#Filthy Fables ;;

[sleepynegress]

Okay... So I'm in a way right now with the red tide and hormones..... But I did want to say some things about SINNERS while I have a little bit of mental energy.

Stack and Smoke are two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, red and blue, Italian and Irish gang clothing style... etc.

Some people are getting carried away with analysis and it's giving more projection of what you want it to be vs. what is.... Coogler himself has cited great fun tropey horror films and pop culture touchstones like Salem's Lot (the book not the movie) and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (which I love that that's a reference) he has said his most important takeaway is "ownership of art."

The act structure that gave us that classic "caper" set-up of all kinds of characters listening to the plan and then going "you sonavabitch, I'm in." for the juke joint was my favorite part of this TBH.

It is NOT a Christian "Come to Jesus" movie and I LOVE that about it. In fact, it's the opposite.

It's a "be true to self and your gifts in the face of any god or devil", movie.

BOTH women love interests (white presenting and full-figured and unambiguously Black ,--back to that yin and yang of the twins) were beloved by a twin, both fit the elemental nature of said twin, and both had to traverse death to be with their love.

As an aside.... loved hearing a southern accent from our Asian cousins, seeing the "not my problem" energy from the Choctaw hunters, and the reminder that there was actual ancestral cultural community before "whiteness" for white people too, and why many no longer have it...

LOVED LOVED LOVED the cultural details in the character work, setting, energy, etc.... ESPECIALLY Delroy Lindo's vocal cadence.

I loved what Coogler chose to NOT show to make the energy more impactful and palpable in both sensuality and scares.

I'll be the weirdo who prefers the pure blues vs. the remix but I LOVED seeing all the ancestors and descendents come and vibe with the music...I used to have recurring dreams of a multicultural ancestral world jam session, so "that scene" hit me hard.

Remmick just follows in the tradition of Coogler villains being compelling af, but ultimately WRONG because of an essential flaw in their logic (i.e. Killmonger's misogynoir and colonizing techniques and funnily enough Remmick's colonizing techniques, klan and black using vampire telepathy for a faux community peace)

I have seen no one else mention this, but I chuckled at Saul "List of Demands" Williams playing the preacher, aka Sammie's dad

the vampire nerd part of me absolutely rejoiced at all the "traditional" vampire warding aspects, ESPECIALLY the silver, something that is often wrongly asserted as being just for werewolves

loved how filthy and raunchy the language was when it came to desire... because that's real (and I hate purity culture which is very much now tied to the alt-right white Christo-fascist pipeline right now) AND centering women's pleasure and, in many cases audacious initiative. (ahem, I see you Ryan and I see how Zinzi's in the current state she's in, congrats!! *cough* this is the healthiest type of straight man sexual energy BTW)

BE WARY of the takes out there that are overly-projecting. It's neither religious nor hotepy. It's a Southern Gothic fable/folktale about a musician with a gift surviving a magical night....

YES it's full of ancestral energy, but ultimately the central message is about being true to self when it comes to ancestral gifts and community

[fraugwinska]

A very incomplete list of Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction Authors/Geniuses

I cannot believe the awsome, talented, absolute magnificent people I've met through this fandom. Writing FF for Hazbin Hotel has become one of my greatest joys in life, and reading the stories and creations of my fellow friends and idols is something that can brighten my whole week - and we don't gatekeep. So, if you're in search for a good read, here are a few of the SUPER AWSOME people I stalk (and I want to stress - this list is never going to be complete, but I'll try to edit it as there are just SO MANY GODDANG MASTERS out there!) @bapple117 If you love #RadioStatic, you have to read 'Bluest Monday' (completed) and the follow-up 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' (WIP) She'll break your heart in the most beautiful way. If you don't fancy that but Alastor is your go-to, then you will want to dive in head-first into "If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All" (complete). But as before, be ready for a rollercoaster of emotional moments and extremely spicy shenanigans.

@hazelfoureyes Goddess of the smut, Hottest writer in Hell - If you're horny, Hazel has got you covered. Especially her 'The safeword is Radioapple'-Mini-series will make you sweat like a Zumba-Instructor on crack. Be prepared to blush, tremble, die and immediately ressurrect, because yes. She is THAT good.

Clover/corruptedteacups on AO3 With whooping 75 chapters and 300k+ hits, her Fanfic 'The Red means I Love you' is one of the best, most detailed slow-burn-pining-angsty-smutty-will-they-wont-they Masterpieces I've read so far. Alastor is magnificent and I guarantee you'll fall in love with Clover, the bunny who captures the heart of you deerest red demon.

@melodyonthewireless Highly underappreciated (imho), her fic "A Match made in Hell" (WIP) follows her OC Sybil down to hell, into the Hazbin Hotel and consecutively the arms of Alastor - but don't you dare underestimate the pink, harmless looking doe. Sybil's witch powers and her sassy, witty personality is quite the match to the established readio overlord. It's such a read, and the wait between chapters the sweetest agony!

@macabr3-barbi3 She delivers every. single. TIME. Her Short stories and One-Shots are like Pringles - Once you pop, you can't stop. I'm deeply in love with 'Dream a little Dream' (WIP), 'Nothing I can't Handle' (WIP) makes me run for a cold shower and did I mention the countless one-shot-candies that make you mouth water and your toes curl?

@slutforalastor/InconspicuousBosch on AO3 Whether it's the One-Shots on tumblr (omg the PRIEST ALASTOR BIT *fans face*) or the incredible Choose-your-Path-Fic "Say it with a smile" (completed) - you will be both amazed at the artistry of the wording and storybuilding and blushing at the sheer craft of the smut and sexual tension.

@impale-me-radio-daddy Founder of the kink #antlerplay, his series of 'The Lookalike' is steamy, outrageous, utterly magnificent and filthy down to the bones. Be prepared for some serious questioning of your own preferences, because you WILL get some epiphanies. And that's a PROMISE.

@hurthermore Listen. LISTEN. Bimbo is the mini-series that had me on a friggin CHOKEHOLD. It takes a special talent to make one so invested in THE radio demon, gentleman a la carte Alastor believably pining after and pounding a lovable, dumb airhead sinner with a fable for skimpy dresses and leave you at the end wanting for seconds and thirds!

As I said, this is a highly incomplete list, and I'll absolutely edit this list as I go. But I needed to put this out in the world. To all of the above, and all of those which I didn't include YET but most certainly will -

I ADORE YOU, I PRAY AT YOUR FEET, YOU ARE AMAZING BEINGS AND I LOVE YOU.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[callie-the-creator]

being bigby wolf’s mate would include… (sfw and nsfw)

nsfw below the cut. mdni. warnings: tried to make the reader as gender-neutral as possible, mentions of jealousy, creampie, heat cycles, aggressive smut, biting, etc.

author’s note: i cannot wait for the second game to be released. i’m so excited! 💗

sfw:

• you are one of bluebeard’s ex-partners, having escaped him and avoided decapitation in the old days. sadly though, you didn’t get to meet bigby when he was in his prime— only heard stories and legends about him— until you along with all the other fables moved from the homelands to the mundy world.

— more specifically, you were brought into questioning since you knew a thing or two about brutality against women (which is exactly what was happening with the working girls at the pudding & pie, like faith) and you helped snow and bigby’s investigation at times…

• that’s how you two acquainted yourselves.

• it should also go without saying that you are filthy rich and since you’ve grown an attachment to sheriff bigby, you came to find out that he lives in the smallest apartment in the woodlands, you’ve invited him over to your place countless times at the beginning of your relationship so he can get out of that crowded space and sleep in an actual bed.

— that and colin can be a real pain in the ass. it’s good for bigby to be away from him, even if it is for a few days.

• bigby always found you to be attractive. it was a bit part of your fairytale back in the homelands, but he tried not to show his attraction toward you…but it was hard for others not to pick on the big bad wolf after they see him tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, helping you out of cars, holding doors for you, having a special soft spot for you, all sorts of chivalrous shit.

• you two ended up being a thing a few days after the investigation about faith and the crooked man came to an end. more specifically, you were outside with bigby when all of a sudden you were pushed by a mundy and you lost your footing. luckily, bigby was able to catch you and pull you close to him, cursing the blatant rudeness of the mundy, under his breath before checking up on you to see if you were okay.

— then, what followed was you two looking deeply into one another’s eyes before you wrapped a hand around bigby’s tie and pulled him closer, kissing the sheriff.

nsfw:

• i want to say that bigby’s libido is average. nothing too unbearable, but as soon as spring rolls around, it does a complete 180° and bigby becomes the epitome of needy.

— during this time, he can be a bit rough, he gets way more animalistic than usual and there are times when bigby takes a brief vacation from work just so he can pound you all day, leaving you unable to walk on your own.

— his favorite thing to do is to put you into a mating press, so he can penetrate you deeper as he fills your hole with his cum. the alternative, of course, is him mounting you.

• he always wants to be able to mark you, in some way, whether that be by leaving bite/scratch marks all over your body or hickeys. it’s bigby’s way of telling the world that you’re already taken and satisfied sexually.

• it’s hard to hide whenever you’re in the mood from bigby because of how strong his sense of smell is. once he catches a whiff of your arousal, he almost loses all strength in his body, his mouth watering, but if he’s in a public setting, it takes every fiber of his being to go against of his instincts and you know the power you hold over him at times like this because of the way bigby stares at you, raptured with barely contained lust.

• it’s only when bigby regains his senses, he apologizes for being so rough on you (he is scared that because of how rough he can be, he’s a terrible mate and you’ll want to leave him for someone better). soooo…he tries his hardest to make it up to you by doing whatever you want him to, amping up his arm, and overall being super gentle and sweet.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Master of the House

artsource 1 artsource 2

For generations, folk of the hinterlands have whispered about Goodman Malvrind; a cruel, callous Hagga who ensnares the lost and the desperate, forcing them to become servants in his filthy, decaying house.

Adventure Hooks:

The party stumble into the final act of a dreadful fable when they encounter a young girl walking into the wilderness, tears streaming quietly down her face. Her name is Jass the millers' daughter, and she goes to complete the final part of a bargain she struck with the Goodman, eternal service in exchange for a potion that would cure an illness that befell her loving parents. Jass is brave beyond her years but resigned from her fate, if she tries to go anywhere but the Hagga's distant home, the path bends and twists, disaster befalling her. The heroes will meet a smilar fate if they attempt to help her, but that's not going to stop them now is it?

The Party may encounter the hagga on their own, whether out of desperate need or because they have become lost in the woods.  Malvrind will present himself as a most gracious host, deferring any huisness and inviting them to take in the many comforts of his home (all of which will trap and entangle).  Soon enough the party will realize both the Goodman and the door are both missing, forcing them to engage in a high stakes game of hide and seek through an increasingly labyrinthine home.

Roleplay Notes: Existing in a strange intersection between hospitality traditions and "my house, my rules" thinking, Malvrind takes the form of a man of minor privilege, specifically the sort of privilege that is defined by having people beneath you to order around. If his home is filthy (and it is ALWAYS filthy) it is only because he's either lacking enough servants to do the work or hasn't beaten them enough to instill the required dedication.

The Goodman knows that people only come to see him when they're at the end of their rope, and he takes a particular pleasure in making them squirm and debase themselves, forgoing the charm and guile many other bargaining fey employ to push through their deals.

Like many Hagga, Malvrind considers out-and-out combat beneath him. If tensions escalate, he'll summon some servants or animate the furnature to take care of it for him before walking out a door and teleporting elsewhere in the house.

Challenges & Complications:

Those forced to serve the Goodman inevitably find themselves denigrated and worn away into something lesser. The lucky ones are transmogrified into goblins, allowed to keep enough of their faculties to complete complex chores while staving out of sight. It's not uncommon to find a hollowed undead dusting the fixtures or scrubbing the floor, cycling through the same tasks over and over once they gave up hope. Perhaps most horrifying are the lad and lass, two of Malvrind's oldest (or perhaps first) victims: The lass loved the lad, and the lad ignored her for other prettier girls. The lass begs the Goodman to make her beautiful, to make the lad love her , and to make him forever loyal. Malvrind transformed the lass into a tree, and set the now singlemindedly adoring lad to the task of cultivating and harvesting her wood to feed his hearth . Through their long years of torment the two of them know many of the wicked fey's secrets, though getting information out of them will prove challenging. The lass is seldom alone or lucid long enough to give coherent answers, and the lad will jealously interpret any attention to her as an invitation to turn the party into mulch.

Though he has many magical treasures hoarded away, Malvrind's most prized possession is a small golden ring resembling a crown that he wears at all times. The ring IS in fact a crown, belonging to the king of all songbirds, who the Goodman captured some time ago and keeps in the uppermost attic of his house. The local birds serve him for fear of the harm he might do their sovereign, though a few might be brave enough to aid the party in the hopes of staging a rescue.

Given his fondness for enslaving others, it's no surprise that the Goodman is an acolyte of Aefrix, god of snares and bonds. The territory surrounding his home is filled with all kinds of vicious traps made to hobble those who stumble into them, only for the fey to "happen by" and offer to help them free in exchange for a small favour.

Slaying Malvrind isn't an end to the threat he poses. With no master to hold it or servant's suffering to feed off of, the Goodman's house will get up and start stalking the wilderness for it's own sustenance. This makes a great excuse to return to the region after a few levels and check up on some plotlines the party influenced earlier in the campaign.

[hush-writes-preg]

Spooky Season Day #6: An Unholy Tome

Your father had always warned you of the danger of reading, but you'd never taken him seriously until this very day.

You're the young monarch of a small kingdom deep within the mountains. You'd been married to a king over a decade your senior as a way to solidify political alliances, and while your relationship was cordial, it'd never been particularly warm. The king seemed to hold little interest in members of your gender, but he still came to your bed like clockwork with the clinical intent to sire an heir. You endured it, because what other choice did you have? He had staff to cater to all of your whims and was never unkind, so you could have done much worse.

But still, you couldn't help but feel... neglected. You had needs, even if you didn't fully understand them, and no one with which to explore or satisfy them.

At least, not until you found the book.

Tucked in among your wedding gifts had been a slim volume wrapped in gilded leather, filled with strange things. You couldn't read the text, but the illustrations-- oh, those illustrations. Fantastic creatures of every size and shape were drawn in exquisite detail, not a single aspect missing the artist's trained eye.

It felt scandalous to gape at the familiar yet still alien shapes of their genitalia, but no matter how many times you slammed the book shut in mortification and hid it away, you always dug the tome back out. You always returned to a select handful of the pages, wondering why they made you feel so warm. If only you had someone to ask-- but as the king's foreign consort, you didn't have anyone you could trust with such an intimate query.

Then the dreams began.

And you quickly came to realize what that strange heat meant.

The monsters invaded your dreams like the fabled barbarians of the plains, swift and brutal. They chased you like a wolf hunting a rabbit, harrying your nude form through endless torch-lit corridors and toying with you until you could run no more. But instead of tearing out your throat, they flipped you onto your hands and knees. The horrible realization of what they intended crashed over you and choked off your cries of terror, leaving you frozen and trembling.

One of them mounted you like a beast on the hard stone floor. Thick shafts, tentacles, and appendages you couldn't even name flowed over your body with possessive intent, enveloping and fondling you in ways you'd never been touched before. Terror began to fuse with other things you couldn't name, similar to what you'd felt when gazing at that filthy book: heat, hunger, and a baffling emptiness between your thighs. Even while claws scraped over your skin, you wanted... you wanted...

"Accept us," a discordant voice rose from nowhere, countless voices layered over one another and ringing in your ears. Something nudged purposefully against your hole, teasing you with a taste of what your tormenter offered without truly entering you. Something hot and wet stroked its way down your neck until it curled around a nipple, plucking at the hardening nub until you whimpered. "Your body pleases us. Welcome us in, and we will overwhelm you with the kind of pleasure you'll never receive from your own kind."

You choked on a sob, your hips jerking instinctively back to meet the promised intrusion even as you shook your head. This wasn't right. You're married, and you had undeniable responsibilities to your husband and kingdom. Not to mention the fact that this thing at your back wasn't even human--

The shaft kissing your hole pulsed and began to vibrate, the sensation making your eyes roll back in your head.

"This is only a dream, little human," the voice taunted, its appendages winding even more closely around you. "There's no harm in indulging in a simple fantasy, is there?"  There was a hint of menace behind the voices, sure, but it only seemed to stoke the flames in your belly even higher as your willpower began to melt away. "All you have to do is let us in."

Your hole clenched around nothing, eager to suck in anything that would fill it. You'd never felt like this before, and you didn't know how to handle the sensations crashing over you. How could such horrifying monsters make your body burn so hot?

What am I accepting?

Do I even care?

With a moan, you hesitantly spread your thighs in silent permission to the creature.

"Accept. Us."

"Yes," you whimpered, dropping your face to the floor in shameful submission. "Enter me. Ease this ache inside of me before I go mad, please!"

The beast's savage roar of victory nearly made you empty your bladder, but the sudden thrust of something impossibly hard and thick into your aching body immediately drove the fear away. The hulking creature wasted no time in fucking your soft, pampered body into the flagstone floor with all of the abandon of a wild animal. All you could do was hang on and take it. And when it finally finished inside of you, the sudden surge of wet heat painting your insides sent you tumbling over the edge of your very first orgasm.

Oh gods. Oh gods. This dream... sex couldn't possibly feel so good, could it? Pleasure that wiped your mind and left you feeling like you'd transcended to another plane of existence?

Sweaty, dazed, and leaking fluids from your freshly-fucked hole, all you could do was watch as the next creature moved to take its place at your back. Something cooler and more flexible slid into your sloppy hole this time, knobby protrusions along the length catching on the rim before popping inside. And how many more beasts waited along the edges of your vision for their turn?

Oh.

As the bumped shaft started to find its own rough rhythm, you deliriously found yourself hoping that this dream would never end.

It's been over seven months since your first experience with the dreams, and as promised, they fill your nights with untold pleasure. But there's been an unexpected complication.

You've fallen pregnant.

Your husband's kingdom is ecstatic with the news of the coming heir, his family embracing you with more kindness and attention than they ever have before. Your spouse is pleased, though he stopped bedding you the moment your condition became known.

Not that you mind. His disinterested late-night fumbling bores you; you'd much rather drift off to sleep and find satisfaction in the coils and claws of your imaginary lovers.

But as your pregnancy progresses, you can't help but wonder what has spawned in your womb. It seems foolish to imagine that the father could possibly be anyone but your husband, right? In reality, you've only ever entertained the king's attentions. The monsters aren't real. They haven't actually filled you with their seed, no matter how often they've left you sore and bloated from the sheer volume they've poured into you during your fantasies. You can't have been bred by figments of your imagination.

Yet still you find yourself plagued by apprehension. Your belly grows with unexpected speed, filling out into a taut sphere that hangs heavily from your frame. Your mother-in-law is sure this means you carry more than one child and begins taking every opportunity she can to rub your abdomen. This embarrasses you, but you don't feel like you can tell her no.

The midwife isn't as sure; she cautions your in-laws that you could just be carrying large for your first pregnancy. You can tell that she is puzzled by how quickly you've grown, since she's been attending you since your wedding in hopes of helping you conceive. At least you get along well, and she seems to be genuinely on your side. The last thing you need is someone suspecting you of trying to cuckold the king.

Because as much as logic dictates that such thoughts are foolishness, you still struggle against disquiet.

Maybe it is borne of guilt for being unfaithful to your husband, at least in your mind.

Maybe it has to do with the obvious pleasure that the dream-creatures take in fucking your gravid royal form.

Or maybe it is because of the way your belly sometimes moves, writhing and shifting like a bag full of eels. The baby's just active, right? It's not like you could possibly be carrying the offspring of some unnatural monster in your womb.

Of course not.

(A Spooky Season story.)

[taragreenfield]

A shadow, a bone, and the stench of puritanism

One of the most disturbing things about the Grishaverse books is the underlying regressive, puritanical message they are conveying. Don't get fooled by superficial effects like dragon-shifting girlbosses and fancy "empowering" quotes like "It gets dark when I say it does" and "I'm not ruined, I am ruination"—it's just a candy wrapper for the purity ideals festering underneath. Alina will lose her say in whether it gets dark or not, and Genya will not ruin anything after all, because female agency is evil.

The first thing to strike the eye is the book's fascination with old, vitriolic, hateful, abusive women. Ana Kuya instills repressive values upon the children (mainly girls), lecturing them about "foolish mistakes of peasant girls," making them ashamed of their desires, and gets called a mother figure and remembered with unexplainable nostalgia. Baghra chastises Alina about her attraction to Aleksander at every turn, repeating the sentiment about "foolish girls" (gosh, are these two long-lost twins separated at birth?), and is painted as a wise mentor and a poor martyr of a mother, horrified by what her son has become (I wonder who raised him). It's not weird that people with such beliefs exist; it's weird that the narrative is trying to present them as something righteous.

If we are to believe the narrative, Baghra supposedly knew that the Darkling was "manipulating" Alina and was looking for amplifiers to take control over her powers for months, yet she stays silent up until the moment Alina and Aleksander are about to have sex. She averted a real catastrophe here! Obviously, if Alina had sex with "the wrong guy", she would have tainted herself for the rest of her life! That's the point of no return, eternal corruption of your immortal soul. The sheer moral panic over a girl having hots for a conventionally attractive guy would be hilarious if it wasn't treated as virtue.

Alina blaming Aleksander for "making her want him" in the end proves that she stayed in her deeply restrictive, backward mindset where women can't have sexual agency and can only be passive objects of seduction, deception, and temptation. A good girl doesn't have sexual desires; she's naturally chaste and pure until some big bad man appears and "corrupts" her, forcing her to want all those sinful, filthy, immoral things like sexual satisfaction or empowerment.

We see the same pattern with Zoya's retcon: in the trilogy, she's a desperate attention seeker, obsessing with proving herself to the Darkling. Other grisha don't seem to take her pursuits too seriously and think she is delusional. And suddenly, she was the Darkling's victim all along! He "groomed" her (although by her own admission she rarely saw him and always tried to get him to notice her), she was all pure and innocent, and he mercilessly seduced her with his sharp jawline against her will! Can't have our final girlboss lust over "an evil man" like some unprincipled harlot, can we? There is no way she might have wanted him on her own; she would never! She's a wronged Holy Mary, and that's all his fault!

Alina's relationship with Mal is a perfect example of a Victorian morality fable. Mal is a poster boy for the Madonna-whore complex, a guard dog of Alina's chastity: he's deeply uncomfortable with the fact that Alina might have been interested in another man, even before they started dating; he seems to be more worried that Alina might do something naughty with the Darkling than with the possibility of him hurting her; he gets aggressive every time there is a man breathing in the general direction of Alina. Yet we are told that he's just caring and protective.

In that excruciatingly dull, uninspiring sex scene between Mal and Alina, she says, "It was all we needed; it was all that we would ever have". I can't imagine that statement of resignation being a reaction of a young girl having her first sexual experience with the person she loves. Once again, we can see the same prudish values: a proper woman shouldn't be interested in sex; it's a chore for her; she just has to take whatever her husband gives her, lie back, and think of England. No matter if the rhythm is "awkward," the sex is as exciting as an unseasoned boiled chicken breast, and your partner thinks that the clit is a town in Fjerda, you don't want to be like one of those wanton whores who seek pleasure from their sexual encounters!

Her whole attitude towards Mal is downright disturbing. Look for yourself:

"I didn't care that we'd fought, that he'd kissed Zoya, that he'd walked away from me, that everything felt so impossible. The only thing that mattered was that he'd changed his mind. He'd come back, and I wasn't alone...If Mal was still with me, if he could love me, then there was hope".

The moral of the story: If the cheater, abuser, and drunkard still loves you and still deigns to come back to you, there is hope, and all is well! Be grateful for what you get; don't be a greedy slut! And that is what the narrative is trying to sell as a healthy, wholesome relationship. The books publicly denounce the collar only to hand the heroine a figurative chastity belt.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

Happy December, here’s every male from ACOTAR showing up at your door on Solstice.

Rhysand keeping it regal || Cassian keeping it slutty

Azriel is ready to be helpful || Lucien Vanserra is ready to be cheeky

Eris classy af Vanserra || Beron Vanserra stops scheming for the night because presents

Kallias bout to next level snowball fight || Tamlin obviously being emo on the holidays

Tarquin side eyeing the tomfoolery || Thesan drinking 12 artisan espressos a day by the fire

Helion ready to make akward sex jokes at family dinner || Papa Archeron finally in his helpful era

Jurian shows up extra as always || Varian dressing in solidarity with Amren

Keir ready for his eggnog

Hybern why show up evil when you can show up fabulous || The Bone Carver judging you for not eating his homemade peppermint bark

Koschei, the big bad daddy himself, shocks everyone not only by showing up but by being a solstice fanatic. He makes everyone sit by the fire while he reads holiday fables and does all the voices.

sorry not sorry, happy holidays you filthy animals.

[thebrightestlodge]

HARD DRIVING, MEAN MUGGING, DEATH NEVERENDING ...

My necromancer for Maleghast, The Pit Witch. Court sorceress from a small and filthy kingdom who was tempted by the unholy steel rides of the devil's engines. She commands her undead legions from the horrible machines she crafts, seeking the fabled center of the rotting city of Anzenmezzeron.

[yzzart]

"𝐎𝐡, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡?"

pairing: president!Coriolanus x f!reader.

summary: Coriolanus could do anything he wanted except run away from his past.

word count: 2.117!

warnings: content a little dark, manipulation, possessiveness, mention of lyrics from "queen of peace" by florence + the machine, mention of violence and death, explicit words

notes: just listen to this song and you will soon understand everything!

"Darling?"

Coriolanus' voice boomed through the atmosphere of the main room, which had a peculiar snowflake shape, along with the noises and clicks of his footsteps with his shiny, expensive, black-pigmented shoes. — By the obvious movement, the young man was restless due to your absence.

Coming to think and wonder if you had left without telling him, or, mainly, without asking him for permission.

No, wouldn't you be capable of doing something like that with him? Right. — He wouldn't admit it once again in his life, on his skin.

Continuing with his determined steps, Coriolanus began to feel more restless, wanting some information or a simple crumb of bread, poetically, about your whereabouts. — He could just scream your name trying to find you, but he kept that suggestion in a dark and unplanned place in his mind. — Coriolanus clicked his tongue, almost clenching his teeth.

Till a melody surrounded the ears of Coriolanus; she was far away, perhaps, at the end of the corridor where he was present. — The melody was muffled, almost inaudible, in terms of actually understanding the lyrics, but its vibration calmed him down, there being a limit to a certain point.

He approached the room, cautiously, and with each step, the louder and more understandable the song became, and the lyrics demonstrated meaning now. — Leaning his fingers on the golden handle of the white door made of the richest wood, Coriolanus opens it just a little, leaving a gap and having the opportunity to dazzle his image.

"And my love is no good…" — In such a sultry and melancholy tone with a mixture of unhappy emotion, your voice continued to invade the young man's attention. — "…against the fortress that it made of you." — The fallacies were determined on your delicate lips, like a fable.

While, indeed, a miserable lump formed precipitately in your throat; scratching your with such a blunt and barbaric intention. — The same knot that could be made to eliminate those who were accused and denounced for treason.

A knot that was once made, made by the rough, calloused and filthy hands of your loved one. — The same hands that touched your body like a sculpture, thinking about the delicacy and care he should monopolize with you; losing himself in a thought so dark, that he claimed to be the only one who could admire it. — Being able to tear out the eyes, or even the hearts, of those who try to win a touch or greeting from you.

Coriolanus's hands were already dirty, so what would be the point of not getting them some more dirty?

"Blood is running deep." — Your hands passed over the sublimely rich fabric of your dress and with a reddish pigmentation, which was not subtle and, incredibly, of a very strong and intense tone. — "Sorrow that you keep." — That piece of clothing was clearly a gift of passion and dedication from your lover.

Passion could be a very strong word and a little dubious, in some cases, even intolerable. — You didn't believe that, which was possibly ironic coming from a girl from the Capital. — However, even though he deeply hated how his fingers were being pressed against the thorns of a rose, Coriolanus announced that it was out of passion; even not being.

He would never believe in that feeling again in his life, in his death or in his, presumably, incarnation. — His poisonous and lying lips would not risk uttering that word; and feel fragile, and so weakened again. — You would never be enchanted by the illusions and songs of a bird.

Coriolanus would not admit another reflection of his defeat against that little bird.

"Now you have me on the run." — The lyrics fit perfectly into the young man's troubled mind; wanting to drive him insane, even beneath that skin lies. — He felt like he was eighteen again. — "The damage is already done." — There was a pain behind those words, perhaps, accompanied by a meaning.

It seemed that the order of the song had been tampered with, a modification, vulgarly, made without any kind of shame or embarrassment in being expressed. — Because that was the main purpose; something that was exposed and taught by a little singing bird in the bitter breast of Coriolanus. — And, that way, you felt and let yourself experiment and experience.

All this because of him. — All this Lucy Gray has already done and had the opportunity to change and escape.

The young president felt his blood boil, expanding into a relentless and violent burning; just like him. — Coriolanus desired, longed to end that miserable song, to interrupt what, in fact, was bewitching and weakening his consciousness; he felt persecuted. — However, never destroyed. — So suffocated, in a perverse way.

"Is this what you want?" — How come you hadn't noticed his presence yet? Even Coriolanus's breathing was intimidating, and warned any soul of who was nearby. — "Cause you're driving me away…" — He wanted to laugh, in fact, he wanted to laugh at his testimonies turned into song; perhaps this was one of the symptoms of nervousness.

Your lover forced himself to bury any trace of tension that coursed, or rather, that flew, freely, between his body; he did not accept that such an inferior and ordinary feeling coming into contact with him. — Coriolanus' nostrils already smelled the wild fragrance of the forest; that smell of wet earth, of branches and leaves wet with a mixture of mud and the, terribly, natural aroma of birds. — Snow was starting to feel disgusted with himself.

He wanted to mock himself, mock that thought, mock the way he was hallucinating.

You continued, unbearably, ignoring the presence of Coriolanus; realizing it as if he were a ghost from an insufferable and uncomfortable past, analyzing the only way to save yourself from him. — Image of you remained calm, balanced and stable, possibly acting; exercising a moment of pretense over his emotions conceived in that composition. — Was that truly possible?

"Some things never sleep." — Your voice developed a weakness, little by little, and became a punished whisper trying to complete the desolate song; like a little bird asking its mother for help and losing its voice but never stopping singing.

Coriolanus desired to push open the door of wood so rich and well wrought, thus ending with that despicable and tormenting torture; normally, the young boy would order with subtlety and supposedly being careful with his words directed at you, however, that circumstance was not considered normal. — More sudden action would be tolerated. — But, something in Coriolanus prevented him from committing such an act.

Suddenly, Coriolanus's strength had disappeared, leaving no footprints or any simple traces; he didn't have the courage or his arrogant, arrogant bravery coursing through his blood at that moment. — The president of Panem did not know how to explain, or justify, why and how this was happening, precisely, to him; For the first time in years, he didn't have an answer on his sharp tongue.

Coriolanus remained standing, watching your image walking through the modest environment, so organized and dark in color with some light tones that it made you sick; unfortunately, the issue of decorating the room did not have your help or opinion, as everything was requested by Coriolanus. — Now your steps echoed, softly, on the wooden floor that shined, to the point of showing a little reflection, and his attention was contented with the bookcase that was present. — At least one good thing, you said when you first saw it.

It was a whim that Coriolanus asked to put on, especially, for you; something that was recognized with a lot of love and gratitude, he remembers that an emotional smile remained on your lips the entire day. — You had loved, in fact, adored and so grateful for the attention you received from your lover.

Most of the books that were there addressed and talked about the Capital, of course; the words discussed Panem's victories, valuing its homes and riches, describing its beauties in each paragraph and despising the districts and rebels in each verse. — Even though you were so unhappy, not wanting to understand that hatred, that desire to extinguish so many people and children, you continued reading. — Having no options about what to do with such immense free time and being so lonely.

At least the singing was over, Coriolanus thought. — His body was already ready to move away from that door, wanting to return to his main and future tasks, not allowing any more distractions. — And burning, with rigidity and robustness, the traces of his thoughts about his past, about his miserable eighteen-year-old soul, about the little bird that escaped from its cage.

But, from the looks of it, Coriolanus had found another and this time, he would not leave the door to his golden cage open and there were no more bars for everyone to see what was inside. — Only he would have this opportunity, this satisfied and sweet privilege.

"Is this what you want?" — Once again, your voice vibrated through the room, and it seemed as if ypur lips were pressed against Coriolanus's ears, for he heard clearly and so loudly; wanting to rip them out, something peculiar and curious because your voice was beautiful and at the same time managed to charm him.

Coriolanus wanted to slam his chiseled, arrogant face against that damned door, just like that, opening it.

Raising his fascinating and deeply honorable blue eyes, Coriolanus followed your body as it walked again, with tight steps, once again across the room and passing by a large and clean mirror; that Coriolanus forgot, without tolerance, its existence. — Another whimsical gift that he had ordered placed there. — And he was able to admire, contemplate himself in your beauty and affirm how that color suited you, and even commented to Tigris; and how that dress flattered your curves.

That piece of clothing, which cost more than the blood, body and, possibly, the soul of the people who lived in the Capital, valued your body. — Satisfying the eyes and desires of Coriolanus.

Taking a deep breath, Coriolanus controlled himself, imposing a limit on his mind and leaving such inappropriate and unrespectable thoughts for a correct and appropriate moment. — When he blinked his eyes, committing himself to regularizing his affairs, his eyes deepened for the last time on you, thus acting in a silent farewell. — And you continued in front of the mirror, running your hand, for the second time, over your dress, looking for any wrinkles; and there were none.

Snow wasn't looking at your reflection, oddly enough, he was also looking for any wrinkles or loose threads, stubborn in the fabric. — And he concluded that there was nothing, everything was perfect. — His attention went to your reflection in the mirror, wanting to see your beautiful face, this time, and quickly, Coriolanus' body became static, completely immobile in front of what he had seen.

A pain so anguished and agonizing, as if he had been shot, that would tease his life until the end of it, formed in his chest; deepening with his uncontrolled breathing, his eyes glassy and almost watering, unable to blink. — Coriolanus looked like a harmless animal, who was facing his death and ready to be devoured. — Your hands began to sweat and, at the same time, a tingling sensation began between your fingers.

His saliva ran down his throat, and he couldn't even speak, it seemed impossible and he didn't have the chance or strength to even sigh. — The promising young man of Panem could be going crazy, when in fact, he was wishing he were dying.

"Cause you're driving me away." — You were no longer singing, now, your lips released a concrete affirmation, finding a certainty in your heart and directing it to the one who spied on your soul. — You knew he was there, you knew Coriolanus had his eyes on you from the beginning.

However, it was not your eyes that met his through the mirror; oh, Coriolanus wanted them to be his. — And as he wished, in fact, in better words, he cried out, begged. — And never being a man of belief, not believing in any supposition, or anything of the sort, not even in words of faith, Coriolanus prayed that he was going mad, becoming insane.

Coriolanus Snow imagined himself on his knees among splinters of wood and stones, begging that image, which was standing still, immobilized and, sternly, admirable, and staring at him to go away; that disappears, disappears without direction or path, just like it had done once. — He wanted to punch, hurt his hands, that unfortunate glass that reflected.

Because Lucy Gray's body was fixed on the mirror, instead of your.

[shylyobscene]

Butterfly Caught Chapter 2

Chapter summary: There's a dissonance between Rocket, the fabled Captain, and Rocket, the individual.

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: light gore, injury, wound care, depictions of violence, explicit sexual fantasies involving light bondage, painplay, biting/marking, angst, war and displacement. All previous warnings apply!

Ao3 | Masterlist | Butterfly Caught Index

The scent of ozone and burnt metal permeates through the air, wafting up from where the muzzle of Rocket’s plasma rifle still blazes molten red.

He collapses his weapon and reattaches it to the holster on his back, then presses the heel of his boot down onto the man incapacitated beneath him, right between the shoulder blades. The man grunts under the weight of Rocket’s foot, struggling ineffectually against the bola wire wrapped around his torso. 

Rocket doesn’t remember this one’s name; just another small-time warlord who bit off more than he could chew. He doesn’t remember what this planet is called either—some sort of satellite moon on the distant outskirts of the Pleiades cluster—but he hardly has the time to stress the details nowadays. He’s been bouncing from system to system for the past several cycles now, trying to catch up on the never-ending list of beleaguered colonies that urgently require the help of the legendary Captain of the Guardians, the incredible ‘ Hero of Halfworld.’ 

It’s frickin’ laughable. He hardly lives up to the mythos as it is, and it seems like for every group he saves, five more pop up needing assistance.

Rocket clicks on his comm and listens to it crackle to life. “You’re clear to start evac measures, Krags,” he says. He doesn’t lift his foot even once his captive lobs a heavy glob of spit onto the synthetic leather of his other boot.

“Copy that, Cap’n. We’ve secured the perimeter; starting search and rescue efforts now,” Kraglin replies.

“You’ll pay for this,” the warlord sneers, writhing against his restraints. “I’ve seen bigger rodents than you rolling around in shit down in the waste ducts.”

Rocket chuckles, then speaks into the comm again. “Get a cell ready too. Got the aggressor in custody.” He finally steps off of the warlord’s back, then lifts him up by his collar, only letting go once the man is steadied on his knees. “Get moving.” Rocket unholsters his blaster from his hip and taps it against the man’s spine, nudging him forth.  The warlord glares but compiles, and stumbles into a standing position.

As Rocket guides his captive back toward the ship, he’s stricken with a sudden sense of déjà vu. There’s something terribly familiar about the scene: the electric buzz in the air from recently discharged plasma weaponry prickling through his fur, the adrenaline coursing hot through his veins, the iron-tinged smell of spilled blood, a mark at the mercy of his blaster…When it comes down to it, what he does now doesn’t feel much different from wrangling a bounty. Rocket’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. 

As he walks, something moves from within a ruined home beside him, sending bits of stone tumbling onto the ground. His ears flicker in the direction of the noise and he instinctively crouches and aims his blaster toward the rubble. He watches and waits for a moment, and when no danger immediately presents itself, he grabs the warlord’s shirt and orders him to a halt. 

“Stay put. If you run, I’ll kill you,” Rocket threatens, a dark edge slicing through his voice. 

The warlord simply spits in his direction again, and Rocket twists the man’s arm until he grunts and falls back down into a kneel. 

“Alright, alright! Get your filthy hands off of me, you damned beast,” the warlord hisses.

Rocket narrows his eyes. “I’ll say it again, since it seems like you need reminding,” he starts slowly. “You’re gonna get on the floor, and you ain’t gonna move a fucking muscle. Somethin’ tells me you can’t outrun a bullet .” 

The warlord pales, then turns his glower toward the ground as he lies prone. Rocket huffs then begins stepping slowly toward the rubble with his blaster raised, angling himself so that the captive remains in his peripheral while focusing his attention on where he’d noticed movement. It could be a survivor, but it could also very well be another one of this shitbag’s lackeys. Rocket’s not willing to take any chances today, and tucks himself against what little cover he can find as he approaches.

He clicks his tongue as he carefully maneuvers over the concrete and bits of rebar jutting out of the ground, muscles tightening when the debris crunches underfoot. This building was probably beautiful, once upon a time; he spots echoes of color in the hand-painted bricks that litter the floor, and broken stained glass that still glitters like raw diamonds in the afternoon glow. And yet, all that’s left now is the lingering ghost of a home, crumbling in the wind. It’s been practically obliterated by mortar-fire, but a few stone walls still stand stubbornly in the midst of destruction. Rocket presses himself tightly into one of the remaining surfaces as he leans around the corner, scanning the devastation carefully. 

“There someone in there?” he calls out. Something whimpers in response, and Rocket lowers his weapon, eyeing a gap in the wreckage, just small enough for someone his size or smaller to hide within. What looks back at him is a pair of big, summer-sky blue eyes—watery and afraid—belonging to a child. She scrambles back as Rocket approaches, and more stone tumbles heavily down her. 

He pauses, one hand raised in caution. Shit. If he’s not careful, the rest of the building could collapse on top of her. 

“Hey, whoa, it’s okay,” he tries, schooling his rough voice into something he hopes is soothing. He reaches toward her. “Let me—” 

At the sight of his clawed hand, still unfortunately covered in the bloody remnants of a battle hard-fought, the child screams. 

“ Monstriae!” she screeches, raising her arms over her eyes to shield herself from him. The word is outside of his translator’s database, but the meaning carries all the same.

Startled, Rocket rears backward. The child takes the opportunity to dash out of her makeshift hiding space and runs off into the distance.

“Shit,” Rocket sighs. At least the damn house didn’t come down on top of her. He looks back down at his hand and grimaces, wiping it against his jumpsuit. The blood just smears.

He lets out a chuckle, but it’s bitter and humorless. That right there is Rocket’s biggest qualm with being called a hero—the term fails to connote just how grisly the work really is. With every despot felled, with every community liberated, with every tearful reunion between mother and child, a moment precedes where someone ultimately finds themselves on the wrong end of a blaster. Everyone simply ignores the part where the victor wipes the viscera and sinew off of the barrel before stepping into the limelight. 

The worst part is that Rocket likes that part of the job. Or, he’s good at it, at least.

Hero. Savior. Executioner . Which one he is all depends on which end of the gun the one making the call is standing, and Rocket can hazard a guess at which one that kid probably thinks he is. 

Still, at least he’s trying to be better. Trying to spare lives where he can, only killing if he’s really got no other option. Rocket had let the high evolutionary live, even though the galaxy would probably be much better off if that bastard were in the ground. Even though, maybe just as recently as a circ or two ago, he’d have happily unloaded an entire magazine into the guy’s corpse. He’ll let the warlord behind him live too, even though the man in question is cackling cruelly at Rocket’s plight. 

“Seems like the little spawnling recognizes you for what you are,” the warlord jeers.

Rocket grits his teeth, fist clenched around the grip of his blaster as he watches the child dart away, not making any moves to chase after her. The rest of the area is safe, and she’ll bump into the rest of his crew soon; Kraglin and the others will be able to work out the details of reuniting her with her family.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rocket responds grimly, hauling the man back onto his feet and directing him toward the bowie once more. 

The trek back to the ship is quick and seamless. The warlord is surprisingly quiet for most of the walk, considering how chatty he’d been earlier, but Rocket isn’t about to complain.

Kraglin awaits at the entrance of the ship, and calls out once he spots Rocket drawing near. “I’ve got a cell prepared, captain. I’ve arranged for some of the crew to stay behind and render what emergency aid we can, but there are more folks injured and unhoused than we’d anticipated. I sent a comm back to Knowhere; we’ve got more ships en route to bring back any refugees,” he says. 

“Sounds good to me, Krags,” Rocket responds, quickly glancing at the line of disarmed enemy forces corralled by his crew and the local militia. Looks like most of the warlord’s forces have surrendered, thankfully. Rocket overlooks the scene with heavy scrutiny. “Lots of injured. Make sure any prisoners get treated too; we can let this planet’s leadership figure out what to do with ‘em afterward.”

“We’re already working on it, sir.” Kraglin responds, before gesturing toward the warlord, who looks downright bored. “Do you want me to take him in?”

“Yep. Start settin’ coords for home afterward.” Rocket glances backward and makes eye contact with a portly, kind-looking man who appears anxious to have a word with him. He’s clearly not a soldier, dressed in common clothing that looks more akin to what a farmhand would wear than anything else, but something in his posture and the quiet confidence with which he holds himself belies an importance that tells Rocket this is probably the guy who called him for help. “I’ll meet you inside. Gotta talk to the locals first.”

Rocket makes his way toward the man, who greets him with a formal bow once he’s close.

“Hello, Captain. It’s an honor to meet you,” the portly man says.

“Hey,” Rocket responds casually. “You, uh…you the boss around here?”

“I’m flattered, sir—I’m but a humble spokesperson for our community. Our small mining colony is more family than anything; though I suppose the rare minerals we have here are what drew that warmongerer X’ionthar’s ire toward us,” he says, sounding infuriated for a brief moment, before relaxing his tone into something appreciative once more. “I wanted to thank you personally. I know there are probably more important, wealthier people who need your assistance. I had only heard of your selflessness, your kindness…but getting to experience it for myself is something I’ll forever be grateful for. We all owe you a great debt.”

Rocket shifts his weight in discomfort, tugging at the collar of his uniform that suddenly feels too tight. “Uh huh. Don’t mention it.” 

The spokesperson offers him a large grin, and opens his arms wide. “May I…?”

Rocket nods, not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to until he’s swooped into a hearty embrace. 

“Okay, we—alright, we’re huggin’ now. Alright.” Is the spokesperson crying? Rocket stiffens, then awkwardly pats him on the shoulder. “Uhh…You—okay.”

The spokesperson sniffles, then releases Rocket from his hold. “Forgive me for getting emotional. It’s just—I don’t know if we can ever repay you. You and your crew managed to find my daughter too. She had been missing for the past rotation. I was worried that she…that she might’ve been…” He trails off, then looks over his shoulder at a large rock, and waves at it. “Come here, herrling. Say thank you to the captain.”

It’s then that Rocket notices it: a familiar pair of wide, blue eyes peering over the boulder’s stony surface and staring straight at him. She looks aghast, lip quivering in fear, and utters the same word she had screamed when she saw him earlier. “ Monstriae. ”

His ears flatten, despite himself, and he winces.

The spokesperson goes pallid, mouth dropping open as he raises his hands toward Rocket in apology. “I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t know why she would say that.” He turns back to his daughter. “That’s very rude, Minara. You should apologize—”

“It’s fine. She’s just a kid,” Rocket interrupts mildly, eager to get this conversation over with. “I prob’ly freak her out. S’not unusual.”

The spokesperson’s mouth flattens into a straight line, and gives Rocket a sorrowful once-over. “Still, it’s not right.”

Rocket simply shrugs. “Well, it’s how it is,” he responds. “Anyway, you and your people have asylum on Knowhere if you want, like we talked about. There’s more help incoming; they should get here in a few rotations or so. Some of my guys’ll stay behind to get you all situated while you wait.”

“There are some of us who want to stay behind and rebuild, but many of us have nothing left here,” the spokesperson says, leveling a long, aching look at the desecrated remains of his town. 

It is a shame. This planet probably used to be gorgeous. Rocket squints at the rubble and tries to picture a quaint village built at the base of the rocky, slate-grey mountains that tower high above, all encapsulated within a lilac sky. 

The spokesperson turns back to Rocket, offering him a sad but hopeful smile. “I mourn the loss of our home, but am eager to see our new one. Thank you again for your generosity,” he states.

Rocket doesn’t know what to say to that, and ends up just staring like an idiot. The child hiding by the rock looks like she’s about to burst into tears again. After a moment, he settles for giving the spokesperson a tight nod, unable to push out the apology that dangles in the back of his throat. 

M’sorry you lost everything. Sorry I didn’t get here fast enough. Sorry I scare your kid. 

With that, Rocket returns to the Bowie and starts heading down to the hold.

Rocket clambers down the hatch and looks around. He spots the warlord—or X’ionthar, he supposes—in one of the cells. Looks like Kraglin got him out of his restraints and set him up with some food, though the tray beside him remains untouched.

Rocket observes quietly as X’ionthar runs his fingers against the hinges of his enclosure. He then wraps a fist around one of the bars, giving it a firm shake to test the weight and strength of the metal.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Rocket says, stepping out of the shadows to reveal his presence. “I’ve made my way through a hell of a lot of prisons. Means I’ve gotten a chance to play around with the best containment devices the galaxy has to offer.” 

In lieu of a response, X’ionthar scowls and picks up his tray, then chucks it through the bars at Rocket’s head. It bounces harmlessly against the cell’s protective force-field and clatters to the ground in a splattery mess of wasted food.

Rocket clicks his tongue, then taps a claw to his chin and pretends to think. “Actually, you can try if you want,” he offers. “But don’t go cryin’ to me if you lose a limb.”

X’ionthar says nothing, and continues to lay his piercing stare into Rocket’s eyes. He bares his teeth into something that almost approximates a smile at whatever he observes, eyes narrowing in consideration. 

It’s starting the give Rocket the fuckin’ creeps. He clears his throat, eager to get business over with so that he can get the hell out of here. “You’re under arrest for crimes of aggression,” he starts. “We’re detainin’ you on Knowhere. From there, you’ll get a trial—“

“I’ve figured out why you look so familiar,” X’ionthar says with a wide grin, all teeth and fang. The corners of his eyes wrinkle in genuine mirth, making his next words all the more menacing. “I know you.”

Rocket pauses, glancing over the warlord with a scrutinizing eye. 

…No. The fucker is probably just trying to intimidate him. “You and everyone else,” Rocket says with cold indifference. “Anyway, you’ll get a trial—“

“ Captain of the Guardians . It’s quite the promotion. Back when I saw you last, you were a gun for hire,” X’ionthar continues, ignoring Rocket’s attempts at controlling the conversation. “Why, it’s been several circumrotations since we’ve had business together, but I could never completely forget one of my favorites. I liked you, you know.” He offers Rocket a placid smile, saturated in false geniality. “I never did find another mercenary quite as efficient as you. As Cruel .”

Rocket stiffens. X’ionthar is…is familiar, sure. He tries to recall if he’s ever worked for this guy, but all of his old ‘clients’ jumble up into an indiscernible mess in his head, a blur of faceless thugs too rich and too indolent to do their own damn dirty work. They all looked the frickin’ same to him, and it’s not like Rocket cared enough to remember any of them past how many units they were offering.

Still, Rocket genuinely tries to think—and finds that he simply doesn’t remember. How could he? There’s been so many marks and so many bosses over the years; too many to count. Hell, he even tried to capture Pete for a quick payout once, though it feels like a lifetime ago.

…Shit.

A whirlwind of emotions dance across Rocket’s face, all culminating into something like regret. Like guilt.

X’ionthar laughs, and Rocket’s nostrils flare, curling his lip in the beginnings of a simmering fury.

“Runnin’ your fucking mouth ain’t gonna save you from seeing the inside of a prison,” Rocket snarls, feeling a growl bubbling up from low in his chest.

“What was it again? The word that little one had called you? It was rather apt,” X’ionthar replies glibly. “I recall it now— monstriae.”

Old habits come raging forth as Rocket whips his blaster out and aims it straight at the smarmy bastard’s head. His vision burns hot and his head pounds and his chest heaves as he pants—like a solar flare, bursting with pure radiance and energy and anger .

“Now that’s more like the murderer I remember,” X’ionthar says with another cackle, then presses his forehead against the metal bars, directly in front of the barrel of the gun. “Go ahead and do it. Better an honorable death than a life imprisoned by a coward.”

Rocket’s finger twitches against the trigger, itching to pull. For one, deafening moment, neither of them speak. He can practically hear it —the crack of a bullet carving through the silence, the thud it’d make once it embeds itself into X’ionthar’s skull.

Rocket steps forward, digging the muzzle of his blaster harshly into X’ionthar’s head…then rips his gun away with a scowl. He lowers his weapon, though his glare doesn’t get any less baleful.

“I’m not whoever it is you fucking think I am,” Rocket says finally, though he’s not sure the statement is true.

He’s probably exactly who this guy thinks he is, but he’s…he’s trying not to be.

“What a disappointment,” is all X’ionthar says.

Rocket’s tail puffs up and whips through the air, striking his leg as he looks at X’ionthar with disgust. He then huffs and holsters his blaster, pivoting on his heels to stomp his way out of the hold.

Screw procedure. This idiot can figure out for himself what’ll happen next once he’s on Knowhere. 

“You can pretend all you want,” X’ionthar calls out to him as he approaches the exit hatch. “I know what you really are. And so did that little girl.”

Rocket stops with one hand braced against the ladder. “…You’ll get a fair trial,” he responds. “But between you and me? I hope you frickin’ rot .”

He climbs up the ladder and shuts the hatch. He then slumps heavily against the wall and slides down into a sitting position, and tucks his head between his knees. His head is pounding. He feels like he’s gonna empty his fucking guts onto the floor. More than anything though, Rocket feels lost, even though he knows he doesn’t have the right or the time to be.

He digs his claws into the scar tissue at the base of his skull, right at the seam where his scalp had been torn open and stitched back together ad infinitum, and scratches roughly.

…He wishes Groot’s dad were here. Wishes Gamora and Quill and Mantis were here too. They would’ve known what to do. Or, at the very least, they wouldn’t be stunned into inaction at the worthless insults of some two-bit dictator and the fearful cries of a damn kid while the rest of the galaxy still needs help. 

Rocket squeezes his eyes shut, then counts to ten. Then, he rises to his feet. To his surprise, his legs don’t give out on him. He tests his own weight against the ground anyway, clutching shakily at his own chest as he tries to calm his own breath.

“Cap’n?” Kraglin calls from down the hall.

Rocket jolts, then straightens his back and allows a scowl to settle over his face. “What?”

Kraglin winces at Rocket’s severe expression. “I just wanted to let you know that I set the coordinates for Knowhere like you asked,” he says gently. His eyes flick over to Rocket’s arm, then widen. “What happened?”

Rocket tilts his head in confusion then looks down at his bicep. Part of his jumpsuit’s armor-weave has been sliced open, revealing a wound that has been slowly oozing scarlet into the fabric. “Shit. Must’ve gotten hit with some shrapnel earlier.” The adrenaline of a gunfight dulls the pain enough for him to sometimes not notice he’s been hurt until he’s at home; even then, he’s kind of just used to his body aching. He pulls some of the fabric back to assess the cut, then the hole in his jumpsuit. “D’you think the tear could get repaired?” he wonders idly.

“The tear? ” Kraglin repeats in shock. “Sir, you’re bleeding. ”

“Yeah. I gathered that much, Krags,” Rocket responds dryly. It’s a little deep, sure, but still practically a papercut compared to other injuries he’s gotten before. Should heal up nice if he covers it up real quick.

“That looks painful.” Kraglin glances back down at Rocket’s arm then away again, looking a little faint. He seems to hesitate over his next words, then cautiously begins to speak. “You know, Nebula referred me to someone on Knowhere who specializes in taking care of that sort of thing. Maybe you should—”

“S’just a nick. Hardly anythin’ to worry about,” Rocket counters, self-consciously covering his wound with his palm. He has a feeling it’s you that Kraglin is referring to, and he’d like to avoid crawling back to your door if he can. He’s been taking care of himself just fine.

Kraglin frowns. “She’s very nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Got plenty of experience patchin’ myself up. That won’t be necessary.”

The corners of Kraglin’s mouth turn downward even further. “Are you…doing alright, Cap’n?”

Rocket sighs and starts walking toward the cockpit. “You got any reason to think I ain’t?”

“Just seems like you’ve been overworking yourself lately. It’s been a while since you’ve stopped back on Knowhere to rest, and never for more than a couple of rotations at a time,” Kraglin responds, trailing after him.

“Well, people keep callin’ for help,” Rocket says, already mapping out the next starpath in his head. “We’re backed up as it is. Can’t afford to stop moving.”

“Sir—”

“Drop it, Krags.” He turns and levels a Kraglin with a look of finality, then sighs. “‘Preciate the concern, but we’ve got more important shit to take care of right now.”

“I…If you say so, Captain.”

Rocket waves Kraglin ahead. Once he’s out of sight, Rocket makes his way to the med-bay and starts rummaging through the drawers to look for dressings. What was it that you had used to stop the bleeding that one time? Was it hemo - gel? He doesn’t remember.

Rocket swears in frustration, and settles for sani-spray and gauze. This’ll just have to do. He takes a seat, unzips his jumpsuit just enough to roll down his sleeve, then starts cleaning the wound with a damp towel and a rough hand. Afterward, he tilts the nozzle of the sani-spray toward his cut, and hisses at the stinging sensation that the chemicals leave behind.

His mind drifts off as he works, and he can’t help but consider Kraglin’s suggestion.

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about coming to see you again, for more selfish reasons than anything, but you’ve got better things to do than to deal with him drooling over you like some kinda creep. Besides, it’s been cycles since the two of you last spoke, and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure it’s a bad idea to drop by. He’s probably overstayed his welcome with you enough as it is, and it’d be messy as all hell to keep cozying up to one of Nebs’ friends. He’ll find some other broad to fixate on; maybe one on a distant planet so it’s less of a hassle once he leaves. 

…He also feels guilty for thinking of you that way in the first place. You deserve better. 

Rocket finally wraps the gash up tightly with some gauze, and secures it with tape. He winces as he tries to work his sleeve back over his arm; the armor-weave is abrasive and coarse against the raw flesh even through all the layers of dressing. It’s starting to actually fuckin’ hurt now, but at least it’s wrapped up and probably won’t get infected. 

Rocket exhales slowly once he’s finished and just sits for a while, looking quietly out the viewport and at the wisps of technicolor nebulae that float by beneath clusters of stars. Then, he gets up and lets his legs pull him forward to the cockpit, where the rest of the galaxy awaits the captain.

—

Rocket hasn’t been spending much time on Knowhere as of late, but for the short couple of rotations that the Bowie is docked, he stays in his workshop. It’s a cramped little office space, cluttered up with abandoned projects and various dismantled pieces of tech that he keeps meaning to turn into a new weapon but never quite has the time to, but it’s more secluded than his apartment. Not many people know about it, thankfully—it’s a rarity for him to get a moment of frickin’ peace nowadays—which is why he’s alarmed when someone knocks on the door.

He glances up and pauses. He was moments away from sending Kraglin a comm to get the ship up and running, anyway. Maybe he can pretend he already left?

Rocket decides to ignore it and continues redressing his wound. He keeps the gauze roll steady between his teeth while one hand holds the bandage in place against his arm, and the other searches for something to tape it down. It’s a little awkward to change the dressing himself, but doable. He secures the gauze, and starts using a pair of shears to cut away the excess.

Whoever is outside knocks again, harder this time. 

“If you don’t open the door, I’m breaking it down,” Nebula threatens gruffly, voice muffled. 

Rocket rolls his eyes and gets up from his seat, swinging the door open to glare at her. “If you kick my door in again, you’re payin’ to get it fixed this time.” 

Nebula ignores him, and pushes past to lean against his workbench. She assesses him carefully, pulling her gaze toward the exhausted slouch of his shoulders, the way he tiredly rubs at his eyes, and finally, to the sloppily bandaged wound on his arm. 

“You look like shit,” she observes.

“Glad I can always count on you to be a ray of frickin’ sunshine.”

She nods toward his bicep. “Did you patch that up yourself?”

“Does it matter if I did? S’covered up, isn’t it?” Rocket says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

Nebula narrows her eyes then sighs. “Fine. Don’t answer. It’s obvious you did it yourself, anyway.” She pulls out a datapad then steps forward and hands it to him. “Here. Look over this.”

Rocket eyes her suspiciously, then squints down at the first page. It looks like a record of expenses, various statistics on employment, available housing, and other such particulars of Knowhere’s current economic status. His eyes widen as he taps through all of the information. “Shit.”

Nebula nods, looking grim. “Knowhere is growing fast. We’re helping a lot of people, but our resources are running thin. It’s not a problem yet, but it will be if we don’t deal with it now.”

Rocket massages his temples, feeling another headache coming on. He’s got fire after fire to put out recently.

“What’re you suggesting we do, Nebs? Just let ‘em all frickin’ die next time?” he says sarcastically, carelessly waving the datapad around as he speaks.

She scowls, wrenching the datapad out of his hands and tucking it back under her arm. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. You’re running yourself thin too, by the way.”

Rocket taps his foot impatiently, sparing only seconds to gawk at her audacity before heading back over to his workbench.

“S’there a point to all this, or did you show up just to flarkin’ berate me again?” he asks, arming himself in preparation to leave. “You know I’m busy.” 

“Wouldn’t have to lecture you so much if you took better damn care of yourself,” Nebula chides with a shake of her head. “Look, I’ve been speaking with your nurse. She has good ideas about setting up better social support on Knowhere; more than just getting people clothed and fed, but helping them get back on their own feet too.”

Rocket blinks up at the luphomoid, mind drawing blanks as he tries to process her statement, only to trip over the same string of words. His nurse?

“I haven’t spoken to her in forever. She’s hardly my frickin’ nurse; I barely even remember her,” he snaps. “You know what? Whatever. I’m fine with it. You two can go figure it out.” Rocket throws a hand up dismissively as he straps his chest rig in place.

“She already has a lot of the work mapped out. I think you’ll like what she has to say,” Nebula continues despite Rocket’s show of callousness. “She’ll give you more of the details once you meet up with her. The two of you are going to coordinate to get it done.”

Rocket stops reaching for his gear and jerks his head upward, eyeing Nebula dubiously. “The hell do you mean ‘the two of us?’”

“Don’t act dense,” she snipes. “I mean exactly what I said.”

Rocket works his jaw, gaze flitting around the room in frustration as he tries to figure out an excuse to worm himself out of this situation, but his odds look bleak. “I thought the whole point of this arrangement was that you deal with the city stuff, and I deal with the shooting-people stuff.”

Nebula exhales through her nose. “It is. But for something like this…Listen. I know you don’t want to hear it, but people look up to you. There are a lot of them out there who are scared and need guidance. They’re not looking for a city-planner, they’re looking for a leader.” Rocket shakes his head, huffing as he paces around the room, gathering things he doesn’t need just to keep his hands busy. Nebula levels him with an earnest look. “That’s you, now.”

Rocket’s mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. He swallows around it, contemplating her words.

“…That’s their mistake,” he responds bitterly. “I ain’t doin’ it, Nebs. I’m sure the girl will be able to handle it herself; she’s smart. Besides, I don’t got time to sit around and play house.” Rocket finishes strapping his guns into place, then starts making his way to the door. He gets it about a third of the way open when Nebula places a hand against the wood and pushes it shut. He looks up at her tiredly. “You bein’ serious right now?”

“I’ll handle any missions and rescue efforts for the next quarter,” Nebula responds, still blocking his exit. “You’re going to stay behind to work out the specifics with her.”

“What?” Rocket laughs like Nebula has just told him the funniest joke in the world. “No.” 

“Fine. Don’t help if you don’t want to, but you’re going to stay behind and rest whether you like it or not,” she threatens, scowling down at him. “You’re overworked. It’s making you sloppy.”

Rocket raises both hands in sardonic surrender. “Alright, let’s say I play along. Who the hell’s gonna run the city while you’re gone? Me? ”

“There are plenty of capable people I can assign to do the bulk of the work for me. Everything else I can handle remotely.”

Nebula is so frickin’ persistent . It’s both her best and most annoying trait. Rocket can’t scrounge together any more excuses to deny her, so he cuts to the chase. “It’s not happening.”

“Rocket, look at you. When’s the last time you slept?” She huffs in irritation, then gives him a glance that looks almost pained. “...I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She looks pointedly down at his arm, and Rocket is filled with the urge to cover himself up and hide away from her watchful gaze. “Nebs, I���I don’t know,” he tries to argue, but his voice comes out limp and hollow. He feels himself cracking under the weight of her stare.

“Let me do this for you,” she says slowly. “I’m worried. We all are.”

Rocket sighs and takes his hand off of the doorknob, then settles back into his desk chair and slouches into it in defeat.

“Alright, fine. S’pose I can afford to sit on my ass and do nothing for a while if it means that much to you,” he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “…Thanks. You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”

“The fact that you say that proves that I do.” Nebula rolls her eyes and turns to leave, then calls out over her shoulder once she’s halfway out the door. “I told her you’d come see her today, by the way. Get moving.”

Rocket’s mouth drops open, but before he can even string together a response, the door is already shut and Nebula is gone. He exhales heavily and savors the moment of quiet while he still has it, then looks longingly toward his workstation.

His tools are exactly where he left them cycles ago, coated in a thin layer of dust. He picks up a multidriver and puts it away. The dust scatters into the air in a puff of fine particles with the movement, little motes floating across rays of artificial sunbeam that peek through his blinds, all to resettle on his desk like an evening snowfall.

…Rocket supposes it has been a while since he’s been home. 

He starts heading for the door once he clears off his desk, only to pause when he glimpses reflection in a mirror. His eyes pull down to the bandage on his arm, wrapped tight and haphazardly.

Rocket’s brows knit together, and he pulls on a jacket before he leaves.

He takes his time making his way to your place. Some of the denizens of Knowhere greet him, and thank him, and tell him he changed their life as he passes—many of them familiar, most of them not. He nods his head graciously either way, despite the prickling discomfort that starts to grind at his chest at the continued attention.

By the time he’s standing in front of your door and staring at all those stupid flower patterns again, he’s already second guessing his decision to stay.

Being planetside, around all these people who feel such profound gratitude toward him despite the fact that he’s never even met fuckin’ half of them is starting to drive him insane. He feels like he’s climbed into someone else’s skin—someone bigger and more altruistic and fuckin’ magnanimous than him—and he itches to peel it off. 

Screw this. He’d rather be back on the Bowie. At least the ship doesn’t expect anything more from him than scheduled maintenance and a set of coordinates to follow.

He almost, almost turns around to leave, hand already reaching for his comm to let Nebula know he’s changed his mind, until he notices that your door is cracked open. 

Rocket narrows his eyes, then knocks on the doorframe. 

“You home?” he calls out.

No one responds.

He fidgets with his jacket and drums his fingers against his thigh in a moment of indecision, before sighing and pushing the door open. Just enough to peek his head in and make sure you’re okay.

He scans the first room, and to his concern, it’s empty. 

Nebula had told you he was dropping by, so he knows you’re expecting him. And yeah, you’ve got trusting tendencies that border on frickin’ reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re the type to just leave your door unlocked.

Just when he’s about to start panicking, his ears flick in the direction of your tittering laugh, echoing from somewhere just around the corner. 

The knot holding Rocket’s shoulders taut loosens, and he lets his posture relax. You’re safe. He feels like he can leave now without feeling too guilty about it, and starts heading in the opposite direction.

“I am Groot,” a familiar voice says amicably.

Rocket’s footfalls stop. He swivels around, searching. 

He’s not sure how he didn’t notice Groot’s hulking form, peeking out from past the corner and hunched over to speak to someone that Rocket is starting to suspect might be you.

“I wish I knew what you were saying. Whatever story you’re telling sounds riveting,” you respond, confirming Rocket’s suspicions.

“I am Groot. I am Groot.” 

“Uh huh!” you respond cheerfully, not a lick of comprehension in your tone. “Of course.”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket presses the heel of his palm to his forehead with a groan and walks toward the sound of your voices. He tells Groot every damn time not to meddle with his relationships, and the kid never listens. He thanks every frickin’ star in the sky that you don’t seem to understand the language yet, since Groot has never been known to hold his tongue—though Rocket thinks you’ll probably pick up on it fast. 

Once he gets around the corner, he spots you kneeling next to a set of potted plants too large to keep inside your home. Groot hovers beside you, one of your watering cans pinched delicately between his fingers as he helps you tend to your garden. You nod along to Groot’s story all the while, smiling and giggling along at his exaggerated movements. Notably, you’ve got at least a dozen of Groot’s blooms woven into your hair as if growing from a vine—Groot raises his arm to sprout another little white flower then offers it to you, and you gratefully tuck it behind your ear.

Any irritation Rocket might’ve felt leaves him in an instant, as ephemeral as a Spartaxian night-bloom. He leans against a wall with his arms crossed and simply observes the two of you for a few moments.

Groot is very clearly enamored with you. The kid has always been remarkably easy to impress, but Rocket can tell that there’s real affection in Groot’s eyes as he continues to babble on at you, despite the language barrier. Rocket wonders how long Groot has been hanging out with you behind his back, though he can’t really bring himself to be all that upset. 

You look just as ecstatic as Groot does, and are somehow even prettier than Rocket remembers, draped in a dainty little sundress. Its scalloped hem rides up your thighs where you remain crouched as you work; the straps end in elegant bows that sit atop your bare shoulders. Like a present. Rocket could probably tug on the end of one of the ribbons and the whole dress would come right off.

“Hey,” he calls out, voice coming out a little bit more ragged than he means it to.

You squeak in surprise, clutching a startled hand up against your chest as you look at him with wide eyes, like a little rabbit.

Rocket can’t help but snicker. “Huh. You’re kinda jumpy, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he mocks.

You drop your shoulders and pout at him, much to Rocket’s delight. He’s suddenly filled with the urge to get even meaner, but Groot interrupts him before he can even start.

“I am Groot,” Groot says admonishingly.

“I’m bein’ plenty nice,” Rocket replies. “And I heard what you were sayin’ earlier. You need to watch your language.”

“I am Groot!” Groot exclaims, gesturing from Rocket to you with his hulking arms with a frustrated frown. He then laces his hands together. “ I am Groot.”

Rocket stiffens and his face heats up from beneath his fur. He risks a glance at you, as if you might have suddenly picked up on Groot’s mother tongue, but you just blink confusedly at him with a pleasant smile on your face, waiting for a translation that will sure as hell never arrive.

He scowls, and lumbers over to start speaking with Groot in a low tone. “You can’t be sayin’ stuff like that out loud,” he hisses.

Groot shrugs innocently. “I am Groot.”

Rocket shakes his head in exasperation before sighing heavily and raising his voice to speak at a normal volume. “Alright, that’s enough. Time for you to head home, bud.” 

“I am Groot,” Groot whines, slumping in disappointment. He still stands up and starts walking back home in an exaggeratedly solemn shuffle, pausing to look back over his shoulder and give Rocket a sad, watery-eyed look. He even twiddles his thumbs a little.

…Rocket knows he’s being manipulated, but his heart still melts a little despite it all. He just really can’t frickin’ stay mad at the guy.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says gently. Groot straightens, mouth curving into a brilliant smile, and Rocket points an accusatory finger at him in response. “But we’re still talkin’ about this later.”

“I am Groot!” Groot chirps, as happy as ever, before lumbering off.

“Your kid adores you, you know,” you say, hiding your grin behind your hand. 

“Yeah, well, he never listens to me, either,” Rocket replies. He leans over and picks one of the little flowers out of your hair. “Good to see the two of you are getting along.”

You look momentarily surprised that he touched you, but not necessarily unreceptive to it. “Well, you raised a sweetheart,” you say, tracking the movement of his fingers as he twirls the silvery bloom between his fingertips. 

“Ain’t nothin’ to do with me. Takes after his dad.” Rocket thumbs one of the soft petals, humming in thought. “But yeah. He’s a good kid.”

He tucks the flower back into your hair.

Your lips part in surprise, then you giggle, touching a hand to your head to secure the bloom in place. You get up and move to stand beside him, dusting your skirt off as you go. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“I’m alright. Just been busy. You?”

You move to stroll past him and back into your home, holding the door open to let him inside, then make a beeline for the kitchen. “I’ve been good. Is tea okay?” you ask as you pick through your cabinets. Rocket grunts in affirmation, and you pull out a seasonal blend—cinderberries and spice—then speak again. “Things have been pretty hectic for me too, actually. I’ve got a project I’ve been working on for Nebula.”

Rocket sits at the table and watches as you bring a kettle of water to a boil. “Yeah, that’s actually what I’m here for. Nebs told me you had something to show me. About helpin’ the refugees?”

For some reason, his words make your hands go still. Your fingers hover in the air for a moment before returning to your teapot to begin to add some leaves, albeit less energetically than before.  “Oh. I thought you…nevermind.” 

You don’t turn around to look at him, but you sound remarkably disappointed.

Rocket’s tail twitches and he frowns. Something’s not adding up. “Nebs didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“No? Was she supposed to?” you ask, looking over your shoulder with a tilt of your head. “I didn’t even know you knew I was working on something.”

Rocket takes a deep breath in through his nose, then lets out a heavy exhale. 

Fuckin’ Nebs. So much for ‘I told her you’d come see her today .’ He’s not sure if Nebula just didn’t trust him to show unless she put some pressure on, or if this is her misguided attempt at playing matchmaker, but he swears she’s just as bad as Groot sometimes. 

“S’not important,” Rocket responds, trying to brush off your concern. “Tell me about what you’ve got so far.”

You nod and move to fetch your datapad, but not before leaning over his shoulder to place a cup of tea before him, steadying yourself with a hand on the back of his chair. You’re careful not to touch him, but the proximity is still frightfully appealing, especially in that stupidly flimsy dress. The ends of one of the bows tied to your shoulder grazes his whiskers as you pull away.

Rocket attempts to distract himself by swirling the amber liquid within the cup and taking a sip. He thinks it might be the same blend you served him all those nights ago, when he was bleeding out at your doorstep.

You then sit across from him, with the datapad in hand and a teacup of your own.

“You’ll have to bear with me,” you say with an apologetic smile as you tap against the screen. “I’ve never tried to plan anything of this scale before. Nebula asked for my opinion on the resource situation and next thing I knew, it turned into my responsibility.” 

It’s a surprisingly timid confession. Maybe it’s because his first few impressions of you involved you yelling at him for being kind of an asshole, but you’d always come across as strong-willed to him. Passionate, too; maybe even a little smug in ways that Rocket pretends not to find charming.  This is the first time he’s heard you sound so unsure of yourself. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure whatever you’re thinkin’ up is worthwhile.”

“I suppose Nebula did like my ideas…but between you and me, I feel like I was mostly talking out of my ass.”

“I doubt that,” Rocket says with a chuckle, but something about your words gives him pause. He knows how it feels to get a bunch of responsibility pushed into your lap. What it’s like to worry about not being able to measure up. “You don’t have to do anything, you know. Don’t let Nebs pressure you into this.”

“I want to help,” you respond fiercely. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone either.”

“I’m sure it’s better than anything I coulda come up with.” He shrugs, and takes another sip of his tea. “Let’s hear your plan then.”

“Well…look, so far, Knowhere has done a great job of providing people with the basics. Food, water, shelter. Those are all necessary and important, but it’s only just enough to survive. We need to help uplift. ” You clear your throat, and nervously look down at your datapad. “People need access to information. Education. Ways to find employment, and to build skills. To self-sustain. I think it’ll be beneficial all around to put resources into this, even past just a humanitarian standpoint. It’ll help fill any workplace gaps, and the more people find work, the more they purchase things, the more those units stimulate Knowhere’s economy.”

Rocket nods along. This sort of thing is beyond him, but if Nebs is willing to vouch for you, he’s in. “How’re you gonna make it happen?”

“I want to open a community center.”

You pass him the datapad. It contains a wealth of information, with allocations for the funds Nebula gave you to start out with, and details about your ideas. You mention social workers to help support the refugees on a case-by-case basis, to help guide them toward suitable careers and get their children into school. An educational department with a skills workshop, to assist people in finding their niche and hopefully enable them to carve their own paths.

“People have lost their homes and are on an entirely new planet. They’re at their most vulnerable right now,” you explain as Rocket looks through the datapad. He raises his brows at the detailed information on the display. You’ve clearly been thinking about this for a while. “Lots of people want to be self-sufficient, but lack the opportunity. I think we might be able to give people that chance.”

You’re well-spoken, and obviously passionate about the subject. He could see your plan working, given some proper set-up.

Still, a small, bitter part of him is…reluctant. There were no people like you to help him when he was freshly transplanted off of halfworld, eating scraps out of garbage bins and stowing away in the ventilation shafts of ships he could only ever dream of flying. No gentle-handed healers to soothe the stinging slice of a scalpel or the searing pain of a bullet wound. It’s a feeling that stems from greed and anger, to almost not want anyone else to have that promise of hope. Not when he had to fight tooth and nail just to live, and lost so much as a result.

…But Rocket also recognizes that your kindness was never for him to keep in the first place.

“Nebs was right,” Rocket says after a moment of deliberation, tapping through the various analytics and diagrams you’ve prepared. “You’ve got a good eye for this sorta shit, looks like.”

You flush and allow the corners of your lips to quirk upward, but your smile is withdrawn. “Well, it’s all just a dream, for now. I’ve never tried to do anything this ambitious before.” You play with the fabric of your dress, hands in your lap as you speak. “I…I’m still not sure if I’m going to be able to make it happen. I have to prove it works, first of all. And a lot of it is going to rely on crowd-funding and volunteers, which means we’ve gotta convince the people that this is worth pursuing too.”

“Dunno why you keep second guessin’ yourself. It all sounds solid to me.”

“Just trying to warn you,” you say wryly. “But that’s why I’m grateful you’re willing to help. If there’s anyone who can get people onboard with this, it’s you.”

Rocket furrows his brows. He’s getting a little sick of people putting him on a pedestal.

“You’re givin’ me way too much credit,” he says, throat tight. “All I do is kill the right people.”

“You do a lot more than that,” you argue, huffing and lifting your chin to challenge him.

Rocket can feel the beginnings of another argument coming on, and he’s too exhausted to deal with that right now, so he steers the subject back on course.

“I can start figurin’ out getting the actual facility built. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Perfect! Other than that, we’re probably going to have to do a lot of networking. Planning a campaign and such. Here’s what I’m thinking…”

You start getting into the nitty gritty of your project: advocacy, fundraising, meetings—shit that makes Rocket wanna toss himself out of an airlock. There’s a reason why Nebula was supposed to be the one taking care of the city-related stuff, but the two of you seem to think that Rocket is the right person for this job, though he can’t fathom why. He doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to matters of being persuasive; not unless it involves him threatening the other guy with a blaster. Still, the sheer determination that practically oozes from you is infectious, and Rocket figures the least he can do is see this thing through before washing his hands of it completely. He probably owes both you and Nebula at least that much, at this point. 

“Well, we got a lot of work done,” Rocket says once he feels like his patience for city planning has reached its limit. “I should prob’ly head out.”

He gets up from his chair, and looks up just in time to see your expression flicker from startled to disappointed. 

“Oh. Okay,” you respond, walking him to the door. You pause, and reluctantly offer him a nod of acknowledgement and a wave. “I’ll see you?”

“Yep. Sure.”

Your face falls even further at his uninspired response. It does occur to him that he’s being kind of a dick. It’s a much icier farewell than he means it to be, but he’s trying to maintain professional boundaries as best as he can.

Rocket walks off, eager to get back to his shitty little apartment and collapse onto his threadbare mattress before he can start regretting this whole thing even more.

He hasn’t even reached the street before he hears you calling out to him. 

“Wait!” you yell. 

Rocket jerks, and turns to watch you clamber down the stairs with one boot halfway on and the other still untied. He stares at you, dumbfounded as you nearly trip over your laces. 

“Let me walk you home,” you say, panting with effort as you jog to meet him down the stairs.

Rockets brows raise high, and then he squints, looking you up and down. You look slightly disheveled and your cheeks are tinted with a lovely blush—a mix of the cold, the effort of running to reach him, and probably just a twinge of embarrassment. 

“ You want to walk me home,” he states dryly. 

“You seem like the kind of guy who’s good at getting himself into trouble. It’s pretty dark out,” you snark, kneeling down to properly fit your heel into one of your boots, then lacing them both up. You shoot him a playful grin as you do. “Just trying to keep an eye on you. Keep you safe.”

The concept of it is ridiculous as all hell, but Rocket can’t help the sharp laugh that bursts from him at your comment. He places a hand on his hip and lazily shifts his weight, angling himself to give you a considering look.

“I appreciate the offer, princess, but I think I’ll be able to handle myself out there,” he drawls. “I am the trouble at least eighty-percent of the time, anyway.”

“Too late. I already have my shoes on,” you chirp, standing up once you’ve tied both of your boots up. You then place a palm to your chest in mock dejection, and flutter your lashes at him. “You’re not going to just turn me away, are you?”

Rocket sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, waving you along as he turns to start walking back home. “I guess not if you’re gonna be a frickin’ brat about it.” You grin and follow after him, and he glowers in response. 

You chatter at him about how you’d spent the last few cycles, about your interactions with Nebula and Groot, and about your plants and your next new hobby, and Rocket nods along intently, content to listen.

He knows he’s supposed to be avoiding you, but…he’s missed this. Hanging out with you; talking about stupid, inconsequential crap. No one needing him for anything, no one expecting him to do something or go somewhere.

Some of the people of Knowhere seem to want to approach him but stop once they see you beside him. He pretends not to notice the fact that you’re probably walking a bit too close to him to seem purely friendly. He doesn’t move away, even when your arm inadvertently brushes against his shoulder. 

At some point, Rocket notices you shiver. He chances a glance up at you, and can’t tell if he regrets the decision or not. Your cheeks are rosy from the chill; the gleam of polychrome street signs reflect off of your petal-soft skin, and combine with the string lights hanging from building to building to cast you in a dreamy, neon glow. You lift your hands to your mouth and breathe into them, then press them into your cheeks—the movement presses your breasts together just slightly, and Rocket turns away before his gaze can dip further down to see if your nipples have stiffened through your gauzy dress.

“C’mere,” he calls out with a wave of his hand as he steps up onto a nearby bench.

You tilt your head curiously, then step forward. “What are you—ah.”

Rocket pulls off his jacket once you’re close enough, then drapes it over your shoulders. Your lips part and your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him, bringing your hands up to wrap his jacket further around yourself.

Unthinkingly, he reaches out to free your hair from where it's been accidentally tucked underneath the collar, and he feels you tremble slightly when his claws inadvertently brush against the sensitive skin on your neck. Some of the flowers Groot tucked into your hair earlier fall out, and float gently onto the cobbled streets.

“Thank you,” you say meekly, clearing your throat once he steps off of the bench.

Rocket shrugs and starts walking again. “S’just a jacket.” He stops when you place a hand on his shoulder, and turns around to look at you.

“What happened to your arm?” You ask, looking down at his bicep in dismay.

…Shit. Rocket grimaces, moving a hand up over the dressing as if it’ll prevent you from seeing it. “Just scratched myself.”

You brush his hand away, then run your thumb over the bandage, leaning down to look at his arm intently. Rocket hardly feels the feather-light brush of your fingers against his wound. “You didn’t think to come see me for this?”

“It’s not a big deal. Don’t see why I should have to bother you over it.”

“It’s not a bother ,” you respond with no shortage of appallment. You carefully hook a finger under the gauze to take a peek beneath. “Looks like it’s healing well. The dressing looks okay, too.”

The press of the bandage into the wound stings for a moment, and Rocket flinches away slightly. You pull your hand away like he’s just shocked you, and concern warps your expression.

“I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” you ask. The way you’re looking at him right now, like he might be made of glass, makes him want to cut and run.

“It’s fine,” he grunts in response. 

You frown and step closer, hand raised to touch him again. “Sure, but does it hurt? ”

Rocket jerks away before you can reach him, and you pull your hand back. He sighs, and scratches lightly at the space below the wound.

“It doesn’t hurt, sweetheart,” he reassures. “Just stung for a second when you shifted the dressing around. Don’t even feel it anymore.”

You nod, though you don’t look like you entirely believe him. The two of you walk in relative quiet for a while. Rocket can feel your warm gaze turned scalding against his injured arm, and tries not to squirm.

“I wish you’d let me help you more often,” you say, finally breaking the silence. “You didn’t come to see me at all for cycles.”

Your observation isn’t accusatory, but Rocket doesn’t miss the disheartened note in your tone when you speak.

“No need. You’ve done plenty for me already,” he responds gruffly.

At that, you huff in irritation.

“Fine. Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to ask you to come around,” you say. Rocket nearly stumbles over his own feet at your comment. You’re so honest. He raises his head to look at you, eyes wide, and finds that your gaze is already fixed on him. “I did miss you, you know.”

“...Yeah?” Rocket asks roughly.

“I figured maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried that I might have, um. Offended you, or something. Last time we saw each other.”

Rocket’s ears twitch and he tilts his head curiously, before realizing that you’re referring to your little anatomy lesson and all the mouth-watering skin you’d let him try his hand at exploring. He can hardly believe you’d think that any part of that could have ever offended him, as if that moment with you wasn’t the star of several of his fantasies for fucking rotations afterward. Still, he can see why you might think that. You were practically hanging off of him and then he fucked off without a word.

“I promise there’s nothin’ you could do that’d scare me off. And if there was, I’d tell you,” he says tiredly. 

“Okay. Thank you,” you respond, hesitating over your words. “I didn’t grow up on Knowhere, you know. Everyone on here is so kind, but it’s obviously a super tight-knit community; most of the locals have lived here their whole lives.” You fiddle with the zippered end of his jacket, awkwardly keeping your gaze on the floor. “It’s been hard, trying to find my place here. I know that you only came because Nebula told you to, but…spending time with you meant— means a lot to me. I do think of you as my friend, you know. I…I hope you didn’t feel like I was monopolizing your time.”

Rocket winces. He’s such a jackass.

“Didn’t mean to disappear on you. Not even Nebs could force my ass to do any of this if I didn’t already like you. It’s just been a little busy for me,” he says with a sigh. “Next time, I’ll make sure to swing by when I can.”

“Really?” You perk back up, looking at him with glittering eyes. The beginnings of a soft smile start to pull at your lips, and you look at him from beneath your lashes, coy. “I—that’s good. I’m glad. I like being around you.”

Something in the sweet, almost pleading lilt to your voice gives Rocket pause. He stops abruptly, and you nearly crash into his back. You fidget underneath his gaze as he levels you with a dark look, eyes lidded. 

Then, Rocket chuckles. “You’re a clingy l’il thing, huh?” 

You flush fiercely, crossing your arms over your chest, burying yourself further into his jacket. “Well, I’m not going to say it out loud again if you’re just going to make fun of me.”

“Not makin’ fun, angel.” He clicks his tongue in mocking pity. “S’okay if you're a little needy— I promise I don’t mind,” he drawls, letting a dangerous edge seep into his tone.

Your jaw drops and you somehow turn even redder, to Rocket’s absolute glee. “You’re impossible.” You roll your eyes and brush past him, making a turn toward his apartment. 

Rocket cackles in response, lazily trailing behind you while you wait in front of his door.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home, doll,” he purrs. “Felt real safe.”

“You’re so annoying,” you bite back, then smile down at him. “…I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah. I’ll be around,” he says with a chuckle. “Lemme know when you’re home safe.”

“Will do.” You turn around and start to leave, but then pause. “Oh, let me give you back your jacket.”

Rocket waves dismissively as you begin to pull off his coat, and you look up at him curiously.

“It’ll be cold on the way back. Just wear it; give it to me next time you see me,” he says. Then, he looks you up and down, one last time. “Or you could just keep it. Looks good on you.”

“...Okay,” you respond breathily, and there it is again. The same, star-struck look you’d been giving him since he first showed up at your door all that time ago. It suddenly clicks for him—the shy smiles, the lingering touches, the provocative looks.

At first he figured it was just some weird, cultural difference that he wasn’t privy to. Humies had always seemed to be the touchy-feely type, based on what he’s observed from Pete and the other Terrans he’s encountered in the past. 

But now that all the cards are laid out, he realizes it’s more likely that you’ve formed a stupid, misguided crush on him—one borne of hero worship.

You’re kind. A little naive too, he thinks. You’d been so awed when you first met him; even more so when he kept coming back. Every second you’ve spared him thus far has been awash with an undercurrent of gratefulness, and something a little too genuine and a little too sweet for his comfort. 

You’re obviously infatuated with whoever it is you perceive the Captain of the Guardians to be, especially now that he’s helping out with your little project. Rocket has an inkling that you may even feel so indebted to him that you might genuinely let him fuck you if he asked, out of some screwed up sense of appreciation for the scarred up freak you’re convinced is a hero. Rocket won’t pretend to be a paragon of virtue, but it feels wrong to take advantage of that.

…And even if he were to sink low enough to take a bite of what you seem to be offering, the things he imagines doing to you aren’t particularly nice.

All of his thoughts lead back to the same, fucked up little daydream: you, tied up underneath him with your legs held open by rope; skin bruised where he squeezes just a little too hard, punctures in the fat of your ass where he digs his claws in just a little too deep, cunt sore and dripping down his cock while he fucks you just a little too rough. He imagines your makeup smeared with tears, and your shoulders littered with imprints of his teeth, and that you squeak and your tits bounce with every harsh thrust as you put yourself at his mercy. The pain will make you tense up when he sinks his teeth into the base of your neck, and he bets it’ll make your pussy squeeze him nice and tight . Then, he’ll lave his tongue over his bitemarks and roll your sensitive little clit between his fingers in apology just to take his touch away—leverage it over you, and leave you so desperate that you’ll beg him to do it again.

You’re just so sweet. So good. So pretty, so kind—everything he isn’t. 

Makes him want to try and break you.

…It’s fucked up. He’s fucked up. He refuses to subject you to that; to exploit your trust in him.

Besides, he still isn’t entirely sure you just didn’t crack your head open at some point and that the residual damage is what has you rubbing yourself all over him. Or maybe he’s the one who sustained a head injury and you’re just some lovely little thing he’s dreamed up to take care of him and lick his wounds.

Whatever. He only has to hang around you long enough to get this community center finished. If it comes down to it, he’ll just tell you no. Say you’re not his type. Break your little humie heart; for your sake. You deserve something a lot softer and gentler than him, and he’s not sure you’ve got the self-preservation to realize he’s probably the worst thing that could happen to you, so he’ll take matters into his own hands if he has to. 

Besides, it’s the idea of him you want. He’ll spare you the ugly reality.

Rocket is jolted out of his brooding thoughts when, to his surprise, you look back at him one last time.

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you,” you say slyly, giving him a sharp grin that ends with the tip of your tongue pressing against one of your canines.

…You’re not gonna make this any easier on him. It’s gonna be a long fucking quarter.

Rocket allows himself one last moment of indulgence as he leans back against his door to watch you leave—with that spunsilk dress wisping around your legs with every step, and the moon-white petals still knitted between locks of your hair—as you hide your grin beneath the collar of his coat.

Ao3 | Masterlist | Butterfly Caught Index

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 1 - Learning about your cousin and his past

Maybe Kyle actually used to serve with John until one mission pushed him a bit too far past his moral compass and he ended up leaving his military career behind, travelling down to see his last remaining relative – *you*.

You two had been thick as thieves growing up, family always visiting on holidays as his much more persuasive self – quite a charmer even for a seven year old – was fond of conning you into mischief you had no business being a part of. Now when he's not pestering you he frequents bars to help shake off the PTSD and find people with some coin to do odds and ends jobs for.

Catching up with Kyle usually always included a stroll down memory lane reminiscing about his old war stories. His troublemaking tendencies didn't change as he got older. He was just better about talking his way out of getting disciplined for it. But you'd heard plenty of tales about what he got up to with the notorious Sergeant MacTavish back in the day. More than enough to suggest the man was a scoundrel despite the praise your cousin laid on thick regarding his ability to always have your back in a skirmish.

So when an anonymous tip leads you to a man who can supposedly get you to the fabled city of Hamunaptra and they pull John out of his jail cell, Kyle just gives him a shit eating grin leaning against the bars and says, "Hope you didn't have to bend over for anyone in there."

"Nah. They said mah mouth's prettier than mah arse anyways."

Meanwhile you're standing there watching this conversation with your eyes glued to the man behind the bars with filthy desert tanned skin, bit-too-long stubble, the strangest choice in hairstyle, and cerulean blue eyes sparkling with the promise of mischief thinking 'dear lord what am I getting myself into?'

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Gren x GN!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Your comments are delicious >:)

I may have made Grenny boy a little too ooc, my bad

🌙 He's the type to act like a sleeze but he's a pretty caring guy. He doesn't show his emotions on his sleeve at all, and you might not even think he's flirting with you at first, but he is. Gren grew up with tough love in an even tougher environment, but he tries his best. He does have a heart, after all mama's boy, Beowulf didn't extinguish that shit centuries ago.

🌙 However, when he's had a few drinks, he's very forward about what he wants. He's a big fan of leaning against the bar and openly flirting with you like that. He tries to be a gentleman sometimes if he's feeling like it, offering to buy you a few drinks here and there while he butchers pick-up lines like crazy.

🌙 He's the type to be a sloppy kisser. It doesn't matter if he's sober or drunk, things get a little messy. He's a man starved for attention, and you're the kind soul that's gonna give it to him. He's very physical with his kisses, almost always turning it into a makeout session where his hands travel all across your body, eventually leading him right to your sex where he loves to tease.

🌙 He loves making out in the elevator on your way to either of your apartments. Just the build-up alone is enough to get this man rock hard. He's very eager to let you know that is, too, grinding against your backside while his hands trace down your torso as you try to unlock the door.

🌙 He has such a filthy mouth. I hope you like degration and dirty talk, because this man is dishing it out. He says it all in this deep and gravelly voice that sends little electrical pulses right into your sex that it makes your head spin. He even tops some it off with a sickly sweet little pet name to hook you in.

🌙 Loves rough sex. If the headboard ain't knocking, he's not going fast enough. He may be one thin as fuck guy, but under that glamour is a big hulking beast with a firey sex drive.

🌙 He's done it with numerous other fables, even before having to flee the Homelands. He's seen it all, though trolls tend to rank higher on his list. He loves the idea of both of you dropping your glamours for the night and fucking like wild animals, but the fragility of the bed, as well as the rest of the apartment, often stops you both.

🌙 Please be careful of his bad arm. The scar is very much still there and there are often times where it gives out under the weight he puts on it to fuck you senseless. He loves nothing more than for you to massage it afterwards and leave tender little kisses on it. Try not to dig your nails in too much on that one side.

🌙 One of his favorite things to do is to partially drop his glamour enough for that tongue to come out. He loves lapping and licking at your sex with that big, long, wet tongue of his. He makes eye contact the entire time, and if you even think about looking away, he barely grazes his teeth over your sensitive skin to really get your attention.

🌙 He's very much a dom. He doesn't dislike the idea of being submissive with you, he just doesn't feel comfortable yet. The last time someone dominated him, it ended with him dead in some Danish swamp, so...

🌙 He loves deepthroating you. He loves nothing more than to knot his fingers in your hair and face-fuck you until he cums right down your throat. Just the noises alone are enough to get him in the mood. He loves to drag you up by your hair and shoulders and then kiss you, loving how he tastes in your mouth.

🌙 He's not ashamed to lose control, just a little ashamed of the mess that comes with it. He loves the power, but feels guilty about the dents he leaves in the walls from making the headboard bang against it so much. It's lead him to come up with some interesting ideas on how and where to fuck you.

🌙 One of those thoughts being in a crowded bar. He wants nothing more than to take you in some secluded little corner and make it look like you're just sitting in his lap or something when really he's just slipping his dick in you and you both have to play it cool.

🌙 Or fucking in the back of the Trip Trap when Holly is busy up front. The stock room is dark and tight and he loves the feeling of being so close and cramped with you that he has to pin you to the wall and all. Being so close leaves so little to the imagination when it's pressed right up against you.

🌙 He loves to sext, especially when you're at work and he's not. He always turns up the heat to the point he sends you a picture of what he's doing, but it's very obvious what the out-of-focus thing is at the bottom of the picture.

🌙 But if you sext him while he's out? Prepare that ass because you're not gonna get any sleep all night long. Teasing him while he's out is a very dangerous game, and Gren subscribes to the term of: Play stupid game win stupid prizes, and you're definitely gonna get fucked stupid.

🌙 He takes all of the complaints from neighbors with a stupid and very cocky grin on his face. Even when you're ducking your head down to hide your embarrassment, he's proud as hell. He's teasing you about it later.

🌙 Definitely the type to smoke a cigarette after sex. He always offers you one, too. If you're not a smoker and you're not too keen on cigarette smoke staining your walls and smelling up your sheets, he takes it outside. Whether it's a small patio you have, the fire escape or just fully opening a window, he's smoking a cigarette. And he will walk out fully nude with his dick out and all, he has no shame.

[alina-dixon]

A Fable

Pairing: Morpheus x Male reader

Warnings: violence, blood, captivity, fluff.

Requested: Yes / No

Part 1

A/N: The reader is the Hero from Fable 2! I really love the game Fable 2! So I thought why not? Have fun reading!☺️❤️

___

It's a cold winter day in Bowerstone, you and your Sister Rose are standing at a fireplace. You and Rose are homeless. You are only nine years old and your sister is fifteen. You were just trying to get warm, when suddenly something fell on your head and when you touched it you immediately knew it was bird poop! Your eyes went wide and tried to get rid of it while making a disgusted sound.

Rose looked weirdly at you while having her arms around her body to stay warm. “What was that? Oh! Yuck.” she said while taking a step back. When you stopped she put her arms back around her and so do you with yourself. “Well… That’s lucky. Like finding a four-leave clover. Although I think I'd prefer the clover.” her voice sounded a little awkward when saying that.

Then she looked at the castle amazed that stood in the center of Brightwood. “Look. little Sparrow…Castle Fairfax looks so nice in the snow. Imagine the grand dining hall. I bet Lord Lucien’s having roasted duck at this time of the year.” She ranted while you just kept quiet while putting your hands over the fireplace and listened to her ranting.

She put her hands on her hips. “But he must be really lonely since his wife and his little girl died. In that big castle, all by himself… If only we could live there.” She looked at the castle with a sad expression.

Suddenly there was the sound of loud cheering heard from behind the houses. “What is going on over there? Come with me, little brother.” she said while running in the direction of where the sound came from. So before you could say anything you followed her, but you were a little behind.

When you turned into the alleyway and went farther down you saw a man talking to your Sister, You saw him talking to her a few times back then. “Hello there, young Rose. You look hungry. Have you reconsidered my offer?” he said oddly nice but also very weird. You of course do know what he's talking about.

You approached them slowly. Rose had a disgusted and angry look on her face. “We’ll never be that hungry. The answer is NO!” That angered the guy. “You’ll be back. And I'll be waiting for Ya.” he said with an angered tone, then walked away.

Rose sighed and looked at you. “Come on, little Sparrow. Let's see what's going on.” she said as we both ran again to where the sound came from. Rose sighed again. “That filthy creep… I hate him.” she spat.

You finally arrived only to see a crowd around a taider. “Oh… It's just a trader. I can't see anything through the crowd.” She was clearly disappointed.

“A-ladies and a-gentlemen… I have traveled the land accumulating wondrous and mysterious objects! Which I now offer to you for the modest price of five gold coins!” he said proudly.

“Consider this. This is truly a magical mirror. For as long as you look into it, it will make you beautiful!” he said lowly. “I'll take it!” a random guy screamed from the crowd. “Very wise! Now just remember: the magic only works if you look at it in complete darkness.” He had a smug look on his face.

The trader turned to something that looked like a music box, but it was completely made of metal. “Ah, now this is truly a marvel.” he said smiling at it. “This small, unassuming box is actually a device created by the ancients. As was used by the old rulers of the kingdom themselves! Turn the handle three times, and you shall be granted a single wish!”

Rose looked unamused at this and scoffed. “There’s no such thing as magic!” she said and she thought that nobody heard it because they were busy watching the trader, but hooded women turned towards us. When you saw her eyes, you noticed that she was probably blind.

“We live in grim times indeed, if the young doesn't believe in magic anymore. Most children your age believe eagerly.” she said in a calming voice. Rose looked at her weirdly but you thought that she was right, only because you believed in it yourself. “Look, I can see your eyes are bad, but I'm telling you, that magic box is rubbish.” while she said that the crowd beside us was getting smaller and smaller until everyone was gone.

“That's what the seller thinks. He has no idea what he stumbled upon. But you have an inkling, have you? Some part of you wants to believe it's magic.” Her voice still calm as before, she turned around already walking away from us.

Rose looked looked at he women surprised. “What? You… you really think it could be?” she asked hesitantly. The woman stopped but only turned her head to the side. “For five gold coins, you could have your own answer.” Rose looks dumbfounded at her answer. “For five gold coins, we could eat for a weak.” Rose frowned.

The women started walking away. “Listen to me, Rose. At the end of the week you and Y/N would be no closer to your dream- no closer to the inside of that beautiful castle.” she started. ‘She, is right actually…’ is all what you thought to yourself.

Rose turned to face you frowning slightly. “What if it is real? I bet we could get five gold coins… and maybe this could be a way out of here, after all. What is there to lose, little sparrow?” she sounded confident. I smiled at her. “Probably nothing!” Rose laughed then nodded. “All right! Come on, there must be someone around here who will pay us to… do something.” with that we went around town to earn some money.

After about half an hour we finally had our five coins to buy the music box! Rose and I went back to the trader. The Trader Murgo looked at you smiling. “Hello children.” he said happily. Rose and I smiled back at him. “Hello, we’ve come to buy the music box.” she started still smiling.

I walked towards the man held my hand in front of him showing him the five coins. “Very wise, little ones! Go ahead and turn the handle- but mind you go somewhere quiet, like.” he smiled at the both of you. “Okay thank you! Bye mister!” you waved at him. “Let's go make our wish, little Sparrow!” she said excitedly, as you both started walking back to your little stay.

You put the music box onto a box wooden box that was around half of your height. “Alright turn the handle!” Rose was a nervous as you started to turn the handle. “I wish… I wish…” After she said her wish the box opened and started glowing in a bright golden color. A beautiful sound was playing but then the music box started rotating and the music got faster, the golden color was turning red and then all of a sudden, the music box lighted up in a bright golden color and disappeared right in front of our eyes!

You and Rose we're shocked. “But… where did it go? Why are we still here? Five gold pieces… Let's just go to bed.” she sounded sad and disappointed. You yourself were sad at this, but still you followed her. “Oh. I was so sure this was it. I had this feeling like… that we weren't going to be stuck in Old Town anymore! Why didn't the box take us with it?” she still sounded sad but tried to push it aside. “Come on, Sparrow, go to bed.” so you both lay down to end the day. “Good night! Love you big Sis!” you said turning to your side. “Good night. I love you too, little Sparrow.” and with that, you both went to sleep. You only hoped that tomorrow would be a better day, and Rose won't be sad anymore.

It was still nighttime when Rose woke up to the sound of footsteps, scared that it could be a thief or something like that. She carefully opened her eyes and stood up, and when she saw who it was she was relieved, I was only the guard that they helped to earn some money for the now gone music box. “What do you want?” asked Rose the guard curiously.

The guard cleared his throat. “I work for Lord Lucien, miss. And would very much like to see you in his castle. I've been sent to collect you.” With that, he walked away, and Rose walked up to your sleeping form. “It did work! Our wish came true! Come on little Sparrow, wake up.” So you opened your eyes and stood up still a little tired. “What's happening, Sis?” you asked her with a yawn and rubbed your eyes.

Rose smiled brightly at you. “Everything is fine. We're going to Lord Lucien’s castle! Now come we have to go little Sparrow!” she said as she ran in the direction of where the guard went to wait for us. When I ran after her I saw her standing with a few guards waiting for me.

“Let's go to the castle!.” Rose said happily, and so we were guided to Castle Fairfax. “What do you think does Lord Lucien wants from us?” I asked her confused. “I don't know, but we will find out shortly, Little Sparrow.” she said looking to at the big doors of the Castle.

The door was open and an old-looking Butler stood there waiting. “Evening. Jeeves. Here are the children Lord Lucien asked for.” he said proudly. The Butler smiled at us. “Excellent!” was all that he said to the guard, then turned back to us. “Hello, young masters.” This confused you but you ignored it. “Hello, sir.” both you and Rose answered politely.

His smile tightened and turned around. “If you'd follow me please.” he said and started to lead us into the castle. We look up at this castle every day and think how nice it is. We both do. But inside it's even more beautiful than I imagined.” Rose told him dreamily. Jeeves chuckled. “It's quite wonderful, isn't it?” it was more of a statement than a question.

Then we saw a man walking past us. “Ah, hello. Master Garth.” Jeeves greeted still walking while the other male said nothing. “Huh, Man of few words.” He led us further into the castle. “Where is the grand dining hall?” Rose suddenly asked curiously. “Oh, in the north wing. Lord Lucien hadn't been there since… Since the tragic deaths of Lady Fairfax and little Amelia.” he told us as we claimed some stairs and further down the hall. “Oh, I heard. That was so awful.” Rose’s tone was sad. Jeeves nodded. “Yes, he misses them terribly.” Rose raised a brow. “So where does he eat?” Jeeves looked at her. “Actually, he takes most of his meals in his study. He's in there working all hours, doing research...” You frowned. “What does he research?” you asked him curiously. “History, mostly. Lord Lucien is quite keen on antiquities of all sorts, but he is chiefly interested in things relating to the Old Kingdom.” Rose nodded understanding. “There was a Trader in Old Town who said his stuff was from the Old Kingdom.” Jeeves nodded. “Yes… yes, I believe Lord Lucien… heard about that.” he told us hesitantly. We were standing in front of some big doors now. “We bought a piece of it and we made a wish and now we're here!” She smiled brightly.

Jeeves smiled again. “That's wonderful. Now, when you meet Lord Lucien., you must show respect at all times. Address him as “my lord.” Speak only when spoken to.” he told us, You and Rose nodded. “Yes sir.” she awnsered shortly. Jeeves stood in front of us “And do not mention Lady Fairfax or Amilia.” he said a little more sternly. Jeeves opened the door to the study. “Here we are. Lord Lucien? The children are here.” Jeeves informed as me and Rose walked in and the door closed right behind us. ‘I don't like this’ is all I thought as I tried to push a weird feeling away.

Lord Lucien turned towards us. “Children. It's come to my attention that you have some sort of magic box. May I see it?” he asked looking at us curiously. “It vanished m’lord. We were winding it up, and we made a wish, and then it started to glow and it disappeared.” she said sadly. “After you used it?” is all he asked. Rose nodded. “Yes, m’lord. The man who sold it to us said it was magic.” Lord Lucien looked a little interested.

“The box is of no interest to me, what's remarkable is that you were able to use it. What was your wish?” he then asked. Rose gasps a little scared. “Well, speak up… what did you wish for?” he asked nicely. Then she looked up at him confidently. “To live in a castle… like this one.” Lucien smiled. “Perhaps that could be arranged. I working to rebuild… well, I'm working on something wonderful, for which I need individuals with particular talents. Let us find out if you have them. Would you kindly stand in the circle, please?” Rose looked at him nervously “Erm…” Lucien Looked at her reassuringly. “I promise, it won't hurt you.” This made my weird feeling grow but Rose still obliged and stepped inside the circle, while you still stood at your spot behind Lord Lucien. Behind the circle were also very big colored windows.

Suddenly the circle started to glow in a bright blue. “What's that?” asked scared. “Nothing to worry about.” Lucien answered. You looked a little scared at the circle. Lord Lucien looked at me with reassuring eyes. “Go on. Stand in the circle.” Then Rose looked at you. “It's all right, little Sparrow. Don't be afraid. It doesn't hurt.” Her tone was soft. So you made a quick nod and stepped into the circle.

When you stepped inside there was some sort of a blue glowing wall. You were trapped. Lord Lucien stood in front of you, his face was full of shock and relief. “It's true. Your blood… you are Heroes.” This of course shocked you and Rose. “Heroes? You mean like in the old stories?” she asked amazed. Lord Lucien then tried to touch the barrier and it sent some shocks to him. “Ah!” he screamed out pulling his hand away and holding it. When this happens the circle suddenly starts to glow bright red. “What are you?” he asked angrily as he walked to a table with many papers and a book on it.

He started panting. “Wait. There was, there was something here…” mumbling to himself. “M’lord, what happened? What's that light?” Rose asked seemingly scared. “Quiet! You're heroes… but you're not any of the three…” he would us while looking through the papers. “What's happening?” asked terrified as Lord Lucien suddenly pulled a gun out. You froze as he suddenly pointed it towards Rose. “This isn't what I wanted… but nothing must stand in my way.” he said darkly. Rose looked even more terrified now. “No, wait. Don't! Nooo!” she screamed in agony, but it was too late he pulled the trigger and she fell to the floor. Tears were now streaming out of your face as you realized what happened, You looked at your now dead sister but you still couldn't move, you were to terrified.

Lucien then pointed the gun towards you. “I can't allow you to live either. I'm sorry.” is all that he said. You pulled your arms in in front of you as you backed away towards the window. And then he shot you which made you crash out of the window onto many roofs before crashing into the street.

When you laid there on the street you barely moved Your fingers. You then heard footsteps and a voice. “Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow… Y/N” You knew that voice… it was the blind woman from the market. Then you felt how you were picked up into her arms, then you blacked out cold.

Suddenly you woke up to a familiar face it was the woman she had a dog with her that licked your face. It was the dog that you and Rose rescued once. Then time went by fast you reached out for the comfort of the dog’s warm fur, ready to take your first steps in a new life.

Ten winters blanketed in Albion, ten summers filled the air with the sounds of insects and laughter. With time your pain turned to strength. Your grief became will. A will to change the world. And to avenge the death that haunted your every dream.

Now you are 19 year old. You got your revenge for your sister with the help of the other three heroes.

Hammer is one of the other three heroes. You and her were taking a walk with Theresa. “Today is very beautiful, it's not too warm and not too cold! So it's the perfect weather to take a little walk.” Hammer breathed out with a satisfied smile. “Mhm” You nodded in agreement.

“How about we go into town and eat something? My treat!” Hammer asked. “Seems like an nice idea.” Theresa agreed. “Yeah sounds good to me!” you cheered happily. “All right, let's go!” Hammer said while laughing at you, so does Theresa.

So when you were halfway there about to reach the town something felt off as you three talked to each other. Suddenly you noticed your surroundings started to glow. “What's happening?” Hammer asks confused with a little hint of worry. “I don't know!” you answered back. “I feel magic behind it, and it's not yours. It's not good either…” Theresa said as you all stopped. Then the wind started to get stronger, the glowing got brighter, and started to circle around you very fast. You put your arm over your eyes to see something but the sight was getting less by every second that passed.

You, Hammer, and Theresa started to panic. “Help me! Please!” you begged inside the glowing mist. Hammer with half tears in her eyes looked at you then at Theresa panicked. “You have to do something. What's happening to him!?” Hammer screamed. “I can't do anything. This is way against the skills I have.” She said trying to sound calm. “What-” Hammer was about to say something as the mist disappeared, and you with it. Hammer stood there wide eyed. “What happened? Where is he? Theresa where is he!?” She screamed as she fell to her knees. Theresa walked to her side putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “He will be alright. He will find his way back home.” Hammer was in tears as she looked at her. “You think so?” she sniffled. Theresa nodded. “Let's go home for now.” Her voice was even calmer now. Hammer nodded because she knew that Theresa was right.

Far away in a mansion in America was a Man. Roderick Burgess, he and other people stood in a dungeon under the house. They were a cult and Roderick Burgess was the leader of them. They stood around a summoning circle. They spoke in Latin, then the circle started glowing.

Right next to them was Morpheus held captive. He saw what they were doing. He laid there motionless watching them. As they summoned something, or someone. Then a little explosion was seen above the summoning circle and a bright glowing was there but when it vanished, there was a boy lying on the floor unconscious, on his belt was a well made sword and on his back was a crossbow.

“Take his weapons! And his clothes!” ordered Burgess. One of the cultists stepped towards you and bowed down to grab your sword, and another one grabbed your crossbow, then two others came and started to undress you, which led to you opening your eyes. “Oh, you're awake. Let's talk about business then.” You only glared at Burgess but stayed silent, you were now fully naked. “My Name is Roderick Burgess and I want you to be my personal guard, and hear on every command I give you. If you accept, you will get your stuff back. But if you don't, we will put you in a cage and you will rot in there until you die or eventually give in and accept.” again you stayed silent and didn't respond. Burgess let's out a disappointed sigh, then he nodded at the others and walked away.

While you were put into the glass ball you saw a another male that was also naked, in the cage next to yours. He was tall, and skinny, had black hair and bright blue eyes that stared right into yours as you now laid there.

Out of nowhere, Burgess stepped right in front of your view. You looked at him but didn't dare to move a muscle. “I have that you will rethink about my offer. Even if you don't want to, in the end, you will starve and start to beg for it. I hope you're smarter than this.” then he left again.

When he and everyone left it was only you and the other caged male. You both starred at each other again, only that you didn't really look at him because you thought about Theresa and Hammer, and the fact that you miss them and only wanted to get out of here and back home. Your eyes started burning so closed your eyes and silently let the tears slip.

Morpheus watched you as the tears slipped out of your eyes, but after a short while they stopped, and then he noticed that you probably fell asleep, which was probably better that way, is all what Morpheus thought.

The next day you opened your eyes and sat up slowly. Right now you tried to stay calm so you closed your eyes again. And while sitting there you felt the other males eyes on you but you ignored it.

Then Burgess came in and walked in front of Morpheus's cage. Two other people sat in the back playing a game. Burgess held himself on the cage. “The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune. She’s also robbed you. She's taken your helm, your sand, and your ruby.” this made you open your eyes and look at them. “Now I can unlock this, you can go after her…” Morpheus looked up at Burgess with a glare. “If you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality. Oh, your a god. These things are nothing to you. Don't you want your weapons and freedom? Just like you Hero?” Burgess said lowly looking between the two of you.

So when you and the male in front of him didn't answer he got impatient and angry. “Speak to me! Speak to me! Speak to me!” he screamed and banged his stick against the glass, which caused the male to flinch shortly. A boy came walking from behind. “Come on! Speak to me!” he screamed again. “It's all right, Father.” the boy put his hand on his shoulder tho stop Burgess of what he was doing. ‘That asshole has a kid?’ is all you thought.

Burgess pushed him away. “Get away from me! If you were any kind of son to me…” he told him as he held the stick in the air and lashed out to the boy, but he dodged it, but hit him with the second one. The boy grabbed the stick so they both held it and faced each other. “If Randell was still alive today-” Burgess was cut off by the boy. “If Randell were alive, he would hate you as much as I do.” he said with hatred, and pushed Burgess back as he tried to attack the boy again, which led him to lose his balance hand his head hit the cage.

Burgess let the stick fall hand put his hand on the back of his head and saw blood when he looked at it, then he fell to the ground, with a big wound on the back of his head.

The to other man and the boy rushed to him. “Sir?” one of them said in panic. But when the boy put his hand on Burgess’s head as he saw a pool of blood leaping out of the wound. You and Morpheus only watched the scene. “You won't get out of there. Never.” Burgess looked at You and Morpheus one more time, then his eyes closed. “Sir can you hear me? Sir?” one of the male askedand tried to shake him but Brugess didn't answer. He was Dead.

The boy looked shocked and looked at his father as he sat there on the ground. “He isn't moving. Is he…” one of the males said. “He's dead.” the other one answered as the boy stood up, Looking at his bloodied hand and back to his dead father.

The Boy stumbled away a few feet but stopped between our cages. He stopped at the cage of the other male and turned to look at him. Morpheus stared back at him and slowly stood up, Your checks got red as you saw that but you wanted to see the interaction.

Morpheus reached his hand out. ‘He’s probably asking him to open the cage.’ is what you thought. The boy turned his head a bit as he reached out too. “Don't do it, sir. He’ll kill us.” one of the males said. “What would your father say?” the male spoke again, Before the boy's hand touched the glass he stopped and put his hand back down, and looked at the ground.

The male in the cage looked disappointed, as the boy looked back up. “I need to think.” he said and looked at the other male then to you, then he left. Morpheus also had put his hand back down watching him leave.

You were angry, but still, you stood up slowly wich made Morpheus look at you. You were a bit ashamed because you had no clothes on but you pushed that aside as you both looked at each other. You held sadness in your eyes as you slowly reached out and put one hand flat on the glass. Morpheus did the same while staring into your eyes. When you looked at him you immediately felt safe.

Then nine months later the door to the Dungeons door was heard which made the guards stand up and open the gate. Alex and also another boy came in. “How are they today, Rogers?” Alex asked. Rogers sighed. “Moved his hand this morning. Right hand. And the other one is also just sitting there but didn't move.” Alex nodded, as the other boy walked in. He had a look of shock on his face and gasped. “Oh, my God.” he looked at Alex and back to you and Morpheus. “Alex?” he asked.

Alex then walked in looking at the both of you. “Hello. This is my friend, Paul.” he told you as they walked further in. “Paul, these are our unwilling guests.” he said looking at his friend shortly.

Alex was getting a little nervous. “Look, we've been talking, Paul and I, and if I let you out, will you promise not to harm us?” he asked calmly while looking at us. You both didn't move not answered his question. “If you could just speak to us.” Paul said a little nervous himself, but again silence.

Alex looked at Paul. “You see, I told you.” he was a little disappointed. “I'm telling you, you have to keep trying. Show them that they can trust you. Show them that you mean it.” Paul softly awnsered back.

Alex nodded at us. “I do mean it. Just promise that you won't hurt me or Paul, and I will let you out.” Alex tried to reason. But again we didn't answer. We just looked at them this time.

Almost eighty years later you had developed feelings for the Male in the cage next to you which was weird because you didn't even know his name, but little did you know that Morpheus also grew feelings for you.

Also the guards started to change every now and then until they looked very modern. And you, you were still looking young and didn't age which you thought was weird and not normal, but Alex was old now just as Paul was, they both married year's ago. They were in the dungeon again. Alex stood in front of Morpheus's cage and had his hand on the glass. “I could have asked you for wealth or Power, and protection, like my father did. But all I wanted was to be free of you two.” He said softly.

You and Morpheus looked up at him. “Surely you want that too.” Paul walked into view pushing a wheelchair in front of him. “Alex, darling, please.” he said softly mentioning to the wheelchair. Alex put his hand away from the glass and sat down in the wheelchair, Paul's hand on his shoulder. He looked at us one more time. “Take me upstairs, Paul. I won't be coming down here again.” is all that he said as Paul started to push the wheelchair, and now there was a gap in the protective circle. Paul stopped a few feet away and looked back seeing it, then he looked at us and made a small nod. He then around and and left with Alex.

Morpheus looked at the gap and wondered why Paul would do that, but in the end it doesn't matter, he can free himself and you now and that's all that matters to him right now.

So when they got out, and the door to the dungeon closed, it was only two guards left inside. “Old Dracula here’s not moving an inch. Just like the other weirdo.” the Female guard said quietly, looking up from her book she was reading. “Why do you call it Dracula and weirdo?” The male guard said tiredly while looking up from his newspaper. “Because I think they are. What do you think they are?” she asked quickly.

The male sighed. “I try not. You know what I think about?” he asked her, again looking up from his newspaper. “Majorca. Four days… and I'll be on a beach. Stinking of suntan lotion.” he said and smiled to himself at the thought.

Morpheus leaned forward holding himself on the glass while glaring at the guard. And you were just watching. “Lucky bugger. I was on Corfu on holiday once.” the female guard told as the other one yawned and fell asleep. Suddenly something weird starts to happen as Morpheus stares at the guard. The guard stood up from his chair and shot both of our cages and they started to break. You sat there wide eyed. “Fred!” the female guard screamed.

She ran towards him to stop him. “Fred, stop it! You'll… Fred!” she screamed but it was too late Both of your cages exploded into many pieces and our surroundings were glowing. You and Morpheus got out of your cages. “Don’t move! Stay where you are!” the guy called Fred screamed. “What… what's he got in his hands?” the female screamed. You looked at Morpheus and saw that he had something in his balled fist but you couldn't see it.

Morpheus slowly put his hand up where he held something in it right in front of his face. The guards already had their weapons aimed at us. “Oi! Open your hands, now!” she screamed at him.

And so he opened his Hand and you saw him blowing some sort of sand towards them, which made them instantly fall asleep. You were watching the scene curious. But then all of your strength suddenly left your legs and you fell to your knees right next to Morpheus with a thud. He instantly looked at you and kneeled down to your hight.

He slowly put his hand on your cheek and his eyes looked at you softly. “I'll get us out of here.” he said and his tone was smooth but very deep. You melted into his hand and nodded at him. Then he slowly picked you up bridal style. Your arms around his waist as you were sucked into the glowing. You… you were getting your revenge now.

Then in a room a black cat came in and sat on a chair in the middle of the room. There also came Alex into the room he looked young again and he curiously looked at the cat with his head tilted to the side. Suddenly the cat disappeared and Morpheus sat on the chair and you stood beside him both fully clothed as you looked at Alex darkly. “Hello” Morpheus said.

Alex was scared you could see it in his eyes. “It's... It's you two. You're… you're free.” he said quietly. “We are.” Morpheus simply awnsered as he stood up and the wind started to blow through the open window. “And have you any idea what it was like? Confined in a cage for over a century?” he asked as he slowly walked towards Alex. “Do you understand the damage you've done to your world?” he asked again. Alex was more then just scared now, he was terrified. “I'm sorry. I… I didn't know. Please.” he said backing away a bit.

Morpheus looked at him unbothered just like you. “Your punishment, then, shall be a gift.” when he said that Alex turned to a little boy. “I give you this, the gift… of eternal… sleep.” when he finished the sentence he blow some sand in Alex’s face and he fell asleep.

Morpheus looked looked back at you holding his hand out. “Let's get out of here.” That's all you needed to hear and took his hand as he teleported you both.

A voice was heard. ”Sir. Sir.” It was the panicked voice of Lucienne. “Oh, my goodness.” she kneeled down to turn him onto his back. “Sir. It's me!” she panted as she saw his eyes opening. “It's Lucienne.” she said as Morpheus looked at her and started to smile and took her hand. “Lucienne.” he whispered weakly. “Your home, my Lord.” and that's when Morpheus started to frown. When he looked beside him he noticed you weren't there. “My Lord? What's wrong?” she asked worriedly.

Morpheus started to stand up. “A boy, he was held captive. Just like me. I brought him with me.” He said as he started to look around. Not even a minute later he saw you laying a few feet away from him, and he immediately sprinted towards you with Lucienne. “A Human? Why was he held captive?” she asked confused. Morpheus shook his head as he turned you around and saw you breathing normally. “He is not fully human, it seems. Because he didn't age for almost a century. The man who held us captive once called him Hero.” Lucienne looked at him baffled. “Do you think he is one of the three heroes? My Lord?” she asked. “I don't know.” is all he awnsered as he gently put a hand on your cheek which made you open your eyes.

When you saw him you started to smile. “Your safe now.” Morpheus said softly as he helped you off of the ground. You looked around and saw the woman with pointy ears and smiled at her. “Hello, jung Man.” she smiled back at you. You were a little scared to speak because you didn't talk since you were held captive, but you decided to still try it. “H-Hello.” you said but your voice didn't sound raspy or broken as you thought it would be. Morpheus and Lucienne smiled at you. “Thank you, for taking me with you…” you started but you trailed off because you didn't know his name.

Morpheus smiled softly at you. “My name is Morpheus. And this is Lucienne.” he told you. “Thank you, Morpheus. And my name is Y/N.” you smiled at both of them.

You started walking over to very huge gates on a massive wall. On those big gates were some pictures in it it looked well made. It made you look at them amazed with your mouth wide open. Morpheus looked at you and chuckled. “You like them?” he asked which made you blink before realizing, and looked at him. “Yeah! I-I mean they look astonishing!” you smiled at him nervously.

Morpheus then raised his hand and touched the gates, they began shaking and started to open up. “Forgive me, sir, but… the realm, the palace… they are not as you left them.” Lucienne said as Morpheus looked at her. Morpheus looked through the gate as it opened. His look… he was shocked with what happened to his Realm… his home.

You, looked shocked too, even if you didn't know how it looked like before. You saw the dead trees and bushes, the land looked like as if it was completely dead. Then you saw that a piece of the roof from the half destroyed castle fell down. “What happened here? Who did this?” He asked not daring to look away from his destroyed home.

Lucienne let out a sigh. “My Lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to… decay. And crumble.” she looked at him sadly as he looked back at her. “And the residents? The Palace staff?” Morpheus asked with a little hope. “I'm afraid most have… gone.” she looked at the ground. “Gone?” he asked rising his eyebrows. “Some went looking for you.” she looked back at him. “And the others?” He asked walking in front of her. Lucienne looked back down to her side, then back up. “They thought, perhaps, you'd grown weary of your duties and…” Morpheus stopped her. “What? Abandoned them? Had they so little faith in me?” he asked in disbelief.

Lucienne didn't know what to say. You on the other concentrated on the view that was in front of you, as the conversation went deff on your ears. You slowly started to move away from them and towards the destroyed landscape. You felt welcomed even if the view in front of you didn't look welcoming in the first place. You closed your eyes whilst you took in the fresh air.

Lucienne looked towards you, which made Morpheus look behind him and he sees that you are walking away from them. When suddenly they saw some tears rolling down your face, when you turned your head sideways.

Lucienne looks worried. Then you felt a hand on your shoulder which made you open your eyes and look at the person who's hand was on your shoulder. It was Morpheus. You look at him puzzled. “Y/N?” Morpheus asked. “Yes? Is something wrong?” you tilted your head. “You seemed lost in thoughts. What's wrong?” he asked softly. “Didn’t notice that! I'm happy to be free again and out of this tiny cell in that weird Dungeon… Aaaand I'm probably a little tired after some sleepless nights.” You laughed awkwardly while scratching your head.

Morpheus nodded. “How about a little sleep then?” He asked while rising a brow. “Hmmm, no. Not before I helped you rebuild your realm!” you said grinning and put your hands on your hips. “But if you want to help him, you will need your sleep.” Lucienne reasoned. You humed. “You're probably right. Okay, I'll sleep once we’re there.” you smiled. Morpheus nodded again. “Let's go shall we?” you nodded at his question and walked beside him.

When you arrived at the castle, Morpheus turned towards you. “Come with me, I show you where you can sleep,” he started as you part ways with Lucienne. “Can I ask you something, Morpheus?” you look at him. “Of course. What do you want to know?” you thought for a short second. “I wanted to know who you are besides Morpheus, you know?” you asked nervously. Morpheus smiled and made a small chuckle. “I am an Endless, Dream of the Endless to be exact. People also call me the Sandman. Also we're here.” he said opening a door to a bedroom that was still intact. When you went inside you saw that the room was painted in black, but it was held simple.

You pulled your shoes, coat, and shirt off. When you sat down on the bed, Morpheus follows you and stands in front of you. “Who's room is this?” you asked looking around. “It's mine.” he simply answered. Your head shot into his direction while standing up. “I didn't know. I can sleep on the floor too.” you tried to say as he already put a hand on your shoulder and sat you back down. “It's alright. I told you to sleep, didn't I?” you looked baffled as you nodded at him. “Now, lay down.” you did as you were told and pulled the covers over you.

Morpheus kneels down to your height, and holds a closed hand in front of his face, which makes you realize what he was about to do so you stop him. “Wait!” you said which made him raise a brow. “Yes?” he asks while looking into your eyes. “We can share the bed if you want! I mean if it's okay with you…” you said shyly. This catches Morpheus off guard but he starts to smirk slightly. “If that's what you want. I will. But I will go and talk to Lucienne shortly, then I'll be back.” he says and you give him a closed-eyed smile. “Yeah, I'll wait.” Morpheus gives you a nod as he stands up and leaves the room grinning to himself.

About ten minutes later he returned. “I'm here now.” he says and you simply nod at him. So he pulls his shirt and pants off but leaves the boxers on. He walks over to the empty side of the bed and gets under the covers. You both stare at each other until you slowly fell asleep. Morpheus smiled at your peaceful sleeping face as he slowly touched your cheek with his hand. Then the next second, you had your arms around him and snuggled into his chest. “Good night, Y/N.” Morpheus had a small smile on his face as he laid his arms around your body.

[voidwritesstuff]

Beyond Myth and Fable.

Cw: sexual themes. A fuck ton of religious imagery. Forced marriage (Implications of child brides). Mentions of nudity (non-sexual) Death Is an ass because his mommy issues act up. (Trying to add some levity here,this fic gets a tad dark).

Rating: +16/+18 defenetly.

Summary: In search for clues,the Four Horsemen seek the aid of the one and only Mother of Harlots.

A/n: I took a fuck ton of artistic liberties and laced it with my own experiences as an AFAB. Mystery/the mother of harlots uses they/them but is reffered to by both female and gender neutral terms. Depicted as AFAB. Can be read as an X reader (reasons are explained in the fic tho. I dont want to give too much away).

A/n2: I find the figure of the whore of babylon to be an untapped reservoir to explore themes of AFABS in society,defenetly leaning on the female rage side of things. Heres a playlist I made for this fic. @darkdemeter I hope you like it since you showed interest in the concept!

"And I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.

And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication:

And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration." -Rev 17 .3-6

The endlesness of the charred chamber swallowed anything that could take away from the glimmering ruby encased in a good ring that Death held.

--Why do we have to use the ring they gave me?--Strife complained, pouting behind his armored helmet. His arms are crossed and he fidgets in his place.

--We need something of theirs for this spell-- The eldest replied with no patience for the childishness of his sibling-- And I doubt your memories would be worth anything. And we dont want to know what goes through your head.

--Death is right-- War added,shifting his weight and balancing Chaoseater on his shoulder-- I advice we hurry.

Before the gunslinger can reply,Death begins to mutter an incantation. He holds the ring in his hand and it blackens halfway, it gets hot like the dancing Fires of hell.

Fitting,thats where theyre going anywhere.

--Besides...--Followed Fury as the portal roared to life beside them-- You can get another one.

--Yeah,well, that one had sentimental value-- Strife answered,following after his siblings as they pass through the arcane gate and into this circle of hell.

Depending on who you asked, this corner of hell had a few epithets attached to it: The Palace of Blasphemy,The Idolatress' Tower,The Den Of Profanity, The museum of Hubris. Some even theorize this is what remains of the original tower of babel..

Yeah,cozy place.

--Out of all of Us, you had to be the one that rolled around in this pit with the Mother Of Harlots--Fury sneered as They enter the grand spire, pushing past the silken courtains of bloody red.

--When you see 'em you'll see.

--A demon...I thought you better than that brother-- War prodded,avoiding the gaze of the half naked nymphs of brimstone and magma that frolic about the place tending to their master's whims.

As they walk they pass paintings depicting the hubris of Man,the greed and darkness. Strife had seen them before- he was aware of them but his siblings ignored it completely. He had a nagging feeling their dismissal would end up causing them trouble.

--Oh fuck right off.-- The gunslinger protested-- Need I remind you the googoo  eyes you made to Dis?

--That...was different.

--Right.

--Cease at once,both of you!--Barked Death--How unbecoming. --He sighed behind his mask and kept walking towards the back where a large chaise lounge chair laid with one of the nymphs sprawled upon it.

Hes half naked,long hair of magma flowing past his shoulders and hips. His Lower half is wrapped in opaque silks and large jewelry adorned his wrists and head. His neck carried a golden chain wrapped around it, that swayed from side to side like a cat's tail.

At the sight,the four knew it was going to be a long,long day.

--Strife!--The nymph perked up at the sight. Hes eating whats eithe grapes or eyeballs but nobody cared to ask-- A visit? So soon?

--This ones different,Adonis.

--As if I was one to judge...--Adonis said, sitting up and leaning forward with a toothy smile.-- Not the most ambitious theyve gotten.

--Bussines,Man.-- the gunslinger insisted,wiping away the nymph's smile with just few words. It makes the other three horsemen feel oddly pleased at it. This place was a Real looney bin.

--Tsk, tsk, tsk. All bussiness,no pleasure.

--If I had a say in the matter,Trust me-

--Keep your head Straight,Strife--Death put an arm infront of his sibling and glared at him. Then,he turns to Adonis and says-- your master,Now.

The nymph sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. They stand up,easily towering over the horsemen and his hands smooth away his hair,revealing two ox horns that grow a few inches.

His eyes darken to a black,black void with a dancing flicker of red.-- Fine. Fine. --He walks off to the side,to a beautifully gold-lined elevator. He steps in and a cage closes around it before going up.

--How can you stand this place?-- War growled as his eyes advert from the half naked female nymphs around him. They arent even looking at him with any desire,just looking concerned at their visit.

But their exposed chest doesnt help much either.

--Again,These guys are chicken shit compared to Mystery. And I promise theyre different.

--Your standards are truly beyond any of our comprehensions--Fury prodded,her eyes admiring the decor of the place. Its such an opulent look for a crumbling tower of brick and mud. She does get what hes saying- shes only now noticing the paintings..

One in particular makes her have to look away- its a painting depicting a forced marriage. And its hidden behind a few climbing vines that began to overtake the old,wooden frame and covering it and the canvas with maroon flowers. A color so similar to the fabric of her brother's scarf.

If she saw it the right way,it was like the flowers were protecting and comforting the young woman about to be married off.

--Hey! Dont talk about them like that. Theyre not just this. --The second eldest insisted,gesturing around the place.

Before Death can add his own quip about how he mustve Fallen victim of the Idolatress' compelling spells ,the four hear the elevator come back down and station on the ground floor with a dry,deep click. Adonis returns to them with a Placid smile,though its clear he wants them gone out of his sight.

--My master Will see you now. The elevator Will take you to the top floor--He gestures with an Open palm to the lift and shows his fangs in faux warmth.

--Thank you,Adonis. Cmon everyone,before War has a heart attack!--Strife began to push everyone towards the elevator,and War was more than happy to step into the platform and hold his head low.

--Will this elevator hold our weight?--Fury had the clearness of mind to ask.

--Enjoy the ride~!--Adonis cheered before clapping. With a violent thud the cage around the lift closes. It looks like a baroque birdcage.

It moves with another violent shake before it begins to speed upwards. Everyone holds on ti the inside railing as Strife gets insulted from top to bottom as if he was to blame.

Clearly,he had gotten too comfortable with this...Scum.

The top floor of the tower was a charred,black dome with looks to a deep night behind the crimson stained glass that lined some of the panels.

Where the walls are cracked there is gold, and the place is decorated halfway between a queen's chambers and a harlot's den. To humans, This style was almost baroque- with vestiges of Angel architecture if only to spite the armies of heaven

The far back had a large,four poster bed with its silks drawn to form a courtain. The right side of the bed was pressed against a wall right Next to a Window. To the left side there was a beautiful, mahogany desk with a few chalices and a half drank bottle of old wine.

Grand Windows opened up to the endless,starlit blue Sky and all around there were candles Burning and plants draping.

--Mystery! Where are ya?--Strife asked,trying to put his usual flirty voice on. He gives his siblings a look that says something along the lines of "Let me handle this. None of you know how to talk to these beings".

If only to spare themselves of some trouble,they dont object.

His voice reverberates around the chamber,the cups on the desk shake like theyre in the middle of an earthquake. The contents spill in a growing pool of blood red wine.

--Strife! My dearest Strife! --From the pool erupts a tall pillar of crimson that glimmers in the low light. It solidifies into a beast with a woman ontop.

The color comes to the figure, and its now revealed that the beast has seven heads and ten horns,and atop it was..

--Mystery,Hello! Looking radiant like always--The horseman flirted

--Ah,why thank you...

Indeed there they were. Their off the shoulder dress is black and sheer enough for their small chest to be seen, fuzzy with body hair and a few spots of acne. The dress went opaque at their hips,beautiful as they were with their bodily hair and stretchmarks.

They had this corcet,looked like a church's ceiling. It had gold Framing, that same baroque style with spikes and circlets that mimicked the halos of angels. Two of the spikes lined up to cover the center of their breasts.

And as if to add insult to injury they had a flaming heart with a Knife stabbed into it on the middle panel.

Their head was adorned with another Halo-like headpiece of gold and red rubies. They had to large pieces hanging on the lowest of spikes,and their neck and hands were covered in jewelry.

--overcompensating--Murmurs Fury,gaining an approving nodd from her eldest.

--What do I owe the visit? Adonis told me its not pleasure.

--We need information on Lucifer...--War stepped past his siblings,flustered and just about ready to return to the chamber of the council. His heart beated a mile a minute,and not with the rush of battle.

At his rashness the beast growls with its seven heads glaring to the red rider.

--Its okay,Boys--Mystery patted the head belonging to a dragon, his name was Blasphemy-- Just a rash one as younglings often are.

One of the heads, that in the shape of a horned hare, sniffed at the air and chuffed. The rest of the heads seemed to relax at that. They could smell the same nephilim scent that Strife had, they realize now their New guests are siblings.

--Okay,so Introductions right?--The gunslinger stepped up to the Mother of Harlots and helped them off their grand steed. He gets a tentative kiss to the helmet and a smudge of red lipstick is left.

Strife seemed to get lost in the eyes of Mystery. Their lids are liked with smokey crimson and black,their face glimmering with golden dust.

But he snaps back to reality, and he turns to the head of the Hare--Hardest thing out of the way,This is adultery.

--Do we have to know the names of each head?--Fury huffed.

--Get along with the beast,get along with its master-- the gunslinger insisted,clearly talking from experience--this is Idolatry..--He pet the snout of a bull with two large horns.

He kept going,ignoring how War sized up the beast like a hunter.

The Rat head was Pestilence,the cobra head was Temptation,the vulture was Profanity,and the giraffe was...Sodomy.

--And I believe I dont need an introduction...--Mystery laced their arms around the bicep of the gunslinger. They smile at the other three riders,welcoming.

--Thats not a good thing...--Death growled--Now,If youre done latching on to my brother like a leech...We're here for information.

If the mother of Harlots could eyeroll themself into another dimention they would. --Fine, Fine. Tea?--They asked.

--No-

--Sure! We'd all love some tea,yes. --Strife glared at his reaper brother in a way that made the eldest wonder how long would they have to play along like they like the idolatress before them. --Thank you,Mys.

--Of course,Take a Seat. This is your home...--They let go of the horseman and snap their fingers. On the desk a set of kintsugi porcelain appears. Its big enough to be nephilim sized...

God,how Many times has Strife visited?.

Nonetheless,the four sit around the desk, the seven headed beast curls up on one of the sofas but each head trails the movement of the three horsemen they dont seem to recognize.

Meanwhile, Strife literally sits on the desk beside the mother of harlots, the rest get Chairs materialized.

Death is the only one who doesnt allow himself to rest from his strict,curved posture.

--What information do the mighty horsemen need?--Mystery asked,the warm cup held in their elegant hands.

--There are rumors of Lucifer conspiring with mortals. We need the names of the humans...-- Death cut to the chase with that cold presiceness that was so characteristical. Though his eyes linger on the cup meant for him .

Could tea even get cold in hell?

--And why would I have that information?--They played dumb,if only to spite Him. --I am aware of the folly and hubris and men, its certainly within my power..

Many things were within their power. As the mother of harlots they could be alluring as a siren,yes. But they could see the deepest of Greeds, the darkest corners of man's souls. They were so much more than what the world had made them out to be.

--Did you forget youre known to inhabit the chambers of any demon or angel powerful enough to cover your cowardly hide-

--Death...--Strife slammed his hand on the desk. It makes Mystery jump from their spot.

There is a defensive growl in the gunslinger's voice. His eyes narrow like an angry sun blaring down on the Reaper.

But then the mother of harlots raised their pointer finger,gesture that clearly means something to the second eldest as he slowly- slowly backs off.

With the insult dancing on the tip of his tongue, the reaper quietens. He still needs that information before being his usual self

--I dont do what I do because I like It..--Mystery starts,tapping on their cup with their features sneering at the rider-- people like Samael are a fun night,Yes. But if I dont do what I do,My nymphs and I are on the chopping block

They stood up,they are at the same height as the reaper. Barefoot steps take the mother of harlots to meet the glare of the eldest. There is perhaps only three centimeters between them.

--Have you any knowledge of how I came to be?

Strife Began to utter a name that didnt align to what the idolatress made themself be called. The thought crossed the mind of the other three riders that their gunslinging kin knew the Real name of the entity before them. Not by him forcing them to tell him, but rather a gift bestowed out of genuine trust.

--Yes. You were created by Lucifer. A Tool...

--I was a tool-- Mystery,the great whore of Babylon has never looked so angry. Burning with the spirit of every soul who had been judged and Killed for not conforming to the mold-- I Was to represent the foolishness of Man,the animal desire,I was a means to a an end..And I did not like it.

Their breath shakes with anger. Perhaps anger,perhaps grief or just anguish. As If the pain was too much to be put into words.

--Lucifer cannot create life,not enough to make a vessel. So he took one. He took...me.

--Thats enough! -- strife barked.-- Death. Cut it out.

--What do you mean he took you?--War asked,eyes just a little wide underneath the betraying shadow of his crimson hood.

--Hey! Didnt you hear- I said enou-

--Lucifer prays on the weak. And in a moment of my youth.. i was weak.-- Mystery followed-- I was to be married to someone older,a prize for peace between clans. I was not even two decades old. So...I spat in the face of my would be groom and yelled how he was a creep for even getting to that point...

There are tears threatening to spill,and Death remains unmoving. His eyes look at them like their pain is fake.

Strife knows why hes like this. He thinks Mystery is just like lilith.

Theyre nothing like lilith.

--When I ran,i was so blind by my pain and..--They hesitate,the memory is so old and it still hurts so much-- I Fell down a hill,a steep one. I was being followed. And no God heeded my prayer, but he did.

Fury shifted in her Seat. Her mouth covered by her hand,she looks at the empty teacup infront of her. There was a certain pain there she could relate to.

Lesser, an object, just for being born different. Had she suffered a similar fate...she couldnt say she wouldve returned to that marriage.

--Death thats quite enough-- She finally speaks up,her voice firm but still faltering. The way Mystery spoke about the whole ordeal...it got under her skin. Its like she was living it alongside her.

--He came to me in the form form of a snake, he offered to save me and I accepted before he told me the rest of the contract..I became...this-- they Open their arms with the smile of someone who is tired of fighting to Keep themself whole.

Strife begins to walk behind Mystery,he looms over his brother. Who hasnt said a Word,and isnt planning to. The gunslinger glared

--You see,Death, im not only the mother of harlots ,the whore of babylon,bearer of all the abominations of the earth...

Their eyes are glossy,can a being like themself cry? Is that even possible? Death can feel even the glare of War digging into the back of his skull now.

And still,he remains unmoving and silent

Strife wondered if his brother was treating this like a child's tantrum. Just like hes done whenever the rest of them expressed discomfort.

He could dismiss his pain. But not Mystery's..

Oh,he Wont let it slide.

With this thumbs on the handles of his guns, his glare intensifies as he slowly clicks off the safety. This seems to catch the attention of his brother, their eyes meet for a split second before the reaper returns his attention to the mother of harlots.

-I am the folly of Man-- they continued,walking closer and preparing their hands to push him. Hes just like all the men that have put them in this situartion-- I am the hubris...I am the spirit of every woman who was burnt at the stake, shamed for playing by the rules men played,those who didnt conform to the mold. I am the soul of each woman who has been beaten, Killed, disrespected and used. A pain your sister knows all too well...

Fury Flinched, fighting to not shrink into herself. Countless times has she been looked down upon by Death- the figure she looked up the most even if she doesnt admit it.

--So excuse me if the only way I Keep me and my loved ones safe is by snuggling up to the first being with just enough power to wipe me out that walks through the door... --their hand poke his chest. A demand, a protest that he Will not outpower them- I am not strong the way you are. But I have smarts and eons of living in the world of men. What you call whoring around I call survival. Youre in no place to judge.

In that moment,strife puts his scarf around their shoulders. He brings them to his chest,was that a hug? The white rider..hugging?

--Breathe..-- He whispered,low as the singing of a hummingbird.

--Ill-Ill get you those names-- Mystery finished-- But if you return here with this behaviour,I Will crush you beneath my heel.

--Is that a threat?

"Goddamnit, death. Shut the fuck up"the gunsliger thought.

--Of course it is. This is my damn home,this is my damn realm and you Will respect my orders you insolent manchild. --They spat out,tears falling down their face and pooling at their jaw before continuing their carefree descent to the ground. -- There are Many ways to bring someone to their knees,Lust and strength May not work but behind every rabid egotistical Man there is a hole where a mother should be.

That seemed to click something in Death's mind. He hissed and said-- Get those names. -- and he Turned his back begining to walk to the elevator on the other end of the chamber.--We're leaving.

--Oh no. I'm staying--Strife answered,voice firm and with disbelief at the behaviour of the eldest. His tone sounds in a way As if to say this is not up for debate.

Whatever was going on within the pale rider was enough for him to not pick this fight-- Its your head that Will roll for your absence.

--Then so be It.

He hissed again-- Fury,War...--He beckoned.

Fury sighed and stood up,her eyes meet Mystery's for a moment. Within her white orbs something glimmered- And the mother of harlots didnt need to use their magic to know. They returned her gaze with that same glint.

"Youre so much more than what he says you are" they had whispered as she passed them by.

--I...apologize for my brother's behavior-- Sweet War. Even now his eyes avoid their form out of respect- After what he heard he reserves no right to gaze upon them with anything close to desire or bashfulness.

--You dont need to apologize in his stead. He can be a grown Man and apologize himself. --Their hand pressed to the bicep of the red rider in a reassuring manner. The way he tenses up is adorable.

--S-still...none of us should know a story so deep. So..painful. youre just another victim of Lucifer's ploy.

--He tried to make me a victim. I wont let him.

War's eyes look puzzled for a few seconds before it clicks. He nodds and his gaze turns to fill with something akin to pride. He gives another look to his brother before leaving with his lumbering pace.

Strife doesnt speak until the elevator reaches the bottom. He calls out their name,their Real name- the one they havent heard in eons. Something so thoroughly human... so far away to what they are now.

The second time he repeats that name they turn to him-- y-yes? -- they asked,going to clean their tears,but being beaten to it by the white rider.

As his taloned hands carefully dry off their tears,he says-- I am..so sorry. God,Death's such an asshole. He didnt- he didnt deserve to know what happened to you..He shouldve minded his damn bussiness.

--Strife...--They said softly.

--No. I know how much it hurts you when you tell it. I know damn well its like traumatizing you all over again! Its not fair- youve had enough pain for a goddamn lifetime and the Next!

When the gunslinger got angry,it was a sight to behold. His ember eyes shine like roaring fires. His voice is a raspy growl,Like bearing his fangs with feral,deep anger.

--Who is he to come here and demand explanations? He couldve kept it professional but no! He had to pick a fight with you over some personal shit. --His hands press to their biceps. His gaze is intense hes making sure his words are drilled into their head-- he thinks youre like lilith because you enjoy yourself. But youre nothing like her,not even close.

The mother of harlots chuckled-- I know,strife. I know.

--Ill blow his brains out Next time he tries to pull something like this

Mystery snorted-- In my realm you've got full permission.

Behind them both comes the red beast of seven heads,who had been off to the side seething with anger but unable to attack without its master's say-so.

--Guess he got under your skin too,Didn' he?--He asked,patting he head of Blasphemy who growled softly with an angry gaze in his eyes.--Its okay,the awful skeleton Man's gone.

It makes his companion laugh a little, And thats all he really wants.

--Go take a walk-- They order to the beast,who breathes out smoke from their seven heads. An order's an order,and they Will follow it.

But not before nuzzling the form of the only nephilim they like. They almost Tumble him down on the ground,leaving only when their mischief is done.

All alone now,the gunslinger says-- Hey,Lets go to bed--He makes a pause,licking his lips-- No- Not that way I meant- you need a nap after this. I need a nap after this shitshow.

Mystery snickered,nodding along. Yet as they walk to the bed,Strife does call their human name once more. He follows it by pressing a soft kiss to their forehead and whispering "youre so much more than your scars"

[skyward-floored]

Aftermath

@telemna-hyelle this one’s for you :)

A sequel to a whumptober I wrote last year, I’ve had a few requests to do a little something more with it so here we are! This isn’t too long, but it’s something, and I especially hope you enjoy Tellie <3

The previous part

(Before anyone asks, Legend and Fable aren’t siblings here)

————————————————————

The fight was over.

Legend let out a sigh of relief as he leaned on his sword, wincing at the dirt and blood coating both it and himself.

The sorcerer who had attempted to overtake Hyrule Castle in Legend’s absence, imprisoned Zelda and killed so many of her guards, had been destroyed, and the kingdom was safe... again.

Legend felt a burst of anger, and took out a cloth to begin cleaning his sword. I leave for a few months and every insane mage from here to Holodrum decides its a good time to kidnap Zelda.

They weren’t even sure the sorcerer had been a hylian, since he’d bled black whenever Legend had struck him in the fight. And when Zelda had finally managed to hit him with her golden light, he’d disappeared with a shriek into a cloud of dark ashes. Zelda had confirmed he was gone when she’d disintegrated the pile with a flick of her finger, but that didn’t mean all of the monsters the sorcerer had brought along with him weren’t still around.

Legend sighed, and looked over at the rest of the Links.

They were deciding now whether to split off in groups to make sure the castle was truly monster-free, taking a moment to patch up any injuries before leaving. Legend watched as Hyrule came over to him, and asked if he had any preference as to what group he went with.

“I’m staying with Fable,” he said simply, glancing at where Zelda stood. She hadn’t moved much since the battle had finished, and Legend had been about to go check on her.

“Would you like some of us to stay with you?” Hyrule asked, and Legend shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. Go make sure there’s no more of that filth’s army hiding in here,” Legend said as he wiped off his sword with more force then necessary.

“You’re sure you and Fable will be okay by yourselves?” Sky asked gently from nearby, “today was a lot... for both of you.”

Legend glanced at Zelda again, then back at his sword.

“We’ll be fine,” he repeated after a moment, wiping away one last streak of blood. “We’ll join you at some point.”

Hyrule and Sky both hesitated, then nodded, Sky glancing once at Fable before they both joined the others. They filed out of the room, having finished their preparations, and Legend and Fable were left alone in the uppermost tower of the castle.

Legend breathed out, suddenly feeling rather tired as he sheathed his sword and joined Fable’s side. She continued to stare outside as he approached, and Legend studied her as a breeze from the broken window blew her hair around her face.

“Hey,” he greeted, and Fable hummed in reply.

Sunshine caught the dirt and grime still coated on her dress, lighting up the fabric and showing just how filthy it was. Legend could still see the remnants of tear tracks on her face as well, along with dark circles under her eyes, and he hesitated as he looked at her. Fable seemed exhausted, and Legend shifted his weight, wondering if she would prefer to be alone.

But he wasn’t keen on letting her out of his sight any time soon.

Not after she’d fallen to pieces in his arms only a few hours ago.

“Zelda?” he asked eventually, when the silence had stretched on for a long time between them. “You weren’t hurt at all, right?”

His voice sounded loud in the large space, despite how quietly he’d spoken, but Fable didn’t seem to hear him, her gaze fixed on the view.

Legend frowned. It was unusual Fable would be so quiet, even after such a mess. She was usually so lively, quick to offer a smile or a comeback to a quip, and he hadn’t seen her this downtrodden since... probably since he’d been reported dead after nearly dying in a shipwreck.

Ahh, not today, he thought as red-haired memories tried to push their way to the front of his mind. There’s been enough reliving the past lately around here.

“Zelda?” he prompted again after it had been a little while, and she swallowed, then turned and smiled at him, her eyes still a little red from her earlier tears.

“I’m fine, Link. I don’t believe any of his or the monsters’s attacks hit me. None of this blood is mine,” she said with a little chuckle, looking at her skirt.

She brushed some dust off, then looked at Legend, meeting his eyes with an unreadable look in her own.

“How about you? I think I saw him hit you once or— oh, you are hurt!” she suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening as she noticed the blood on his sleeve. She immediately drew closer, taking ahold of his arm, and Legend swallowed at her sudden proximity.

“It’s not that deep Zelda,” he tried to protest, but she was already rolling up his sleeve by his injury.

Legend winced as the fabric pushed against it, and blinked down at the cut on his forearm, his arm smeared with red and still sluggishly bleeding.

Hm. Well maybe it was a little deeper than he’d thought.

“Not that deep— Link, how did you not notice this?” Fable asked in dismay, and Legend shrugged, wincing again as she turned his arm.

“I was kind of busy with some other things,” he pointed out, but Fable wasn’t really listening to him, and ran her hand along the skin by his slice. Legend almost jerked away from the touch, but Fable was careful, and he did his best to hold still as she wiped away some blood.

“I have some bandages in my study,” she sighed, leaving his sleeve rolled up. “Hopefully nothing was disturbed in there.”

Before Legend could reply, Fable took him by the hand and led him out of the main tower, her fingers tight in his. After the initial shock and scramble not to drop it, Legend held it just a little tighter as they walked, relieved, even though it was encrusted with dirt and blood, that it was warm and alive in his.

While they’d been fighting the sorcerer, he’d revealed he’d been planning to sacrifice Zelda to try and bring back Ganon— which, wow, what an original plan there— and he’d turned most of his attacks on Legend, angered that Zelda had been released from his clutches and foiled his plans.

Like Legend would ever let her be used like that again.

He was only glad they’d made it before any kind of sacrifice had taken place. If he’d had to watch anything like what Agahnim or Yuga had done to her again...

Legend shook off the angry thoughts as Fable pulled him into her study, the usual mess of papers coating her desk. It didn’t look as if the sorcerer had made it into here, and Fable tugged him over to her chair and sat him down. She then opened a few drawers, mumbling under her breath about where her medical kit was.

“Zelda,” Legend tried again as she rooted through her desk, “I could just drink a potion, you don’t have to bother, really, it’s not that—”

“If you say “that bad” again, I’ll put bandages over your mouth so you’ll stop,” Fable threatened, then pulled out a box with a small smile. “There we go. And even with a potion, it still needs to be cleaned.”

She pulled an extra chair over next to him, and opened the box, pulling out a cloth with which she wiped the rest of the blood away. Legend watched her in silence as she worked, feeling a little tingle every time one of her hands ghosted along his arm, but focused on ignoring the feeling. He could have easily done this himself, and probably shouldn’t be troubling her, but was nice not to have to clean it up himself.

It didn’t take Zelda long to clean and then bandage the slice, but she didn’t completely pull away once she’d finished, her hands still holding his arm.

“This’ll probably scar,” she said quietly, an apology in her voice. “Even with a potion.”

Legend shrugged. “What’s one more?” At least it wasn’t one from a dumb accident.

Zelda swallowed, and looked down at where she was still holding his arm. She carefully let go of it, and Legend looked at her eyes, the normally bright blue stormy with emotion.

“...You’re certain he didn’t hurt you?” he asked after the silence had stretched between them for a while, and Fable nodded, brushing a hand across her cheek.

“He didn’t. Just locked me up, Link. And he’s gone now, I’ll be fine,” she continued smoothly, placing the unused medical supplies back into their box. “Why wouldn’t I be? Just because I was kidnapped again and almost sacrificed again so that Ganon could be brought back again, and couldn’t do a thing about it, that doesn’t mean I’m not fine, why wouldn’t it? I’m perfectly—”

“Zelda,” Legend interrupted, raising an eyebrow at her. “You were sobbing into my arms not three hours ago.”

She wilted a little, and tugged both arms around her waist, lips pressed into a thin line.

Legend had the distinct feeling that had been the wrong thing to say, and mentally kicked himself. Now what did he do? He wasn’t good at this touchy-feely stuff, that was Sky’s job. What was he supposed to say?!

He waited a minute for Fable to speak, but she didn’t say anything, and he swallowed.

He and Fable has known each other for years at this point, dealt with one crisis after another together, but even after all of that, he still wasn’t sure how close they were. They were friends certainly, close friends even, but their relationship had always been a little unusual. Especially after Mar— the shipwreck, it had been hard for Legend to spend much time with her, too many similarities at play.

But they were still friends. What could he say to her now?

He hadn’t really been thinking earlier when he’d grabbed her into a hug, he’d just seen her panicking and crying and done what he thought was best. He wasn’t sure if that would be the best option right now... but then again, Fable looked truly awful, and she could probably use another hug. But would she want one from him?

Goddesses preserve me, I’m hopeless at this.

“Link?”

He shook his head, banishing his messy thoughts, and looked at Fable, meeting her eyes again.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said quietly, and Legend blinked in surprise, not expecting her words. “I’m sorry you had to do it yet again. And calm me down, I have no excuse, it was just... it was too much, all at once. Too much like that night.”

Legend’s own memories of that night flickered in the back of his head, his throat tightening at the memory of his uncle’s dying words, a bloodstained sword pressed into too-small hands.

“I know. It’s okay,” he replied in a gentle voice. “Besides, it’s in my job description to rescue you, isn’t it?” he said with a cheerful smirk.

Fable almost laughed, and he felt something warm in him at the sight of her smile. But it soon faded again, and she squeezed her eyes shut a moment, not looking at Legend when she reopened them.

“Link, do you mind if..?” she whispered, leaning forward a little, and Legend found himself nodding before he could truly think through the request.

Fable leaned over and squeezed him, resting her head on his shoulder as he blinked in surprise. Legend belatedly raised his arms and hugged her back, and something warm settled in his chest at the touch, soothing the leftover storm of emotions from the day.

He sighed, and rested his head on her shoulder as well.

“We did it again,” he said, voice coming out more tired then he wanted it to. He rested a hand on her back, and felt Zelda relax a little. “We stopped the bad guy. Ganon didn’t come back, and we’re okay.”

“We did it,” Fable repeated a little shakily, her voice muffled in his shoulder. “Again.”

Legend swallowed, and tightened the hug, Fable doing the same.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about everything that had happened today, and would probably be replaying some moments in his nightmares for a while. But being here, hugging Zelda, both of them still reeling from the reality of yet another attack on the kingdom, it felt... okay.

Like even if another crazy Ganon fanatic tried to bring him back tomorrow, they would have each other to lean on.

And it would be okay.

Fable squeezed him again, and he squeezed her back, neither of them caring how they were only getting each other dirtier.

It would be okay.

[walkwithgod07]

1 Paul, a servant of God, and an apostle of Jesus Christ, according to the faith of God's elect, and the acknowledging of the truth which is after godliness;

2 In hope of eternal life, which God, that cannot lie, promised before the world began;

3 But hath in due times manifested his word through preaching, which is committed unto me according to the commandment of God our Saviour;

4 To Titus, mine own son after the common faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour.

5 For this cause left I thee in Crete, that thou shouldest set in order the things that are wanting, and ordain elders in every city, as I had appointed thee:

6 If any be blameless, the husband of one wife, having faithful children not accused of riot or unruly.

7 For a bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God; not selfwilled, not soon angry, not given to wine, no striker, not given to filthy lucre;

8 But a lover of hospitality, a lover of good men, sober, just, holy, temperate;

9 Holding fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers.

10 For there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers, specially they of the circumcision:

11 Whose mouths must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre's sake.

12 One of themselves, even a prophet of their own, said, the Cretians are alway liars, evil beasts, slow bellies.

13 This witness is true. Wherefore rebuke them sharply, that they may be sound in the faith;

14 Not giving heed to Jewish fables, and commandments of men, that turn from the truth.

15 Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.

16 They profess that they know God; but in works they deny him, being abominable, and disobedient, and unto every good work reprobate.