you and crosses his arms over his chest "Y/n" he wasn't upset at them for running off, just... it made him nervous. You quickly start to explain why you were running, the needles scared you and you didn't want your blood drawn. He listens and frowns, sitting down beside you reaching up to pet the top of your head explaining that it'll sting at first but it'll be fine, and he'll be there for them. "Promise?" they ask, making him nod, and they get up to go and get your blood drawn while he squeezes your hand softly. He wants you to know that he would protect you from anything, even if it's just a small needle.

Mutt: Mutt found needles scary too! They're very pokey but they didn't realize just how much you disliked them until they went to tell you that the doctor was coming and they saw that you weren't there anymore! They panic, since of course they do, and starts to run around looking for you! They thought that you left them there for some reason, and that scared them. They hated being alone. When they finally find you, and sees that you're upset they frown "Y/n?" they ask, as they sat down beside you "why did you run off like that?" When you look at them, looking like you were about to cry, and started to quickly explain that you didn't want to do it, you were scared, they smile and had an idea "I'll go with you then! I'll hold your hand and you won't have to do it alone" You stare at them for a few seconds, looking unsure, until you sigh nodding slowly while rubbing at your eyes. Mutt was happy that you trusted them enough to agree to do this! They take your hand, pull you up, and then they walk back together. Lord would most likely allow them to get ice cream too as a good job... that's pretty sweet, isn't it?

King: When he comes back and sees that you're gone, he's honestly going to panic a little. Why would you just run off like that?! He clears his throat, calms himself the best he can, and starts to walk around quickly to try to find where you ran off. When he finally finds you, he huffs, "Y/n! You can't just run off like that, do you know how worried I- the doctor was?!" you flinch, and whimper, quickly starting to explain that you were scared and didn't want to be poked by the doctor. He frowns since he understood, yet he knew that you needed to do it! He sighs, and talks to you about it saying that he would stay with you during the whole time and you two walk back to get your blood drawn, and he held your hand. If it makes you really feel better, he could get some magic drawn from his ecto too, just so you weren't alone.

Alpha: bold of you to assume you would be able to get away that easily. He would most likely kiss you to distract you while the doctor took the blood lol

Axe: Axe hated seeing you scared, you would flinch away from the doctor whenever they got close with the needle, which caused him to growl at the doctor, flexing his fingers. He wanted to attack, stop the doctor from scaring and hurting you even though he knew that the doctor was trying their best. He breathes out slowly and gets up, slowly walking closer dragging the chair behind him and he takes your hand into his own "Y/n a...re y-you okay?" You look over at him, frowning, and shake your head starting to quickly talk about how you didn't want the needle, it hurts and you hated needles! He sighs and reaches up, pulling his fingers through your hair slowly while making sure to not cut you on accident "Y...You'll be okay I'm... I'm h-here" He mumbles, getting the voice out slowly and he leans over, kissing your cheek "Won't let em hurt you" He keeps them distracted while the doctor did their whole thing. Whenever he saw you flinch, he would growl softly at the doctor, squinting at them. He knew that they were most likely so damn scared right now. He felt a little bad but you were his datemate and he worried for you more than anyone else.

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the--helen · 6 months

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@santiagoxflores

It had been almost two months since she had found herself in Greywood... if she could put it in this way. She wandered often in the evening around the city, holding her husband's cold hand, looking at people, and discussing his life. She had come to understand that not everything was as it seemed, that there were things she couldn't quite comprehend, and that Alexander was in fact one of them. Something else. Helen wasn't afraid to admit that she was more afraid now, more reserved around him, allowing him to do as he wished without trying to oppose him. She didn't go out too much, when he was home, mostly when he left her for a few days every few weeks, sure enough, that he would find her home even if he left the door unlocked, considering she couldn't leave the city even if she wanted.

Two weeks ago she had confronted him about the golden bracelet on her hand that seemed to be doing things to her, scaring her a bit every time she gave herself too willingly, afraid that he'd finally fully overcome every barrier she had in her mind, but also happy that she seemed to finally be allowing herself to love him even if she wasn't sure she wanted to. And it had been bad. He had been angry with her for wanting to give it back so they could go back to normal. Saying that she couldn't go to the Halloween party was putting it lightly, she hadn't been able to get out of bed for a few days, both exhausted from the loss of blood and bruised from the rough touches all over her. And two days ago he had finally helped her heal after keeping her in bed for the whole day, curtains drawn, one of his charms from a friend on their door to stop anyone from hearing what they do in their home. Now she was alone again, as he had received a call that had gotten him excited, and as soon as the sun had set he drove away, heading for another state. As far as she could understand... she didn't want to know the exact nature of his escapades.

A whole day spent in darkness, the night filled with nightmares, she needed to go out now, dreading the four walls she was stuck between and desperate for the sunshine while it was still there with winter coming around. She dressed and grabbed the old phone she had, holding it in her hand with a few bills she had left in the jar on the kitchen counter. She didn't remember the last time she ate so it seemed like a good idea to do so now, walk around. And so she did that, getting pastries from a bakery near the park, wishing her loneliness could be filled with anything else than lust or fear. So she sat down on a bench in the sun and looked down at the phone number, taking some time to press down the buttons to produce a message, hoping she was remembering the correct number.

#p:santiago #tw: implied abuse #tw: blood mention #santi02

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jagermanout · 3 months

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The Nightmare

(OOC - @tedspankoffskifan42069 since this is due to the nightmare chip!]

[The halls that Max used to roam with pride and respect have become a twisted, unfamiliar maze. They bend and turn in ways that they didn't before, and even tilt at certain points]

[Max is running. Running as faster than he's ever run before. He almost loses his balance at certain points. His body is pumped with fear and adrenaline]

"Come on, Maxie~! Won't you let me have fun? Won't you let me be happy for Once?

[Chasing after him is Richard Lipschitz. Covered in blood that reaches from head to chest, smiling with far too many teeth]

[Max spots a door amongst the endless rows of lockers. He pushes it open, diving into the room and out of Richie's sight]

[Suddenly, a spotlight shines on him, almost blinding him. He realises he's in the Auditorm, or at least the stage. It's too dark to see anything else]

"OH! THIS IS GOING TO BE SUCH A WONDERFUL SHOW!"

[Max turns to see Ruth Fleming, standing in her own spotlight, only hers seems to be flickering.]

"I TOOK YOUR ADVICE, MAX!" [she screams with delight, making Max's ears hurt] "NOW EVEN THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK WILL HEAR YOU GET RIPPEE TO SHREDS!"

[Max tries to run past her, but she grabs onto his jacket with strength he didn't know she had, pulling him back and throwing him to the ground]

"OR! IF YOU WANT TO KEEP ME FROM THE SPOTLIGHT AGAIN, I CAN HAVE YOUR FRIENDS DO IT!"

[Two more spotlights turn on. Ruth's gone, and in her place are Kyle and Jason. Blood dripping from Kyle's neck and Jason's face blurry and strange. They stare at him with cold, dead eyes]

"I could have lived if it weren't for you."

[Kyle's eyes turn from blank to grey to green. He starts to smile]

"Well, I guess this is good karma. Now we get to rough you up. Eh, Jace?"

"Hey, maybe we should go easy on him. Oh, wait, he never did that to anyone's did that to anyone else."

[They starts approaching Max he backs away, terrified.]

"I don't know about 'going easy' on him, but maybe I could do something quick and painless."

[Something touches the back of his head. he looks up to see Steph holding a gun, smirking.]

"What do you think, Petey Pie? Should I make it swift. You in a hurry or something?"

"I don't know, Steph. It wasn't 'Quick and Painless' at Pasqualli's. And he certainly didn't make it quick or painless for my friends."

[Next to Steph is Pete. Bruise and battered, glasses broken yet not letting Max see his eyes but smiling.]

"Pete's right. Quick and painless isn't an option after all he's done. I think a little case of Deja Vu will be a much better punishment for this sinner."

[Something peirce's through his chest, making him cry out in pain. In front of him is Grace Chasity, her face sweet as ever as she drives a piece of broken wood deeper into his body.]

"Alright, I think that's quite enough now."

[Richie's back again, leaning over Max and grinning wildy.]

"Well, since none of us have any intention of praying for him, I think we should go. Bye-bye, Maxie! Have FUN dying alone!"

[Everyone and everything else disappears, leaving Max bleeding and in pain]

[He's going to die. He's going to die alone and in pain and it's all his own fault.]

[Knowing his luck, he won't even see Kyle in the Lake again]

[Maybe he deserves this. No, he definitely does.]

[He is a monster after all]

(OOC - Ok Nightmare over! Tinky can take the chip out now :). Had fun writing this I love torturing Maxie)

#dead max #hatchetfield rp #max jagerman #tw: blood mention

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plaguedocboi · 1 year

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#if anyone wants to draw this. please go for it #leeches #tw: blood mention

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caemthe · 28 days

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@intcritus said.º

[ SAMPLE ] for sender to wipe at smeared blood on receiver that isn’t theirs then proceed to lick it off their finger. ( aris @ dee )

The mission was finished in a timely manner and the only thing left to do was to report back to the BSA. But she must've been careless, as she got too close to the blood-drinking trees. Immediately, the tree yokai used one of its branches as a whip in an attempt to capture her, like it would any other living creature unlucky enough to pass near it. But Deirdre stopped the attack by using basic defensive magic just in time. The impact was avoided, but she failed to take into consideration that these jubokko were filled to the brim with blood. The force with which the branch was swung at her was enough that, when stopped, it broke and splattered everywhere, like a bag of blood thrown to a wall.

The ground, the trunk of the tree, even herself were covered in the rich blood of the jubokko. It reminded her of those yokai mice that inflated like balloons and exploded on their own to scare hunters away. In other words, it was a mess. The blood of the jubokko was a precious commodity due to its healing properties, so Deirdre was certain that she was going to get scolded after reporting the incident to the BSA. "..."

Eyebrows furrowing, for the first time in a while, Deirdre tried to think of what to say to her superiors. It wasn't going to be a funny conversation. But her thoughts came to a halt when a certain crow took the opportunity to wipe some of the blood sticking to her and lick it. She lifted her head a bit, blue eyes looking at the way red disappeared on Aris' mouth before meeting his gaze. Did this amuse him? The smile adorning his features led her to believe that that was the case. "I haven't tried it myself, but I heard that the jubokko's blood has a sweet taste. A rather odd blend between iron and nectar. Was it enjoyable?" Deirdre asked and, as always, her expression remained neutral, a mystery to most.

"Would you like some more?"

But before she could hear Aris' answer, she lifted her blood-soaked hand and placed her middle and ring finger on the man's mouth. Pressing down on his tongue, there was no gentleness in the action despite the gracefulness with which Deirdre often carried herself. She waited for him to clean her fingers before brushing the back of her hand over his mouth and cheek, painting them crimson. "Red suits you, it contrasts against your skin nicely. Its various shades as well, the warmth spreading over your face and ears remind me that you too are made of flesh and blood."

It traveled lower, slender fingers skimming over the man's neck and closing around it just enough to feel his pulse. She had completely messed up Aris' pretty face. "Your rapid pulse as well. If I were to sink my teeth in your neck or cut your veins open with my nails, I would get to see you in the most vibrant red. Aren't you curious about that?" But as off-putting as Deirdre's words were, there was no malice or darkness in them. She talked like someone who was playing cards, waiting for everyone to make their bets before showing her hand. A royal flush.

But then she simply let go of his neck, putting an end to the unexpected event.

"You're not the only one capable of doing unpredictable things, Aristotle. Don't forget that."

blood kink prompts

#intcritus #dee. º ( saber. )#ask. ° ( delivered. )#tw: blood mention #/ hghjkjhgh im sorry she's like that™ (and sorry this took me a while to reply; had to convince dee to not be too insane about this ask)

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pickleking8 · 9 months

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7 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Seven

Words: 1239

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

TW: kidnapping, blood mention (used in a metaphor/simile)

--------------------------------

Danny woke up with an awful headache and an aching body to accompany it. Ancients, he missed his healing factor. This sucked. With a groan, he rolled over and stuffed his face into his pillow. His surprisingly plump pillow. In a groggy confusion, he narrowed his eyes and glared at the unstained, unflattened, clean and soft pillow that still bore an indentation from where his head had lain. This was not his pillow (or, if one was being accurate, the hotel’s pillow).

Well, he was wide awake now. Flying up (not literally, sadly), he took in the room with wide eyes. It was large, and lovingly decorated, with soft blue walls and shelves upon shelves of books. Fancy ones, too, all the old undecipherable ones that Danny always got bad scores on. The books were well worn, with creased spines and softened corners from years of use, but lacking any rips or tears, speaking to the reverence that whoever had loved these books had had for them. Danny’s books never got that kind of treatment. Danny’s books were always either with uncreased spines, forever unopened and forgotten, or with taped covers, dog-eared pages, and dropped unceremoniously on his rickety desk.

This was a bedroom, a bedroom belonging to a rich kid who loved books and who treated them with a respect that Danny never had the energy to give. This was a room with no glow in the dark stars scattered in constellations that took hours of painstaking work to get perfectly accurate. This was a room that was neat and cared for, opposing the jumble of clothes and dishes and half-finished homework that always lay strewn across Danny’s floor.

This was not a room for Danny. Which was honestly a relief, Danny thought, realizing the implications of a room tailored to him.

Cautiously getting up, Danny finally noticed the weight that hung heavy in the room. The air was stiff and stagnant, and it smelled like a sweater that had been left at the bottom of a wooden drawer, forgotten and passed over until a biting chill came. This was a room where time had gone on with only foreign visitors there to witness its static air and slow decay. The sense of decrepitude was pervasive. And yet, the room was pristine, spotless even.

It was like a room in a museum. No one sat on this furniture or slept in this bed or opened the window at night to hear the rain better. Caretakers kept the dust from collecting in the folds of the blankets and on the shelves that held the books, but the only people in this room were outsiders. Foreigners, imposters even. They did not belong. They did not love the books on the shelves or the shade of blue that adorned the walls or the silky texture of the sheets on the bed. They did not carefully choose the toys that sat on the windowsill or the color of the lava lamp on the desk or the placement of the bed or chair or that poster on the wall. They did not love the stuffed animal that sat forgotten on the bed (in fact, they did not even know that its name was Bennet) and they did not feel proud of the achievements on the wall. They did not live there.

And neither did Danny. It felt wrong to be in this room that was so clearly someone else’s. He felt like an imposter, like a cheap replacement for whoever had picked so much at the now frayed corner of the pillowcase. He didn’t want to be in this room anymore.

Another pounding beat of the headache reminded him forcefully of his situation. He wanted Jazz. Jazz would know what to do. Where was Jazz?

Okay, Danny, focus. You’ve been kidnapped, presumably, and are in a room that you should not be in. For both imposter reasons and kidnapping is bad reasons, he thought, Best thing to do is leave before whoever kidnapped you comes back, and get back to Jazz. Yes, Jazz.

The window proved to be an inadmissible path of escape. He was several stories up, and while he wouldn’t mind fucking up this rich fruitloop’s nice rosebushes, lacking his flight, he would surely break several bones concluding the trip down, so he decided against that route with a curse upon his luck. He did, however, take note of the fact that it was now daytime, midafternoon by the looks of it. Meaning that he had been out for at least ten hours. Not good. Jazz would be worried. He was worried.

The door opened silently and smoothly. No hinges lamented their fate and nothing caught upon the door to slow its languid swing. Danny found himself in a long hallway lit with yellow bulbs that bathed the rows and rows of closed doors in a melancholy light. Danny, who was already thoroughly frightened, felt his apprehension grow and his painfully slow heartbeat begin to quicken. Funny, almost, how his fear made him seem more human (regrettably, the Drs. Fenton had not seen it that way).

He padded softly against the lush carpet, bare feet shuffling along the luxurious patterned strands, contrasting the rough, creaking floorboards of the hotel that he had become accustomed to. This did not ease his tensions. If anything, it increased them. Why was he here, in a place so different, and how? They were clearly rich.

…Danny didn’t like rich kidnappers who gave him headaches. Honestly, the list of things he didn’t like was growing bigger and bigger with each passing day. Danny decided he didn’t approve, both of the growing list and of the situation (whatever it may be) that he was currently in.

The hallway stretched on, and as Danny trekked through it, dragging his feet in reluctance all the while, it seemed to warp and twist maliciously. The walls seemed to grow taller and loom nearer, closing him in, and the faces in the paintings seemed to stretch and distort, contorting into caricatures with leering eyes and cruel smiles with wicked teeth. And the carpet, the ornate Persian carpet. It seemed to unfurl further and further, a personal walkway through hell colored red as blood. Danny shivered and trudged on, shying away from the walls and the shining yellow lights that looked much too much like eyes.

Abruptly, he found himself at a stairwell. While the hallway had been much too hot for his liking, all close and warm and personal, the stairway was a cool marble, distant, cold, and unfeeling. That carpet continued, though, winding ever further in front of him. Eager, eager, eager to find the end of that harsh, glaring red (at least it wasn’t green, thank the Ancients it wasn’t green), Danny started down the stairs at a much faster pace, and only increased his speed, until he was tripping and stumbling his way down, the carpet as slippery as slick, wet blood. Finally, finally, the stairs and the carpet and the leering faces and the too-close walls came to an end, and he was met instead with a sea of shifting black hair and shiftier eyes, all of which were turned uncannily on him and stared wide and unblinking, watching, and waiting, though for what, Danny didn’t know. So he stood there, shivering, afraid, and utterly alone, stranded on an island amid an ocean of strangers.

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Next - Masterpost

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Ta-da! I'm really proud of this one, I think it turned out well and it was fun to write, so I hope y'all like it too! I also want you guys to notice that I named the stuffed animal after Pride and Prejudice characters that I 100% didn't google. Because I was pretty happy with that. Anyway, thank you for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #jazz fenton #batfam #dpxdc crossover #tw: kidnapping #I'm really proud of this one!#I liked it a lot #tho if you have any constructive criticism I would be happy to receive it #did you notice about the Bennet thing?#I was proud of that #tw: blood mention

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heyhenz · 1 month

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It had lasted the entire night, as expected, and by the time the sun came up, Henry was somehow back in his own house, completely naked besides a few scraps of clothing around him. He was terrified, confused, in pure awe at what happened.. However, when he looked down to check himself over, to make sure there were no injuries, all he saw was his body covered in blood.

It wasn't his blood, no, he wouldn't have bled that much... He tasted something on his tongue, mulling it around for a moment until his eyes widened. "Eris...." He whispered to himself, absolutely terrified. Had he killed his friend? God, he hoped not... He quickly washed off all the blood in a shower, put on fresh clothes, and made his way outside, trying his best to sniff out the other male the best he could.

When he found him, he was at Roman's home, making him swallow hard. He knew his best friend would be pissed at him, would push him away, would scream at him, but he needed to know Eris was safe. So, without dwelling too hard, he gently knocked on the door before entering with a key he'd had.

@erisnotots

#tw: blood mention #tw: injury mention

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misscloudiedays · 3 months

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Acne And other stress caused skin problems is actually the the worst things ever, I’ll never Judge someone for having such things I’d be a total hypocrite

But I mean the horrible cycle it encourages in some people, I have the need to stim in ways to relieve stress and when I have nothing to do I go to biting nails or picking at bumpy parts of my skin

The pain, blood and knowing people can visually see the pain I’m causing to myself makes me stressed

The stress I experience feeds acne and other skin problems

Stress, picking, stress from picking, stress feeds the skin

Why is the human body so, complicated

#so this seems random but I wanted to get this out and not keep saying it to myself #tw skin picking #tw: vent #tw vent #tw blood mention #tw: blood mention

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zionslater · 2 months

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[closed starter for @robinastrea] Zion sighed as he grabbed one of the synthetic blood bags, he had been refraining from taking too often to prevent being found out as an umbra, though still often enough to keep his eyes from changing too noticeably. He truly didn't want to scare anyone, though he knew it was only a matter of time before he was found out. Making his way to take a seat somewhere nearby he brought the bag up to his mouth getting ready to sink his teeth into it, only to hear footsteps coming in moments later as he started downing the contents of the bag. 'Uh oh..' Zion thought to himself looking up and locking eyes with Robin. Dropping his gaze to down in front of him as he finished up the bag, pulling it away to attempt hiding it under his hand in his lap. He licked away any remnants with his tongue that may have dribbled onto his mouth, hovering his free hand in front of his mouth as he did so, making sure to get his teeth the best he could. "Hi" Zion said awkwardly. He knew he was gonna get caught one day, just didn't think of all days it would be today.

#zion + robin #tw: blood mention #I'M SORRY IF IT DOESN'T QUITE MAKE SENSE #IT MAKES SENSE TO ME ;-; it's been a long day and iwas excited to get this out

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undertale-writing-times · 10 months

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Yandere ask 70.

“I just wanna protect you. Nothing wrong with that, is it" - Cross sans

{ Just waiting for an "Giant Oreo" to stand outside my windows with a random sans as hostage :] }

I decided to go a little different on this yandere one than I normally do! :D

You’ve been locked in this room for a few days. A chain wrapped around your ankle kept you from walking around too far, but there was a bathroom, food, and a really soft bed.

You woke up there, and at first, you were scared but then your friend, Cross, came in and when you joked about it, trying to say “haha real funny, now come on, let me go… this isn’t funny anymore” he shook his head at you, then left again, after explaining that it was for your own safety.

No matter how many times you spoke back, or told him that you wanted to leave, he wouldn’t let you. He wasn’t mean or anything, just… being locked in a room against your will? Yeah, not really a good thing.

You woke up today to see a note on your bed, and after reading it, you saw it was from Cross, ‘Hey Y/n, I went to get more food. I changed the chains, you can walk around the house now! But, don’t think about leaving. It would shock you if you tried… and don’t try to take it off, either. It would do the same’

Turning your head down, you saw the chain was gone, replaced by a weird-looking bracelet-like thing. You trace your fingers over it, trying to see if you could find whatever was keeping it charged but when you touched it, a small shock went up through your leg, causing you to flinch, letting out a soft hiss.

“What the hell, Cross?” You mumble to yourself.

With a sigh, you push yourself to get up off the bed, your legs shaking a little as you started to walk. Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing that he could have done but you were still unhappy. What the hell did he mean it was for your own safety? You were plenty safe! Sure, someone did try to steal from you but… that’s just something that happens, right?

He couldn't think about keeping you against your will forever! He has to let you leave soon. Maybe you'd wake up, and this was all just some... crazy dream?

You sigh at the thought, pulling your fingers through your hair. It was starting to feel kind of gross. It hadn't been brushed in a while, either. Cross offered to do it for you, but you told him to fuck off.

He seemed… hurt.

While you were walking around the house, studying the rooms and such, you didn't notice how much time had passed until you heard the door open again, causing you to tense.

The sudden tension of muscles kind of hurt, making you bite down on your bottom lip. You slowly peek around to see him going into the kitchen, carrying a few bags, which he sets down and starting to unpack.

Your eyes shoot around, maybe you could… you could try to fight him? You could knock him out, and run away! Could you even do that though? He’s a really good fighter, you knew that well enough.

“I know you’re there, Y/n. I hope you enjoy that I took off the chains, I thought you would stop fighting me so much.”

You huff softly, slowly walking into the kitchen, “Cross… I don’t want to be here anymore. I get that you think you're helping me with this, but all you've done is kidnap me. I want to go back to my family," You thought maybe bringing them up would click something in his mind?

Instead, he laughs, shaking his head, "Oh Y/n..." he mumbles and turns to look at you. His hand reaches out, gently grabbing your cheeks as he pulls you closer to himself. “I just wanna protect you. Nothing wrong with that, is it?" He lightly digs his fingertips into your soft skin, blood bubbling up from the cuts making you let out a soft pained sound which you tried to bite back. "But if you keep trying to leave, I'll make it so you don't have something to return to. Do I make myself clear?" he pulls his hand away and looks away.

"Now go back to your room," he says. You were about to object, but the look he gave you made you shut up, and you turn your head down, heading back to the room clenching your fist. You were going to leave somehow. You knew that you were.

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