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sallowsarchives · 10 months ago

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Beneath the Battles (Final)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Arthur finally face your true feelings and past grievances, breaking down the barriers that have kept you apart. Word Count: 8.8k Warnings/Tags: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI. No use of y/n, explicit language, angst with fluff, size difference (Arthur is a big guy), oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Arthur pulls out, a little roughness, aftercare, SMUT with plot A/N: AHHH, here’s the final part!! I’d like to formally apologize for taking so long to update, I actually ended up scrapping and rewriting it, which took longer than expected. I hope this makes up for it. Once again, thank you to those who read this story and for all your lovely comments!

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The mansion loomed in the distance, its imposing structure partially obscured by the dense trees and underbrush that surrounded it, its windows glimmering faintly under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on the well-kept grounds.

The night was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that breeds caution. After days of scouting, the mansion was finally dark and silent, just as expected. Its owners were away traveling, leaving only a few guards to patrol the surrounding grounds.

The plan was straightforward: sneak into the mansion, locate the concealed safe, and disappear with the loot before anyone was the wiser. It seemed like a simple enough task—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’re crouched behind the mansion's back door, fingers deftly working through the lock. With a final click, the lock gave way, and you quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind you with practiced ease.

The air inside the mansion was heavy, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged stone. Once your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtained windows, you moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the ornate rugs that lined the floors.

Just as you rounded the corner, you find yourself coming to a sudden halt.

A man stood before the very door leading to your prize. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of confidence that immediately put you on edge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy trying to jimmy open the lock.

You cursed under your breath. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he here?

This man was no bumbling thief; his movements were too precise, too deliberate. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing, and that realization sent a wave of frustration through you. If he got to the safe first, all your planning, all your risk, would be for nothing.

You stayed hidden behind a wall as you considered your options. Confronting him could blow your cover, but waiting too long could mean losing the item.

Deciding to take the upper hand, you crept closer, making sure to keep to the shadows with calculated movements to avoid detection.

Once you were close enough, you cleared your throat, the sound slicing through the stillness like a knife just as he managed to break the lock.

The sudden noise startled him, and he froze, his head snapping toward the source of the disturbance. The look of surprise and irritation on his face was fleeting, quickly replaced by a calculating stare as he took in your presence.

You took a moment to assess him. A rugged, handsome face with piercing blue-green eyes that locked onto yours, their intensity making it clear that he was not easily intimidated.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Looks like we both had the same idea. Didn’t think I'd run into competition tonight. What’s your game, stranger?”

You kept your voice light but there was an edge to it. You had scouted this place for weeks, and you weren’t about to let some stranger steal it out from under you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm before replying with a low Southern drawl that sent a chill down your spine.

"I reckon I oughta be askin' you that too, miss. Ain't seen you around here when I was scoutin' the place, so I guess you're after the same prize."

“Perhaps. Too bad there’s only one prize in that safe,” you said, eyeing the opened safe behind him.

He raised an eyebrow, a small, cocky smile playing on his lips. “Guess we’ll see who gets it first.”

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

In a flash, you darted forward, aiming to dodge him and get to the safe. But he was quick—quicker than you expected. He sidestepped your advance, grabbing your arm as you tried to slip past him.

“Not so fast, darlin’,” he said, his grip firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a breathless laugh escaping you as you spun around to face him again, eyes flashing with determination. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Without warning, both of you drew your weapons in a swift motion, yours a knife and his a pistol. You knew you were at a disadvantage, the cold steel of his gun giving him the upper hand. But you weren’t about to back down.

A game of cat and mouse ensued, each of you circling the other, quips exchanged with a tension neither acknowledged.

You racked your thoughts for every trick you knew to try and outsmart him but in a moment of distraction, you seized your opportunity as a noise from outside drew both your attention.

He briefly looked away and you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy, decorative vase—and hurled it in his direction, your sudden movement catching his attention once more.

“Goddammit!” he swore as the vase sailed through the air.

The unexpected move caught him off guard, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield himself as the vase struck his arm, causing his pistol to slip from his grip and clatter onto the floor. The shattering noise echoed, no doubt alerting the guards outside.

You wasted no time and sprinted towards him, kicking the gun to the other side of the room. Ducking under his arm with practiced agility, you bolted toward the safe, your nimble fingers swiftly retrieving the necklace inside—a beautiful, intricate piece that promised a hefty pay.

The gleaming jewelry caught your eye, but you didn’t let your guard down. You knew he was still behind you, and the potential for danger was ever-present.

Turning around, you found him standing in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. You eyed him warily, adjusting your stance in case he made any sudden moves.

To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a gesture that seemed almost admiring.

"I'll give you that one," he said with a chuckle. "But don’t go thinkin' I’ll let ya off that easy next time."

You met his gaze steadily, with the tone in his voice, you couldn't help a smirk of your own.

“Next time?” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “You might want to reconsider how you pick your battles.”

He tilted his head slightly, raising a brow. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You smirk before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you begin to make your exit.

“Until we meet again, stranger,” you said, voice cool and confident.

His smirk remained, making no move to stop you or follow as you slipped toward the shadows. Once you were sure he wasn’t making any sudden moves, you turned and made your way out.

The cool night air hits your face as you slip away into the darkness, the necklace secure in your pocket.

Weeks later, you stand before the Van Der Linde gang, newly recruited and eager to prove your worth. As Dutch wraps up your introduction with the gang members, a familiar face catches your eye amidst the crowd—leaning on a wagon, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression from the night at the mansion.

Arthur Morgan, you’ve come to know from Dutch as he introduced him as one of his most trusted men. You could see the recognition in Arthur’s eyes, and you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face.

“We’ve met,” you said casually, holding his gaze, making his lips twitch, but he remains silent.

And so it was, a few months into your time with the gang, Dutch pairs the two of you together for a job. From the start, things don’t go smoothly. Arthur’s stubbornness clashes with your determination, turning every decision into a heated argument.

"You're too damn cautious," you snap as you crouch behind a rock, waiting to ambush a carriage.

"And you're too damn reckless," he retorts, his voice low but heated.

The frustration between you simmering, neither willing to back down.

Though the job was a success, it was clear that your relationship had shifted to something far more complex.

A rivalry that would become full of sharp words, stolen glances, and the kind of tension that made your heart race whenever Arthur Morgan was near.

The burning in your lungs is the first sensation that pierces through the fog.

It feels like your chest is on fire, each breath a painful struggle as your body fights to expel the water that had been forced into your lungs. You cough weakly, the sound raw and strained.

The presence of another person over you is the next thing you sense. Their hand cradling your back as the other presses gently on your cheek, their voice a low, comforting murmur that reaches through the haze of pain.

“C’mon, easy now,” a deep voice rang out, soothing but urgent. “Breathe slow. Just breathe.”

As the pain in your chest begins to ease, you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. The rough ground beneath you feels gritty, the chill in the air seeps through your wet clothes, which cling uncomfortably to your damp skin. A persistent throbbing in your temple adds to the disorienting discomfort.

As your sight finally focuses, you see Arthur standing over you, his rugged features marked by concern and relief. His hair was wet and tousled, with a few strands clinging to his forehead, and his face was streaked with water and mud.

“You alright?” His voice is softer now, though it still carries a note of urgency.

You try to speak, but your voice comes out as a faint, hoarse whisper. Attempting to sit up, you slump back into his arms, completely drained.

Arthur’s hand remains steady, his hand continuing to support you from your back.“Just take it easy, darlin’,” he insists. “We gotta get that nasty cut of yours fixed up.”

After a moment, he speaks up again. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he says, his tone softer than you expected. Confusion flickers in your eyes as you try to make sense of his reaction.

Arthur quickly brushes it off with a shrug and a quick, dismissive smile. "You good to stand? We need to find a place to camp."

Though slightly dazed, you nod and he begins helping you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle and begins to lead the way.

You take a chance to glance over at the river, your heart sinking. "There goes everything," you mutter, as you thought of all the loot from the stagecoach robbery now lost in those dark waters, swept away without a trace.

Arthur’s eyes follow your gaze. “Yeah, things went south real quick. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Ain’t never gone smooth with us.”

A weary sigh escapes you. Arthur gives your shoulder a small squeeze, his voice softening.

“We’ll figure out another way to make it up so we don’t come back empty-handed.”

As you and Arthur push through the thick underbrush, the sun has long set, leaving the sky almost entirely dark and providing scant light. The air is growing colder, and the fatigue from the ordeal is beginning to weigh heavily.

After a while, Arthur spots a faint outline against the darkening sky. "There," he says, pointing toward the silhouette of a structure hidden among the trees.

You squint and make out the shape of an old, dilapidated cabin. Its roof is partially caved in, and the wooden walls weathered. Still, it seems like a decent refuge for the night.

Arthur leads the both of you towards it, his steps careful as he surveys the area for any signs of danger. He pushes open the creaky door with a grunt, revealing a dusty, cobweb-covered interior. The air inside is stale, but it’s dry and shielded from the elements.

"Looks like this’ll do for tonight," Arthur says, stepping inside and looking around.

The main room contains a few pieces of furniture: a worn-out sofa, a small wooden table, and a couple of chairs. There’s a door on the left, which you assume leads to a bedroom.

A stone fireplace stands against one wall, its hearth empty but still looking functional. To the right, you notice a small kitchen area with cabinets lining the wall, hinting at a space used for simple meals.

Arthur moves with practiced caution, his eyes scanning the room as he checks for any signs of danger. He pauses, pulling his pistol from its holster. It seems he managed to keep hold of his weapon and satchel during your fall into the water—an unexpected stroke of luck.

Once he’s satisfied that the area is clear and no immediate threat is apparent, he nods and holsters the gun.

“Alright, let’s settle in,” he says, guiding you to a nearby chair. “I’ll get a fire going and check for any supplies. You just sit tight and rest.”

You nod, gratefully sinking into the chair. As Arthur moves around the house, you take a moment to let the exhaustion wash over you.

You hadn’t noticed the several minutes that had passed by where Arthur managed to set up a fire with the dried wood he had found stacked by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow over the room.

He turns his attention back to you, a determined look on his face and retrieves a cloth from his satchel, pouring a generous amount of whiskey over it that he must have found when rummaging through the cabinets.

He takes a seat across from you, gaze steady and focused as he carefully examines the gash near your temple.

“This might sting a bit,” he says softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm. Gently, he dabs the cloth against the cut, the wound stinging from the contact.

Arthur’s movements are careful and deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he works, his eyes occasionally meet yours, a mix of concern and resolve evident in his expression.

You watch him closely, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the usual deflective bravado he shows, a rare glimpse of the softer side of him that you don’t often see.

After finishing with your wound, Arthur sets the cloth aside and glances at the both of you, noting the dampness of your clothes.

“We’d best find us some dry clothes; ain't no good in keepin' us warm when we're soaked to the bone.”

You respond with a nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the wet garments clinging tightly to your skin.

He stands up and motions you to follow, moving towards the door on the left you saw earlier. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the fading light seeping through the grime-streaked windows. Old, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from their rods, and the floorboards creak with each step.

There was a rickety, sagging bed with a threadbare quilt, and a lone wooden chest pushed against the wall. You follow behind him, noticing the layer of dust that covers everything, marking the years of abandonment.

He heads to a chest, prying it open with a groan as the hinges protest, and begins rummaging through the contents.

As he searches for dry clothes, you start to remove some of your damp garments feeling the need to get more comfortable and ease the weight.

You’re in the process of slipping off your soaked shirt when Arthur turns around, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in your soaked white chemise, and he quickly averts his gaze, his face flushing a deep red.

“Uh—here,” he stammers, his voice suddenly unsteady as he holds out a faded long brown skirt and a low-necked cotton blouse. “Found these. They should fit.” He glances away, clearly flustered.

Seizing the opportunity, you smirk and tease. “What’s the matter, Arthur? Never seen a woman in her underclothes before? I thought you were used to all sorts of rough and tumble.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, his face turning redder, and he clears his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Even after gettin' yourself all banged up, you still can’t help but run that smart mouth of yours,” he retorts, trying to mask his embarrassment with a touch of irritation.

You chuckle at his flustered response, enjoying the rare sight of him so off-balance before taking the clothes from him.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, casting furtive glances as he takes a change of clothes for himself. He clears his throat again, his usual confidence momentarily eclipsed by awkwardness.

“I’ll, uh, just be outside if you need anything,” he mutters, leaving the room with a hasty step to give you your privacy.

The door creaks as he pulls it shut, and you can hear him mumbling to himself as he closes it behind him. His grumbling is low and unintelligible, but it brings a faint, amused smile to your lips. You chuckle silently before turning your attention to the garments.

Moments later, you find Arthur standing by the window, now dressed in a fresh set of clothes—worn jeans and a plain gray button up. His silhouette is outlined against the darkness outside. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth beginning to chase away the chill.

Arthur turns to you, his expression more relaxed now that he's shed his previous discomfort. “Feeling a bit better?”

You nod. “Yeah, much better. You?”

Arthur gives a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be just fine. Just need to take it easy and let the warmth do its work.” He gestures toward the fire. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we can.”

You nod and make your way to sit at the worn out sofa to warm up by the fireplace. After a comfortable silence you finally speak up, your voice soft with gratitude.

“Thanks for everything, Arthur. I know it’s been a rough day, but I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

Arthur turns to you and nods, his usual gruffness softened by the warmth of the fire and the genuine moment between you. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what needs to be done.”

As the silence settles again, Arthur clears his throat and shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of rough days… reckon I oughta say somethin’ about that night at the, uh, well, what happened at the Mayor’s party,” he begins, his tone a bit hesitant.

You fold your arms, feeling uncomfortable about bringing it up again, but you know you’ve both put off addressing the issue long enough. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

Arthur looks away for a moment, clearly struggling with how to frame his words.

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like what happened between us didn’t matter. I guess I thought it’d be better to just… keep things simple and avoid complicatin’ things.”

Your eyes narrow and you let out a sigh. “You already said that but I still don’t know what you mean. If you don’t have anything new to add, then yes, I guess that’s all it was—just a fleeting moment to pass the time while we were stuck in that situation.”

“Godammit, it ain’t like that,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

You glare at him, standing up as your anger and frustration begin to boil over. “Then what, Arthur? I’m done with the guessing games. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least stop pretending you care.”

“Oh, is that so? What do you want me to say, huh? That I’ve been usin’ you? That I don’t give a damn? You think that’s gonna make things better?”

“I’m not askin’ you to lay it all out. I’m askin’ you to quit actin’ like none of this means a damn thing. You’re scared to face the truth, and it’s obvious. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Arthur steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s goin’ on with me.”

You meet his gaze, your anger unwavering despite the intensity of his look. “Then why don’t you stop hiding behind your excuses and show me what’s real for once? Or are you too scared to face it yourself?”

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as the silence grows heavy between the two of you. You take a deep breath before continuing, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Everything that happened at that party… it wasn’t just part of the act, was it?”

He looks away, eyes fixed on the ground as his expression hardens. “I was doin’ what we had to,” he says, his voice gruff. “We were pretendin’—had to make it look real.”

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it,” you retorted. “Everything you did that night, kissing me like it meant something just to suddenly pull away and act like I was something you regretted. Do you have any idea how that felt, Arthur? How it made me feel?”

He flinched at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand! You shut me out, you push me away, and I’m done pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Arthur looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the pain in his eyes, the conflict warring within him.

Your words hang in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, that he’d keep his distance just as he always did. But when his eyes met yours again, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made your heart twist before he spoke, voice filled with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before.

“That night at the party, when I told you it meant nothing and pushed you away—it wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I did. I didn’t want you seein’ me as more than just part of this damned life I’ve led.”

“Have you not thought that I’m already a part of this life too? I’m not some innocent bystander in this, Arthur. I’m in it just as much as you are, fighting beside you, continuing to risk everything for the gang. Every time you push me away, it feels like you’re saying I don’t belong, that I’m not worthy of being part of this.”

Arthur’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. I’ve just been tryin’ to protect you in my own messed-up way. I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re not part of this, ‘cause you are. More than you know.”

You looked at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. “Then be honest with me, Arthur. Don’t shut me out. I need to know where we stand.”

“I ain’t good enough for you,” he confessed, the words coming out like a reluctant admission. “I’ve done things—bad things. And I know you’ve seen some of it, but you don’t know the half of it. You deserve better than some outlaw who’s spent his life takin’ more than he’s given.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as you both tried to come to terms with the weight of his confession. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the truth of your feelings and the painful realities of the life you both led.

You stared at him, the anger long dissipated from you as his words sank in. This was it—this was what had been driving him to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away whenever you got too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way you did; it was that he didn’t think he was worthy of it.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, “I don’t care about what you’ve done, or who you think you are. I care about you. The man who saved me today, who risked everything to make sure I was safe. The man who gives more to the gang than he ever takes for himself—that’s the man I see.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “You ain’t seen the worst of me yet.”

“And I don’t care if I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, or what I’m willing to accept. I’ve made my choice, Arthur. I’m not turning back.”

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling as the truth of your words hit him. He’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything good, that any softness or kindness was something he had to push away before it could be taken from him. Hell, that’s why it never worked out with Mary, too.

But here you were, standing in front of him, refusing to let him go, even after everything he’d done to keep you at a distance.

He leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crack a small smile, your voice laced with a sarcastic edge but softened by the warmth in your eyes.

“Come on, Arthur. Since when did you become an expert in what I deserve? I’ve been putting up with your brooding for far too long to be picky about the details.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry smile as he listened to your response. Despite the gravity of the moment, there was a glimmer of amusement and admiration in his eyes.

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of his old charm, “you’ve been a right pain in my ass since day one. Guess that’s why it’s so damn complicated with us. But, damn it, you’re still the only one who can make me see the bright side of this mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look.

“Oh, is that your way of saying I’m the best you’ve got? How flattering.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe more than you know. You’ve got a knack for makin’ everything seem less bleak, even when you’re makin’ my life hell.”

After a silent moment, Arthur reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw which sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “for fightin’ this… for fightin’ you.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the honesty you had never expected from him.

You had always seen him as a man of few words, someone who hid his true self behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. But now, as he stood in front of you, you saw the truth in his eyes—the feelings he had tried so hard to deny.

Before you could respond, Arthur closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

The kiss was a heady mix of passion and urgency, a kiss full of the unresolved tension and undeniable attraction that had been building between you.

As the kiss deepens, you feel Arthur’s hand move to tangle in your hair, his fingers gently gripping the strands as he kisses you harder, his body pressing hard against yours.

You respond with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer before you both pull away for air, breaths labored with his chest rising and falling against yours.

Arthur nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He begins to trail soft kisses along your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin as his voice drops to a whisper, full of longing and relief.

“Been powerless against you since the moment you joined the gang. Reckon it all started that night at the mansion when we were both after the same prize.”

A low hum escapes him as your fingers thread through his hair, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He nuzzles further into your neck as he continues to mumble against your skin.

“Wanted you so bad, and damn if that don’t scare the absolute life out of me.”

Arthur continues to kiss your neck, his lips moving down to your shoulder as his hands tighten their grip on your hips. The intensity of his touch grows as he pulls you even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours, enveloping you in a wave of warmth and desire.

You lean in closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, your voice trembling with the same urgency that you hear in his. “Then stop holding back, Arthur. I want you.”

Your words seem to break whatever last bit of restraint he was clinging to. He lets out a low growl, and before you can even take another breath, his lips crash against yours once more, all fire and desperation. It’s a kiss that sears through you leaving no room for doubt.

Without breaking the kiss, he nudges you back until you feel the edge of the table pressing against the backs of your thighs. In one fluid motion, Arthur’s hands slip from your hips to your waist, lifting you just enough to set you down on the table's surface.

He steps closer, sliding between your legs as his hands grip your hips possessively. You felt his hips pressing insistently against your core, the contact electrifying and intense.

He was achingly hard, a burning pressure that felt almost unbearable through the fabric of your clothes. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, every shift of his body against yours sending waves of sensation coursing through you.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard living, left your waist and slipped under your shirt to savor the softness of your skin. His skilled fingers traced over your ribs before reaching your breasts.

You've never been so glad to not be wearing your chemise underneath your clothes.

You inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. "So responsive." Arthur murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and breaking the kiss. You chance a glance at his face, his eyes dark with hunger.

With deliberate slowness, his hands begin their descent, gliding down to your calves, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs.

He caresses your skin, almost reverently, before sliding up to the hem of your skirt. You shiver at the sensation as he pushes the fabric higher, gathering it around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Arthur’s eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze heavy with desire. His hands, still lingering on the edge of your skirt, begin to trail slowly up your thighs, his touch careful and teasing.

He pauses just as his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and questioning.

He’s waiting, holding back, as if needing your permission to go further. He doesn't move, his touch achingly close yet frustratingly distant.

"Arthur…" you plead, your voice edged with frustration.

He meets your gaze, lips twitch up in a slight smirk as his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You can do better than that, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You scowl, making him smirk wider, the pressure making your frustration boil over. "Arthur, just—"

His fingers remain tantalizingly still, his eyes locked onto yours with a challenging gleam. The irritation fuels your desperation, and you let out a shaky breath, finally conceding.

"Arthur... please, I need you. I can’t stand it anymore," you say, your voice softened by surrender, the depth of your need evident.

Arthur’s lips curl into a satisfied grin as he hears your plea. He hums with approval and without another word, you watch as he leans down, his mouth finding your core with a fervent intensity, enveloping you in a warm, consuming embrace.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you, his name tumbling from your lips. Your fingers fly down to his hair, clenching at the strands and pull him closer as you surrender to the waves of sensation that crash over you.

He groans against you, his lips teasing the sensitive bud before his tongue moves with deliberate, savoring strokes, licking up your wetness. The taste of you lingers, smearing over his lips and dripping down his chin.

You feel his hand move between your thighs, his touch igniting another wave of pleasure as his thumb gently grazes your clit. The added sensation heightens your arousal, making your breath come in short, gasping bursts.

Without warning, he slips one of his fingers inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of intense pleasure through you.

He moves with practiced ease, curling and thrusting as he builds a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan. Each movement is designed to amplify the pleasure he's already delivering, his touch skillfully coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Oh God—Arthur!”

His hands pick up the pace, moving faster and with more pressure, targeting that one sensitive spot inside you while his mouth continues to work on your delicate bud. You tighten around his fingers, feeling your legs start to tremble.

You were at the height of your pleasure, your climax so near it felt like you might explode at any moment. Arthur seems to sense it too, his movements expertly bringing you to the brink.

But just as you're about to come, he abruptly pulls away, smirking down at you. You let out a frustrated whine, your body still trembling from the near climax.

"Why—" you gasp, eyes pleading as you look up at him, your voice a mix of annoyance and need. The sudden halt only intensifies your frustration, making your desire for release even more unbearable.

Arthur leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t finished yet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gritty whisper. "Wanna feel you wrapped around me when you come."

With a firm, decisive moment, his hands wrap beneath your bum, lifting you effortlessly. He carries you toward the worn couch, his strength palpable as he places you gently but firmly onto the cushions before positioning himself above you, his gaze never leaving yours.

Arthur’s hands move to unbutton his jeans with a practiced ease before shedding them, revealing his lengthy member, its impressive size immediately drawing your wide-eyed attention.

You can’t help but stare, your eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation as you take in the full extent of his arousal. The sight of him, so well-endowed and commanding, sends a thrill of excitement through you, and your breath catches in your throat.

Arthur notices your reaction, a grin curling on his lips. He moves closer, his hands firmly cupping your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, capturing your lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

While his mouth claims yours, his hands move with purpose, deftly working to remove your blouse. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding over his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt until it falls away.

The two of you move with a synchrony of urgency and passion, shedding the rest of your clothes with a desperate need. Each article of clothing is discarded in a flurry of movement, leaving you both bare.

Arthur pauses, his eyes dark and intense as they roam over your bare form with a feral hunger. A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes gleaming with a primal desire.

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice rough and throaty. “Can’t believe I held myself back for so long.” His gaze lingers on you, filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger, as he savors the sight of you completely bare before him.

He wraps your legs around his hips, drawing you closer as he positions himself between you. With one hand gripping himself and the other steadying your leg, he lines himself up, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looks down at you.

“You ready for this?”

You nod, your eyes locked onto his, filled with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Please, Arthur,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a fierce, satisfied smile before pressing himself against you and slowly begins to enter you, his gaze never leaving your face as a gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing with the intense sensation.

You arch against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjust to his size. The stretch and pressure of him inside you sends a wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily as you moan out his name.

He growls in response, his face contorted with both pleasure and concentration. “Goddamn you’re so tight.”

His hands tighten on your hips, grip firm and possessive as waits for you to adjust around him. After a moment, you grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging in as you try to steady yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur, struggling to control your breath. “I need you to move.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with raw desire. His eyes search yours for a sign of hesitation but find only eager need.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “Please.”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one bringing a wave of pleasure that makes your body tremble.

As he finds a rhythm, his movements become more intense and fervent, his eyes never leaving your face. His breathing grows heavier, matching the pace of his thrusts as he drives deeper into you.

“Arthur, please…faster.”

He meets your gaze and with a firm grip, he pushes your leg further back against you, angling himself deeper.

You gasp at the shift, your body arching and gripping him tighter as waves of pleasure crash over you. Each thrust sends a jolt of ecstasy through you, your breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts as you lose yourself in the mounting sensation.

His thrusts become more urgent, each movement sending a jolt of ecstasy through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs between breaths, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping in a breathless gasp as his relentless pace overwhelms you, crying out his name as your voice trembles with pleasure.

Arthur’s eyes darken with desire, and he groans deeply. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. his gaze intently fixed on you, taking in every reaction, every flush of pleasure, driving him wild.

He can’t help but be captivated by the way you look at him, your gaze locking onto his with a mix of urgency and raw longing.

He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that.

Arthur pushes your leg further back, nearly folding you in half as his thrusts become rougher and more intense, driving into you with a forceful rhythm. Each thrust relentlessly hits the spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You feel yourself tighten around him, eliciting a deep groan from him.

His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core and begins to apply a firm, rhythmic pressure, his touch syncing with the hard, relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Arthur,” you moan, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss.

Arthur grits his teeth, the effort to maintain control clear on his face. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me… Wanna feel ya,” he growls, his voice thick with desire and urgency.

The combined stimulation of his touch and his relentless thrusting pushes you toward the edge, your body quaking as the waves of pleasure crest and crash over you. His words, laced with raw need, tip you over that edge, breaking the last of your control.

You let go completely, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as you tremble and gasp in his grasp, your body responding to his every command.

“That’s it,” Arthur growls, his voice rough with pleasure. “Good girl. Feels so good squeezing around me… there we go.”

He moves his hands to your hips, his own breathing ragged as he feels you tighten and convulse around him. He continues to drive into you through the waves of pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more urgent and relentless. You cry out, the sensation overwhelming.

Finally, with a groan of his own, he thrusts deep one last time before pulling out, taking his length into his hand. His body shudders, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps as he finds his release, spilling onto your stomach as the tension finally breaks.

He collapses onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, both of you trying to catch your breaths. After a while, you gently pat him, feeling the weight of him pressing down on you, and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Arthur stands up and grabs the shirt he was wearing, using it to wipe the evidence of his release from your stomach and his. His touch is tender despite the intensity of the moment.

Once he’s finished, he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms. With a gentle but firm motion, he adjusts to create enough room for both of you on the worn couch.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you settle against him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the earlier intensity.

“You alright there?” he asks, his voice soft and slightly teasing as he runs a hand soothingly along your arm.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your voice a bit breathless. “Just needed a moment.”

Arthur chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he murmurs, his tone filled with genuine warmth.

You smile, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax into his embrace. “Me neither,” you whisper, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Guess it’s a good thing we finally did.”

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the background. As you settle into the quiet, the room is filled with a tranquil intimacy.

The gentle heat from the fire and the flickering light cast a soft glow over your resting forms, guiding you both into a peaceful rest.

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains gently warms your face, coaxing you awake from your slumber.

You blink, slightly disoriented, and notice a quilt draped over you—a cozy, unexpected comfort that you don’t remember covering yourself with.

You stretch out and sit up, searching for Arthur, but find that he’s no longer beside you. The space next to you is empty, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint scent of him in the air.

You wrap the quilt around you before making your way to the bedroom, where you begin to get dressed in your now-dry clothes.

As you finish getting dressed, you head outside, still wondering where Arthur could be. Opening the front door, you’re startled to find him now dressed in his own clothes and standing with both your horses.

He’s feeding his horse calmly, the sight of the horses safe and sound, along with Arthur’s relaxed demeanor, fills you with a mix of relief and surprise.

He looks up, catching your gaze with a casual, knowing smile, clearly at ease despite the unexpected circumstances.

“Mornin’, sorry I didn’t want to wake ya,” he says, his voice warm and relaxed.

You blink, still processing the sight before you. “Wait, how did you find the horses? They ran off during that chase,” you ask, your voice filled with surprise and confusion.

Arthur grins, a touch of pride in his eyes. “Managed to track ’em down this mornin’. They’d wandered off a ways but were easy enough to follow. Took a bit of patience, but I got ’em back here safe and sound.” He pats one of the horses affectionately.

You let out a relieved laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Well, I’m definitely grateful. I wasn’t sure how we’d get them back.

Arthur gives you a casual nod, his eyes still carrying a hint of satisfaction. “We should probably think about getting back to camp soon. Can’t say Dutch’ll be too happy about us comin’ back empty-handed.”

You frown slightly, your mind starting to turn over the implications. “Yeah, he might not be too pleased about that.”

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind, your expression brightening with realization. You make your way to your horse, patting her affectionately as you reach her.

You move to the saddlebag and start fishing around inside before pulling out a small pouch. Arthur watches you with curiosity as you open it, revealing the jewelry you had remembered stuffing inside. With a proud smile, you show it to Arthur, the glint of the gems catching the light.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well… that’s a nice surprise. Turns out we’re not comin’ back empty-handed after all.”

He glances at the jewelry, then back at you. “Good thinking.”

You tuck the pouch back into the saddlebag, feeling a surge of relief. “At least we’ve got something to make up for the trouble.”

Arthur shifts, his expression turning serious. “Listen, uh… everything I said last night—I meant it. I care about you, you know.”

You look at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

He pulls you close, and you share a tender kiss, the warmth and reassurance evident in the moment. When you pull away, you give him a playful nudge. “Now, let’s get back to camp.”

Arthur grins, nodding as he mounts his horse. “Lead the way.”

After a few hours of steady travel, you finally crest through the dense woods and emerge into the open area of Shady Belle.

As you draw closer, you hear John’s voice call out from his post. “Who’s there?”

Arthur raises a hand in greeting, his tone slightly exasperated. “It’s just us two, you idiot.”

John approaches with a grin, clearly relieved to see familiar faces. “Well, well, look who’s back! Didn’t think you’d make it this time.”

His gaze shifts to you, and he notices the cut on your forehead. “What happened there?” he asks, his tone shifting to one of concern.

“It’s nothing, just a little mishap,” you reply with a shrug and a small reassuring smile.

John nods, still eyeing the cut with a concerned look. Before he can respond, the sound of Dutch’s voice cuts through the air.

“There they are!” Dutch strides forward with Hosea, catching the attention of the other gang members. The atmosphere shifts to one of eager anticipation as they approach to welcome you both back.

Arthur and you quickly hitch your horses, and Dutch’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and curiosity.

“You two look like you’ve had quite the adventure,” he says with a grin. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

You and Arthur follow Dutch and Hosea inside the house, nodding to the other members who offer warm welcomes at your arrival.

Once inside, the four of you make your way outside to the terrace to discuss the details. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the camp, and you all settle into a comfortable spot.

Hosea’s eyes shift to the cut on your forehead. “You alright?” he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You give a small nod, trying to brush off the worry. “I’ll be alright. Can’t say about the coach, though.”

Hosea raises an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “The coach, huh? Did something go wrong?”

“The job went well initially. Arthur and I got what we needed, but then things went sideways on the way back.”

Arthur picks up the story, his voice steady. “We ran into trouble. More guards came in hot on our heels, forcing us into some rough terrain. Lost the coach, and then we ended up falling into a river with it.”

You chime in, “The river swept the coach away, taking all the loot with it. We couldn’t salvage anything.”

Dutch’s expression falls. “So, you lost it all?”

Arthur nods, looking apologetic. “Yeah. We couldn’t recover the goods.”

Dutch’s face reflects a mix of disappointment and frustration. “Well, that’s a shame. We coulda used that haul. Least you two are alright, though.”

Hosea tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll bounce back from this. The important thing is that you made it back safely. We’ll sort out the rest.”

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the small pouch of jewelry from you and a few clipped bundles of cash. He holds them up with a faint, reassuring smile.

“Well, we didn’t lose everything. Reckon this might help make up for it.”

Arthur hands Hosea the pouch, and Hosea inspects its contents. “With this and the cash we got, I’d say we’re lookin’ at around 800. That should help us get back on our feet.”

Dutch’s eyes light up with relief as he takes in the sight of the recovered items. “Well, that’s a right bit of luck in the middle of all this mess. Better than nothin’.”

Arthur nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Didn’t want to come back here and leave y’all thinkin’ we came up empty.”

Dutch claps Arthur on the shoulder, his mood lifting a bit. “Appreciate that. Let’s get this sorted and move on. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

Hosea looks over at you and Arthur with a nod of approval. “I gotta hand it to you both. Despite the rough patch, you came through. Good work out there.”

With that, Dutch and Hosea start discussing plans to distribute the recovered items and strategize the next steps.

Over the next few days, the gang once again begins to notice something distinctly different about you and Arthur.

It’s not just the absence of shouting and tension, but a new, subtle intimacy that marks a significant shift in how you interact. While the first change was notable, this time it's even more pronounced.

Although you and Arthur have kept your more intimate moments away from the prying eyes of the gang, there’s a palpable difference in the way you connect.

You’re often seen sharing quiet conversations, laughing together, and engaging in playful banter, with soft touches and exchanged smiles now part of your interactions. The closeness between you is evident, and it piques the gang’s curiosity once more.

Speculation runs rife among the camp members about the nature of your evolving relationship. They observe the affectionate gestures and tender glances, each theory more imaginative than the last.

Despite the growing curiosity, you and Arthur continue to maintain your privacy. When questioned or approached, you both respond with a mix of amused indifference and casual deflection.

You shrug off the gossip with lighthearted comments or evasive answers, enjoying the newfound closeness while keeping the details of your relationship to yourselves.

On this particular day, while you were engaged in a chore, you overheard Arthur speaking to Dutch, asking why he kept pairing the two of you together despite your apparent dislike for each other.

You glance over from your place, noting how Dutch seems genuinely puzzled by the question.

“It wasn’t really my call,” Dutch says with a shrug. “That was all Hosea’s idea. I didn’t rightly agree with him and don’t know why the hell he was so insistent or thought it was a good idea, but I just went along with it.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Both your attention shifts to Hosea, who is currently sitting nearby, absorbed in reading a newspaper.

Despite his apparent focus on the paper, you notice a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge you both, but his expression clearly suggests he’s pleased with the outcome of his decision.

The revelation leaves you and Arthur with a mix of emotions, but the smirk on Hosea’s face makes it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

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isa-beenme · 4 months ago

Text

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Rhysand x Reader

So... yeah I saved Feyre from that weird scene when Tamlin bites her or wtv my girl doesn't deserve it

And... well... I don't want to rewrite the whole scene when Tamlin and Lucien needed to beg to rhys so meh I didn't

If anyone is wondering why I'm publishing this so fast: I have been writing pieces of this for weeks now, I'm just playing Lego building them into chapters

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, ew males, not 100% book following, some level of degradation (not on the good side), a decapitated head, Rhysand 🫦

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 3: The Night We Met

You hadn't planned to leave the manor. Even with that strange pull in your chest, that whispering ache beneath your ribs that had been gnawing at you the entire day, you'd forced yourself to stay put.

Whatever it was, whatever called to you beyond those gates... it wouldn't end well. It never did.

You had learned long ago not to follow those instincts, to shove them down, to bury the pieces of yourself that felt too wild, too close to something you couldn't name. You were supposed to be a lonely female who obeyed, served, and fought. You weren't a human, and you shouldn't act like an animal either. Whatever thread tugged at your veins tonight was dangerous, ancient. It had no place inside of you.

So you stayed. You paced your room, your fingers twitching, your heart rattling too fast in your chest. You clenched your hands at your sides, digging your nails into your palms until the sting grounded you. You wouldn't give in. Not tonight. Not to this.

But then… Then you saw Feyre. You'd only glance out the window, expecting to see the light of the fires in the hope it would calm you down a little bit. But there she was, slipping through the gates, darting into the forest with only the moonlight to guide her.

Your heart stopped. “What the hell is she doing?”

You were moving before your mind could catch up, slipping into your boots, grabbing your knife, and bolting out into the cold night air. Your body knew before you did, knew that if she was going where you thought she was, she wouldn't come back the same. You wouldn't watch another important person walk into a forest and never come back alive because of fae cruelty.

The bonfires glowed in the distance, flickering on the hills like tiny stars fallen from the sky. Drums pounded through the dark, deep and ancient, matching the thrumming in your own blood. The air itself felt heavier the closer you got thicker, charged with something that made your skin crawl.

Calanmai. You'd heard the stories whispered by the servants, the warnings that Tamlin had barked at dinner in that clipped, cold voice of his. Stay inside. Lock your doors. Don't come out until morning. It had been enough to keep you away. Until now.

You found Feyre near the edge of the celebration, half-hidden in the shadows as if she could ever blend in. Her wide eyes darted across the hills, her breath quickening as she took in the wild, drunken revelry unfolding before her. She was so painfully human, so breakable. She shouldn't be here.

"Feyre," you hissed, stepping out of the shadows.

She flinched, whirling toward you with a hand raising halfway into a silly defense pose. But her shoulders sagged when she saw you. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I should be asking you the same damn thing. I only came after you." Your pulse was still racing — from the chase, from the moonlit tension clinging to the air... from that ache still thrumming low in your chest.

You scanned her face, searching for any sign of what had possessed her to come here. But all you found was stubbornness, that same reckless streak you'd spent years trying to protect her from.

"I wanted to see—"

"You wanted to get yourself killed," you snapped, stepping closer. "Do you have any idea what happens on Calanmai?"

Feyre's mouth opened, but whatever excuse she was about to spit out vanished as the drums deepened, echoing through the night. The bonfires flared higher, casting long shadows across the hills. Your stomach twisted.

"Let's go back to the manor," you ordered, voice low. "Now."

Feyre's brows pinched. "I just wanted to look—"

"We've looked." You grabbed her wrist, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. "Now we're leaving."

But before you could drag her away, a new sound cut through the night. Low, cruel laughter. Three males emerged from the shadows, tall, and lean, the stench of sweat and stale wine clinging to them. Their grins were sharp and predatory. You went rigid. Feyre froze beside you, her breath ragged.

"Look what we have here," one of them drawled, his white teeth glinting in the firelight. His eyes dragged over Feyre, then flicked to you. Your hand twitched to grab your knife.

"Two little mice lost in the woods." Your stomach turned to ice. They were drunk, but not nearly enough to make them weaker or slower, just bolder in cruel ways.

You shifted, putting your body between Feyre and the males without thinking. "Keep walking," you said quietly.

The tallest one grinned wider, his gaze crawling over your face, your body. You could feel Feyre trembling behind you. Could feel her fear, sharp and familiar, but you couldn't let her see your own.

"Why don't you let us have a little fun first, mice?" the male purred. You forced your grip to steady close to the knife hilt.

"I'd rather slit your throat open and watch your blood soak the grass." The male's grin faltered. Just slightly.

But before anyone could take another step, another male appeared. A shadow slid out of the darkness like smoke. One moment the space beside you was empty, the next, a figure stood there. Tall, dressed in black, power coiling around him like a living thing. The males stiffened. Feyre's breath caught.

But you... You knew. Even before you saw the gleam of those violet eyes, even before that voice slithered through the night, always smooth, amused, deadly.

"Here you are." His smirk was pure sin, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "I've been looking for you."

Feyre tensed beside you, blinking up at him. You didn't move. Didn't breathe. Because you'd heard that voice before. In whispered stories. In half-forgotten starlight dreams.

And something deep inside you—something you had spent years trying to bury—began to claw its way back to the surface. His gaze flicked between you and Feyre, those violet eyes shining with curiosity. And then he smiled. The males vanished into the crowd without another word. But his eyes never left yours.

He tilted his head, that slow smirk still playing on his mouth. "And who," he murmured, "Are you?"

He leaned slightly closer, power curling off him in tendrils, dark and ancient, brushing against your skin like a phantom touch. You fought the instinct to recoil, meeting his gaze head-on. You couldn't let him see that it affected you, that he affected you.

"I don't believe we've met," he said, voice smooth as silk, but there was something lazy beneath it, something... calculated. His eyes drifted down your body with slow, deliberate interest before flicking back to your face. "And I never forget a pretty face like this."

You felt Feyre shift behind you, her breath catching. Typical. Of course, he'd try to rattle you like that, try to make you squirm. You knew his type. Knew him, long before you'd ever set eyes on him.

Because once, many years ago, someone had whispered stories about him in the dark. Tales of the Night Court's heir. The half-breed with violet eyes and a silver tongue. The boy who laughed at the rules of his Court, who danced in the shadows and played wicked games with hearts and minds alike.

He had been nothing but a name back then. A distant legend told between stolen giggles through drunk females in bars and hushed gossip your mother’s friends told her in secret dinners. So he'd never been a stranger to you. Even now, standing in front of him, there was a flicker of something familiar beneath the dangerous beauty. But you locked it away, buried it deep where he couldn't see.

"I don't believe I gave you permission to look at me like that." Your voice was steady, clipped. "And I'm not in the mood for introductions."

His smirk sharpened. "Pity. I was rather enjoying the view."

Behind you, Feyre tensed again, but you didn't look away from him. Didn't even blink.

"You heard what I said." Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced your chin higher, every inch of you screaming not to let him see an ounce of fear. "She's leaving."

Those violet eyes gleamed. Predatory eyes.

"And what about you?" he purred, stepping closer — close enough that you caught the faintest trace of night-blooming jasmine clinging to him beneath the smoke and sweat of the revelry. "Are you staying to keep me company?"

You didn't move. Didn't flinch. "That depends." You tilted your head slightly, voice dropping lower. "Wouldn't want to interrupt your little game of playing hero. How very... out of character, by the way."

Something flickered in his gaze—too fast to catch. Interest. Surprise. Like he'd expected a frightened little doe, not something sharp-toothed and biting back.

“Go. Now. Find our friend and tell him to get you back home.” You purposely didn't say Lucien's name, but hoped she would understand. You needed to get her out before Rhysand took interest in her mind. For once, Feyre didn't argue. You heard her footsteps retreating—heard the crackle of leaves under her boots as she vanished into the night. Leaving you alone with him.

The smirk on Rhysand's lips slowly grew bigger. His head tilted, those violet eyes drinking in every inch of you like you were some puzzle he couldn't quite solve. Then, slowly, you smiled.

It was an old habit—one you had learned to perfect long before you ever crossed the Wall. A smile could be a weapon just as sharp as a blade, just as cutting as any snarl. You wondered if he knew that, or if he thought you were some foolish girl playing brave in the dark. But those eyes, those impossible, star-flecked eyes, lingered on your face, as if trying to place something.

He didn't know you. Not really. But you knew him.

You had stopped to hear the stories whispered in firelit rooms by your best friend long before Prythian had become your prison of torture and grief. Had listened to a young female with dark hair and a quick tongue speak of the male with shadows in his veins and a crown he never wanted, how he lied to keep the appearances, how he protected his mother from his father, how he would be the best High Lord she would ever have to pleasure to see. You remembered the way her eyes had glowed when she spoke his name—Rhysand—as if he were something out of a dream that she hoped to witness.

But that girl was gone. And whatever warmth she'd once told you about had been buried beneath three centuries of blood and hungry power. Now he was the most dangerous male in Prythian and he was looking at you like he was trying to decide if you were prey or something more interesting.

For a long, tense moment, he just watched you. The firelight cast flickering shadows over his sharp features — high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and those violet eyes that seemed to see far more than what lay before him. The smirk on his lips never wavered, as if he was utterly amused by the sight of you stepping between him and your cousin.

His smirk grew. "You know who I am." It wasn't a question.

You forced yourself to keep the smile, a sharp curve of your lips. "I'd have to be a fool not to."

Rhysand's gaze dragged over you again, slower this time. Assessing. Calculating. Like he was trying to pick you apart — trying to place you. He wouldn't. Not yet.

He couldn't know that the female he'd loved decades ago was a connection to you. Not when you'd buried that version of yourself so long ago. Not when the name he'd once known was now dust on your tongue, a memory you wanted to keep just for yourself.

But still, those violet eyes narrowed slightly, as if something about you tugged at the edges of his mind.

You could practically feel him searching, prying, waiting. You almost wanted to let him. Almost.

"You should run along, High Lord," you said softly. "Go find someone else to toy with tonight."

His smile turned razor-sharp, all glittering teeth and promises of bad, beautiful things. "Now why would I do that," he murmured, stepping even closer, "when I've just found the most interesting creature at this entire miserable rite?"

You turn your mouth into a bored smile. "I wonder how many bones I'd have to break to keep you from ever finding out who I am."

For a heartbeat, he just stared at you. And then, he laughed. A rich, dark sound that wrapped around you like silk and smoke. The kind of laugh that belonged in the dead of night, in whispered promises and half-forgotten dreams. It made something deep in your chest tighten painfully.

Don't let him in.

He took a slow step closer, that wicked grin curling at his mouth again. The silence stretched between you, heavy with the pulse of Calanmai's magic. The air shimmered, alive, wrapping around your skin like a lover's touch. It made your blood sing—made the thing inside you stir and stretch, hungry for something you couldn't name.

Rhysand's head tilted slightly, that feline smirk still playing on his lips. "Brave little thing, aren't you?"

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the power thrumming beneath his skin seemed to reach out and brush against yours, testing, curious. "I've been called worse."

His smile sharpened. "I have no doubt."

A breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of bonfire smoke and crushed grass. You clenched your hands at your sides, fighting the urge to shiver. The pull in your chest hadn't stopped, not since the sun had set. If anything, standing here in front of him, it had only grown stronger. It was like the magic of Calanmai was trying to drag you into him, to let him fill your lungs, your blood, your bones. It made you feel like you were coming apart at the seams.

You could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, in the way his power curled at the edges of your senses. He could feel it too, then, the same way you could feel him.

For years, you'd carried his name like a secret in the hollow of your chest. You had wondered what had become of the male your friend once spoke of, if he had survived his own reign, or if he'd been swallowed by the darkness his father left in his wake. Rhysand took another step closer until he was close enough that the warmth of him brushed against your skin.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

The question settled in your bones, vibrating through every nerve in your body. You should give him a false one. Should use your half human part of yourself to lie and disappear into the night. But the words slipped out before you could stop them.

"If you guess correctly I'll give you a prize, maybe." He blinked, caught off guard—and then he laughed again, richer this time.

"I think I like you." You felt the corner of your mouth twitch upward, heart still racing in your chest.

"You wouldn't be the first to." His smile was slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He opened his mouth—to say what, you didn't know—but then his head tilted slightly, as if hearing something in the distance.

His gaze flicked back to you, the amusement gone. "You should run along now, little human."

The nickname curled in the air between you, mocking, teasing. He was trying to scare you off. Trying to see if you'd flinch.

You didn't.

Before you could say anything he tilted his head slightly. “Tell me, will I be seeing you again?”

Your heart skipped, and you tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze squarely. Whatever answer you wanted to give died in your chest. “You most definitely will.” It was all you said.

Without another word, Rhysand reached out, taking your hand in his. The brush of his lips across your knuckles was light, but it sent a shock of heat up your arm until your heart.

Then he straightened, his eyes locking with yours once more. He stepped back, melting into the shadows with that same infuriating smirk. "Until we meet again, little girl."

With a final smile that was pure mischief, he vanished into the night. And then he was gone. But his power lingered, wrapped around you like invisible chains.

You stood in the dark for a long time, your heart still thundering, your breath still catching in your throat. Your hand lingered where he had kissed it, but before you could think too much about it, the sensation in your chest, this pounding feeling, began to grow weaker.

It wasn’t the pull of the magic of Calanmai in the air. It was something else. Something between the both of you that you were afraid to name.

Your friend had always told you that Rhysand would become the most dangerous male in Prythian. What she never told you was how easy it would be to want him.

☆

When you finally returned to the manor, the first thing you did was check on Feyre. Your heart hadn't stopped pounding since you'd left her in the woods. You know that this night you will barely sleep, your ears still echoing with the rhythm of the drums, the feel of those violet eyes pinned on you like a predator playing with its prey.

But when you got to her room, nothing had happened. Thank the Cauldron, nothing had happened to her. Feyre was asleep when you checked on her, tucked beneath the blankets, her breathing steady. You lingered in the doorway for a long moment before leaving the bedroom, the tight knot in your chest slowly unwinding. She was safe. For now.

You hadn't been able to get him out of your head. Those eyes. That smile. That question. Who are you? You weren't sure you'd ever wanted someone not to know something so badly in your life.

The next morning, after sleeping way less than you were used to, as you kept looking at the night sky outside, you woke to the sound of raised voices drifting through the halls. Tamlin and Lucien fighting. Again.

So you took your time getting ready, washing off whatever remnants of Calanmai still clung to your skin. The manor felt heavier today like the weight of the night before had sunk into the very walls. You heard Tamlin being a beast in the middle of the night while he chased something in the corridors, so you woke up and checked to see if he would get close to Feyre’s bedroom. Thankfully, to his luck, he didn’t.

By the time you made your way down to breakfast, the tension in the air was thick enough to cut. You stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, unnoticed. Lucien was standing by the window, arms crossed as he watched the scene, face tight with anger. Tamlin was behind the chair at the head of the table, still radiating that barely-leashed temper that always seemed to simmer just beneath his surface.

And kneeling in the middle of the room was Feyre. You didn't need to ask what exactly happened. Even if you didn't have the details, you already knew. Your eyes flicked to the third and fourth plates set on the table, the torn curtains that no longer hid the decapitated head of a male in the middle of the garden, and then Rhysand having fun with the scene.

You watched silently as he prowled through the room, circling them like a cat playing with mice. His power crackled in the air, invisible claws wrapped tight around both Tamlin and Lucien, a smaller amount of it hanging around on Feyre — to what you could sense, she wasn't slightly hurt. He was toying with them and they hated it. But you... You couldn't help the smile that curled on your lips. It was the only time you'd ever seen Tamlin where he belonged — on his knees.

By the time Rhysand finally released them from his invisible grip, the High Lord of the Spring Court staggered back to his chair, jaw clenched, pride shredded. Lucien muttered something low under his breath, barely holding himself together as he helped Feyre get off the ground. You chose that exact moment to step forward, your voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife.

"I come late one time," you drawled, making your way toward the table, "and miss the only day we get a little fun around here."

Four heads snapped toward you. Feyre flinched. Lucien's amber eyes widened slightly. Tamlin's nostrils flared. But Rhysand's smirk only sharpened.

You let your gaze drift lazily over Tamlin, lips curling. "It was lovely seeing you like that, Tam. You should try that more often."

Tamlin's green eyes flashed, his mouth opening— But Rhysand flicked his fingers, and Tamlin's voice died in his throat. A laugh slipped from your lips. Pure, delighted mockery.

"Ah." You settled into your chair, reaching for a piece of cake. "That's even better. The no sound of your voice. That is my preferred routine, honestly."

Lucien shot you a warning look — one that screamed ‘Stop talking before he kills you’. But you didn't. You couldn't. Not when you could feel him watching you. Not when those violet eyes pinned you to your seat like he was already peeling back your mind layer by layer. You glanced at him from beneath your lashes, slow and deliberate.

"Care to join us for breakfast, High Lord?" you offered sweetly, breaking off a piece of cake. "We do love having guests, right? Tell him, Tamlin.” You turned your head to Rhysand, tilting your head to look up at him. “That's how we got stuck here, by the way. He offered breakfast once and never let us go back. But I'm sure your company is not as wanted as Feyre's, so you probably won't have the same destiny.”

“Y/N.” Lucien's voice sounded desperate, he gripped Feyre's arms in fear, but at the same time to steady himself. To remember that there were more innocent people to protect.

But Rhysand onky stepped closer — too close. He leaned down, until his breath ghosted across your ear.

"So," he murmured, voice like velvet. "Enlighten me, how many bones did it take for me to find out who you were, hm?"

Your heart stumbled. He probably saw you in Feyre’s memories. But you didn't let your smile falter. Instead, you leaned back just enough to meet his gaze — so close your noses nearly brushed. You flicked your eyes toward the window, toward the head now mounted on a spike in the gardens. The same male who had cornered you and Feyre last night.

You looked back at Rhysand, your smile sharpening. "Just one head was enough, apparently."

A low, wicked laugh rumbled in his throat. For a moment — just one breath — the entire room vanished. It was just the two of you. He, with all his dark, ancient power coiling beneath the surface. You, with whatever it was buried inside you — something half-forgotten, half-awake. The crackle between you tasted like lightning. Then Rhysand straightened, his smirk firmly back in place.

"As tempting as that offer is," he purred, "I'm afraid I'll have to decline." His eyes flicked once more over you, slow and thorough. "But I'll be sure to extend the invitation back one day... in my court."

Your smile didn't waver. "You will know where to find me."

His grin turned lazy. "Oh, I will be sure to remember."

With one last lingering glance, he vanished — just a ripple of night and shadows left behind. Only then did you exhale. You felt the weight of three pairs of eyes still fixed on you. You tore another piece of cake between your fingers, glanced at the three stunned faces around the table, and smiled.

"So..." You popped the bite into your mouth, chewing slowly. "Which one of you will tell me how all of this happened? I got here, and the two amazing soldiers in shining armor were already on the ground."

Lucien choked. Feyre blinked at you, wide-eyed. Tamlin's chair scraped back as he stormed from the room without a word. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your coffee. Maybe Calanmai hadn't been a total waste of time after all.

~♡ Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam

#Spotify #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhys x reader #reader insert

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tsubasaclones · 1 month ago

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"wtf is that book", "do i have to read clear card", and other questions you might have after reading holic rei chapter 58

this post is going to be under a readmore because it contains spoilers both for xxxholic rei chapter 58 and like, the entirety of clear card lmao

soooo the last page of chapter 58 of holic rei made me gasp out loud because i never thought i see this fucking book again

for those who may not know, this is the new magic book that's introduced in clear card, generally labelled "alice in clockland" by akiho (who does not know about its magic properties)

the most important thing here is that clow reed once had this book in his possession, and even he failed to use it successfully

i don't have a screenshot on hand rn (too lazy to keep looking) but he then continues on to speculate that it might have been connected to why clow split his soul in half.

if you know why clow exactly clow split his soul in half you can get a pretty good idea of what clow was trying to accomplish with this book (especially with the "couldn't achieve the impossible" bit): he tried to use it in relation to yuuko.

now you might start to see why i'm a litttttle bit nervous to see it in xxxholic! we already established that this thing can't bring yuuko back. what's the point? are we going to rehash that? try to retcon it? what is clamp cooking here???

now you might be asking, what does this book even do? so glad you asked because it's been too long since i wrote an essay-length post yapping about clear card's bullshit.

to summarize, it can rewrite time, with some limitations.

this thing's not exactly easy to use either, if you couldn't tell by clow fucking reed failing. at some point in clear card it's stated that it's been over a century since it was successfully used (until clear card's nonsense, of course)

in clear card, kaito uses it to rewrite akiho's life so that she's actually sakura's twin (but in order to make things largely the same so they didn't have to get into it as much as they Really should have, clamp was just like "oh she was sick as a kid so she had to go live with the great grandfather until conveniently around the time she would have become part of the story originally anyway" which really gives me a lot more questions about this altered timeline that, of course, never get answered. lmao)

the catch here is that he couldn't rewrite anything that was older than him. so he can rewrite akiho's entire life no problem because he is in fact significantly older than her, but her mom had future-seeing abilities and kaito is younger than her so he couldn't erase that completely, so the past/young version of her knew something was up. he also didn't account for the fact that the guardian of this magic book was fucking sick of his shit and thwarted this plan behind his back by leaving a message to sakura that stayed in the altered timeline.

and that brings me to my next point. the guardian of this book, momo (who i love very much. she's awesome)

here's a fun fact about her that's not relevant to what role she could possibly play in holic rei: she's [most likely] named after the book momo by michael ende, which makes sense considering her ultimate role in clear card's plot, but she has this name because akiho is a fucking book nerd who decided that was her name.

you see, the way she works is that whoever she's in a contract with or whatever decides her name and her book's name. now akiho does not have magic and is not in a contract with momo, kaito is, but akiho's mom gave momo to akiho (in plushie disguise) the day she was born, and akiho had no clue she wasn't just a plushie until after the timeline shit (they also never get to reunite after this and they just straight up don't let akiho express any opinion about this ever afterwards??? hello?????????????? but that's beside the point of this post). anyway

but because akiho had momo with her long before kaito realized she was a magical creature and got into a contract with her, and because he was raising her (yes, he's raising her. yes, he's like literally twice her age. yes, clamp thinks this is romantic. this is not a post about how i dislike certain writing choices in clear card so i will leave it at that.) he got used to calling her momo so once he started a contract with her she became officially named momo.

^ also. look at them. why would you separate them clamp.

anyway all that to say, momo is her name & alice in clockland is her book's name now but clow would have called them something else. don't know if holic rei will elaborate on that.

also here she is in her true form. the crown thingy is actually the ring from akiho's mom, lilie, which she gave to her for magic reasons or whatever (yeah there's a little bit of subtext between them but also i might be crazy. that's besides the point)

although when she shows up in clear card's special chapter (not physically, it's some kind of apparition type deal) she notably does not have this ring-crown-thing anymore. which makes me wonder if holic rei will answer why that is.

anyway there's a reason besides "we already established that she can't be used to save yuuko" that makes me nervous for her appearance in holic rei, and that's clear card's ending.

she actually doesn't show up in the last chapter of clear card (chapter 80), she's mysteriously MIA (and i guess we know why now ???) but the situation that makes me worry is as follows:

-throughout the story we are told time and time again that due to his overuse of time magic kaito is literally on the brink of death.

-he finally manages to use momo's book, which is an insane feat as we know because it hasn't been done in over a century and clow couldn't even do it. in any case this is a stupid big amount of magic, since earlier in the story he turns back like a couple hours or something which is noted as being significantly more than he had done before. then when he uses the book he's turning back WAY more than just a couple hours. he's rewriting several years. people's entire lifetimes.

-when the timeline shit is fixed thanks to sakura (which, it took her so much magic to do that that she was passed out for FOUR DAYS and a couple of the clear cards straight up died in the process) he should be in much worse of a condition that he's in, and he's only fine because his time got stopped.

DOES THAT SOUND FAMILIAR???

now i guess their sneaky little loophole is that they don't say "he should be dead" but just like, he should be doing really bad, but fuck that. like man, he was ALREADY on the brink of death before this which we were shown very clearly, he should be dead. what worries me about this is they're having akiho go "i'm gonna find a way to un stop his time and heal him" as if that's possible! as if that doesn't go against, well, yuuko's entire circumstances around her death.

which has always been extra baffling to me BECAUSE of how they implied clow used momo's book to try (and fail) to save yuuko. so when the chapter came out i was like "lmao they can't have momo here because she'd know this isn't going to work"

and the thing is, they've done dramatic irony with akiho a couple times before this

(this still makes me laugh btw)

but this isn't framed as that. it's framed as a good ending, like they may actually be able to pull that off at some point. but like??? they really shouldn't given. you know. everything that tsubasa & xxxholic established. and clear card is very much connected to these, given that the only thing that even really fucking matters at the end is that sakura has a second staff conveniently due to the timeline bs (and not anything she even did herself) so that when she has to give up the old staff she's not even inconvenienced, which kind of cheapens the whole thing imo. but besides that clear card has sooooo many tsubasa references, some of which i'm fine with but a lot of them i don't think really work in its favor.

so that's why i'm really worried about them bringing clear card stuff into holic rei. i can't trust their writing skills anymore. i can't trust that they won't be like "wellllllll what if we can bring her back after all"

i can't even be excited about the possibility of seeing momo again when she's one of the best things to come out of the trainwreck that is clear card. i'm like lowkey scared they're gonna use her to fuck everything up. please clamp. please

in general, i think clear card kind of needs to be quarantined as its own thing. i don't want that energy brought into their other stories that still have good writing. OTL

also, here's another fun fact: as of the end of clear card, all of the clear cards (except for one) were basically made to go be part of momo's book by the forces of the universe because they're also kind of forbidden magic like her book is (and whose fault is that? not sakura's. it's kaito's, because he was indirectly manipulating her into situations where she'd subconsciously make them in hopes she'd make one that worked for his plans so he could steal it and use it instead. but that's beside the point)

so uhhhh we might see the clear cards in holic rei? what fucking timeline are we living in

sorry this ended up long. i got nothing else to do rn

#sorry this ended up reallyyyy long when i said clear card spoilers i MEANT it #this um. like 1.7k words...#most of the time spent on this post was me trying to dig through my own screenshots afterwards to support my points.#didn't take much time to actually write. i love yapping about clear card.#xxxholic #i wouldn't recommend clear card it kinda really sucks. i'm just insane and have read it like 5 times. go read tsubasa instead #clear card reallyyyyy wants to be tsubasa and fails. just go read tsubasa instead you'll have a better time.#also that's my mii of her at the end. i found that screenshot when i was looking for the other ones and i wanted to include it

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maddascanbe-blog · 1 year ago

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Ladies and Gentlemen. I give you Little Vesperia. She's a powerful punch in a petite package! I posted her design in sketches ages ago but I was SO jazzed to finally do it digital. And I finally could do Teen Zoé and Vesperia.

Buckle up folks this is a long one.

I won't go into too much detail on Teen Zoé's fit, since I already talked about it in here. But Vesperia is where things get more interesting.

Little Vesperia obviously takes more inspiration from Queen Bee since in my rewrite Zoé idolizes Chloé so much. Zoé's father couldn't really be bothered to care about Zoé, she's been at every boarding school and summer camp he could afford while still keeping most of the money Audrey sends him. She rarely sees him, and when they are stuck together he wants her out of sight and out of mind.

Then Zoé is uprooted entirely when Audrey's infidelity is exposed. To save face she gets brought to Paris, to play at being one big happy family. She may be young, but she's wise enough to know this is just another person using her for their gain. She did face bullying at her schools, and a whole lot of nothing done about it from the teachers.

She also does not speak french. Which means that a good 70% of people have no idea how to communicate with her. And Audrey was no help. Zoé vas given so little information she didn't even KNOW she had an older sister when the was taken to France. Chloé was a complete blindside to her.

And she especially doesn't expect this intimidating teenager to kneel down to her level, and in perfect english explain that it's okay to be scared and she'll make sure Zoé won't be stuck wondering what's gonna happen next.

They spend the rest of the day learning where everyone is, and what certain things are called in french so that Zoé has a better way to communicate. They also sit down and order decorations for Zoé's room.

Zoé fully anticipated André to ignore her, but he is kind like he is in cannon. Just very busy so can only get in small conversations with her. Still, he's shown her more care than her own father had in the 9 years she's been alive. Since he'll ask her about her day, anything she may need, how school has been, etc. He also manages to get a free day to show her all the cool things in the hotel that most people don't know are there. He tries to have dinner with Chloé and Zoé as often as possible and they eat lunch together at the hotel at least once a week.

Now to Teen Zoé. I'll probably write this down in a separate post but my Idea for her is because of the limits I put on the rabbit miraculous Bunnix is no longer able to fight Timetagger, but she IS able to bring someone from that point in time to help instead. And since bringing anyone that could be recognized could potentially cause a paradox, the best solution is to bring in someone who they haven't met yet.

Design wise I like Vesperia's cannon design but it does look more like a wasp than a bee. I based her top on these biker jackets that had segments on the sides and just made the segments alternate black and yellow. I originally planned to keep the black top and yellow bottoms, but it just didn't look the way I wanted it too. I think making the jacket yellow makes it look much more like a bee. Also black mask because I like how those look better.

I think Little Vesperia looks good too, different enough from Queen Bee while still looking like she took inspiration, my favorite part was making it look like she had striped socks. While Teen Zoé looks like a logical progression while also dipping into badass as opposed to cute. Also her pupils turn gold to further differentiate her from Queen Bee.

(Bonus- Verpseria with colors closer to her originals)

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous redesign #miraculous re write #miraculous fanart #zoé lee #zoé lee redesign #vesperia #vesperia redesign #bee miraculous

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littlespacereader · 1 year ago

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I saw that ur criminal minds agere fic is just one so here is my request

Daddy hoch x dada derek x little reader where something is bothering her but she regressed to a headspace where she is non verbal (she is always tiny in her headspace but today she was extra tiny) and they try to find out what's wrong but there gotta go to work but dont want to leave her alone so they go all to the Bau and after a while she falls asleep with her paci in mouth a stuffy under her arm a blankie in her hand and wrapped in a very big cozy weighet blanked 😍😍🥺

GET OUT OF HERE! Don’t actually because this fic is absolutely adorable!! I’m a sucker for a good CG!Hotch fic but CG!Morgan too!! I’m dead!! I absolutely love the ideas you added to the request so I made sure to include them all! I apologize for how long this took me to write. Between school and all the rewriting I’ve been doing it’s been a bit of a hassle. But I’m very happy with how this fic turned out! Please enjoy!! Thank you for the request!

Baby in the Bullpen 🍼🏢📄

Caregiver! Aaron Hotchner, Caregiver! Derek Morgan, & Fem Little! Reader

Tags - SFW!, hurt/comfort, hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses, pacifiers, sippy cups, low key mentions of pull-ups, BAU family

Nicknames - Princess, sweetheart, baby, sweet girl, Daddy for Hotch, Dada for Morgan

Picture a day where everything is perfect. It’s a perfect day where everything goes well and there’s no problem or pressure at all. Almost like you’ve been floating on a happy little cloud.

Today is not one of those days.

Today is a day where everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong. Like a rain cloud that’s only centered on you.

I knew the moment I woke up it was going to be one of those days. Snuggled between my Caregivers in a nice warm bed, what more could any Little ask for? But my alarm went off and off to work I went.

It wasn’t every day my Caregivers had the day off, so I was especially mad I had work while the two of them were home. But trying to match my schedule with theirs always seemed like an uphill battle.

I arrived to my job at the bookstore to a line, let me repeat, A LINE of angry customers! How you could possibly be angry in a bookstore is beyond me, but today wanted to test me to see my limits.

So there I stood, listening to one complaint after the other, all while trying to keep my composure.

My book came with scratches on the cover!

My book’s cover was supposed to be purple!

I didn’t like the ending!

You didn’t say it was a sad book!

Blah, Blah, Blah. All utterly stupid and pointless complaints that were more ridiculous than the next. Despite their ridiculous claims it’s began to ware me down with one right after the other.

I longed for the day to end, for my Caregivers, who were probably on each others nerve by now without me as their favorite buffer. The thought brought a smile to my face.

Then my manager came over and decided to ruin it all. “Y/N, I’m going to need you to stay later today. Elizabeth called in sick.”

“I can’t I have plans.” Do I actually have plans? No, nothing besides a nice early dinner and cuddling with my Caregivers. But she didn’t need to know that.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel them. You’re the only one here so you’re going to cover it.” And with that she walked away.

Suddenly I felt the weight of the day layered on again. I became overwhelmed with emotions I wasn’t allowed to have at the moment. I took my break and went into the restroom to pull myself together.

Frustrated tears fell from my eyes but I couldn’t break down now, not yet. I would have time for this when I got home. I just needed a minute and then I could go back out there and deal with everyone once again.

~~~

Morgan could see Y/N’s headlights going up the driveway before he heard the car door slam shut.

“Hotch, she’s home.” He called out to him, before the front door opened.

The moment Y/N entered the house, Morgan and Hotch immediately looked over. Morgan sat by the television and Hotch had popped out of kitchen. But immediately they could both see that something was wrong.

“Princess? You alright?” Morgan right away asked. His usual smile replaced with a worried look.

Y/N didn’t say a word. She just dropped her bags and started crying. Morgan jumped from the couch and quickly made his way over to her.

“Hey, hey, hey, what happened? What’s going on?” Morgan lifted the sad Little into his arms.

Y/N didn’t say a word, she just grabbed Morgan’s shirt like her life depended on it and cried. Hotch crossed the house, joining Morgan and Y/N at the door.

The two Caregivers shared a worried look. “What happened sweetheart?” Hotch tried to ask but still Y/N didn’t say a word. She just buried her head against Morgan’s chest and continued to sob.

Morgan began walking around the room with the Little in his arms, lighting bouncing and shushing her cries. One arm wraps around her back with his hand cradling her head.

Morgan and Hotch continue to share worried looks to one another as the two Caregivers turn their profiling sides on for a moment.

“She was supposed to be home at 3 right?”

“Yeah but she texted me saying they had to keep her there long.” Hotch replied.

“So a bad day at work?”

“This isn’t just from a bad day at work. This is a build up. We were gone all last week and now the first day of our break she has to work. Mix that with possibly a bad day and…” Hotch trailed on.

“Poor baby,” Morgan coos, “Missing your handsome Caregiver today huh?” He jokes hoping to get anything from his little one, but it doesn’t get a smile. Instead she just rests her head on his shoulder as tears still slip from her eyes.

Thankfully all the walking around bouncing seemed to work, at least a little bit. Y/N was no longer crying but she didn’t seem too happy either.

“There we go, no more tear gorgeous. You’re okay now. We’ve got you.” Morgan sat beside Hotch on the couch, pulling Y/N in his lap.

Hotch leaned over and wiped the remaining tears from her face. “It’s been a long day hasn’t it?” He asked but Y/N just cuddled closer to Morgan instead of answering.

All at once the two realized their baby was feeling a bit non verbal today. It didn’t happen often with Y/N, but when it did they knew she was feeling especially young.

“Not in the mood for talking? That’s okay princess. We’ve got you.” Morgan starts to say.

“How about this? How about we go upstairs and get changed out of these big uncomfortable clothes and into something a bit more comfortable? Squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no.”

Morgan took her hand in his. After a moment of thinking he set a single squeeze. He looked to Hotch and nodded. “Alright, let’s get you changed.”

He stands and immediately smells something burning. “Aaron…you’re burning dinner again.” Hotch’s face dropped. He jumps up from the couch and runs into the kitchen.

Morgan smirked and shook his head. He carries Y/N upstairs and while chuckling, “It isn’t really a Daddy dinner if he didn’t burn it?” He joked. That got a small smile from Y/N. They were heading in the right direction.

Once in her light pink bedroom, he set her down on her bed and began going through her dresser drawer. “Okay, I think for you tonight we’re going to get you dressed in the absolute softest pajamas. And the absolute softest pajama you have arrrreeeeee these!”

He turned back to the bed to see Y/N sitting patiently with her favorite stuffie Sharky the shark in hand. “Ta-da!” He held up the fluffy pink long sleeve onesie complete with footed feet.

Y/N squeezes their stuffie as they took a moment of consideration. They decided with a simple nod of the head as a yes to Morgan and the footed onesie.

“Great! I thought I picked a good one,” he winked, “Now let’s get you changed for the night.”

Morgan helped Y/N take off their normal work attire and changed into the soft onesie and a pull-up for good measure. “There we are. Now let’s get your hair out of your face.” Morgan moved to get their hair tied and brush when there was a knock to the door.

~~~

Daddy walked in and he had that look on his face. You know, the look that says something’s wrong and he’s not happy about it.

“Derek I need to speak to you for a moment.”

That’s never a good thing.

“Y/N, we’ll be right outside the door okay? Just for a minute.” Dada reiterated.

My two Caregivers left the room and closed the door behind them. Then, once again, I was alone. The terrible feelings start to come back again.

Dada scared them away with his gentle rocking, shushing and jokes. He always knows how to make me feel better when I’m upset. But now my sadness was returning and with it fear. It’s never a good thing when your Caregivers go to talk about something first without you there.

I squeezed my shark stuffie a little tighter as I stared down the bedroom door. Was I in trouble? Was there trouble? My mind started to spiral with ideas.

It sounded like they were arguing, not with each other but about something. Again, that’s never a good thing to hear. My sadness took a backseat for a second as curiosity took the wheel. I hoped off my bed and walked over to the door with the hopes of maybe catching what they were talking about.

“Call them back and tell them we can’t. I mean you see the kind of night she’s having.”

“You don’t think I know that? *sigh* I tried everything, every excuse in the book. Rossi knows us, he knows Y/N. He wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t life or death, you know he wouldn’t.”

“So what are we going to do? She can’t be by herself tonight-“

I backed away from the door as I processed what they’re saying. Uncle Rossi called? That means they were going to the office. They’re leaving me.

The realization brought sadness back to the drivers seat. I walked back over to my bed and crawled under the covers. Maybe it’s better if I’m alone. I don’t want them! I don’t want anyone!

I cried into my shark stuffie as I heard the door open and close again. Then I heard the sound of footsteps over to my bed before I felt someone sit next to me.

“Sweetheart it’s okay. You don’t have to hide it’s just Daddy.” Hotch said as his hand rubbed the top of the blanket.

Okay maybe I was lying when I said I wanted to be alone…because I don’t. I want him to stay!

I peeked my head out from the blanket and was met with Daddy’s worried eyes. He opened his arms to me as a silent invitation, one I happily took. He brought me into his lap and hugged me close. I rested my head on his shoulder as tears fell from my eyes.

“There’s my sweet girl. Now, there’s something we need to talk about.”

The last scared me, and all at once I started crying some more as I shook my head no. I don’t want to hear the bad news.

“It’s okay, you didn’t hear it yet. It’s not a bad thing I promise. It’s just…a change of plans.” Hotch sighed as he began to rub my back to calm me down, “You see, Uncle Rossi called me and he really needs Dada and I to go to the office and work on something. Now normal I would rather you stay home and stay far away from the office. But I can see you really need Dada and I tonight so…you’re going to come to the office with us.”

My sniffles here and there stopped for a moment as I process what he was saying. I would come into the office with them?

I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked at him confused. I would go to his office, like this? And he was okay with it? I mean, his team knows about my regress. One of them even regresses too. Spencer and I are best friends because of it. But everyone else at the FBI doesn’t know.

I guess Daddy could see my confusing because he explained on. “It would only be us, just our team. It’s too late for everyone else to be at the office anyway. Just Aunt JJ, Aunt Emily, Aunt Penelope, Uncle Rossi and Spencer. No one else.”

That put my worries at ease, but it didn’t answer million other questions running through my mind. Before I really understood what was happening, he stood up and made his way over to the dresser.

He paused seeing my hair ties and brush sitting on top. Daddy chuckled, “It’s a good thing I stopped Dada before he brushed your hair. Isn’t that right?”

I mean he wasn’t lying. When it came to doing my hair, Hotch is my favorite person…well after Aunt Penelope, JJ and Emily of course. Morgan…he wasn’t the most gentle when it came to brushing my hair. He sat back on the bed and began to brush and tie my hair.

Once satisfied, he went to my closet and grabbed my usual Little to-go bag. He began packing it with the usuals some coloring books, crayons, toys, my pacifier, and a weighted blanket. But speaking of paci…

Immediately when I saw my favorite pacifier I whined and made grabbie hands for it. Daddy immediately held it up for me as if to say “is this want you want?” When I nodded my head yes repeatedly, he walked over and handed it to me.

I immediately popped it in and felt the rush of relief. There’s something about a paci that just melts away the stress. I held Sharkey close and closed my eyes for a moment, soaking in the nice fuzzy feeling before it disappeared.

Daddy walked back over with a little pacifier clip. He wrapped it around and clipped it to my onesie so I wouldn’t lose it.

Dada popped in with a sippy cup on his hand. He handed it to Daddy before he zipped the bag up. I looked over at Dada and notice the new outfit he was wearing. Actually, now that I’m thinking that I notice Daddy was the same way. Out of their usual at home comfy clothes and back into their stupid work clothes.

“All set?” Hotch asked Morgan.

“Yeah I’m all set. Is she all good?”

“She’s all packed up and ready to go.”

Then they both looked back to me. I just squeezed Sharky and looked away. Dada walked over and kneeled down beside me.

“I know the last thing you want to do tonight is go out. But…” he dragged the but on, “Think of this whole thing like an adventure. Going undercover with your Caregivers at the FBI. You’re our Little agent tonight.”

I lifted my head up and met his eyes. That did sound cool the way he was saying it. I put my arms out to him and made grabby hands to be held.

He never needs to be told twice. He smiled, lifting me up into his arms. “Come on baby, let’s start our adventure.”

Dada carried me to the car with Daddy right behind. In Daddy’s arms, my backpack and his brief case in the other. Daddy hoping in the drivers seat while Dada buckled me into my seat. Once he hopped into the passenger seat, we were off.

The ride to the BAU wasn’t long at all, but with the emotionally exhausting day I’ve been having, I kept nodding off the whole drive. I really only woke up when the SUV came to a stop in the underground parking garage.

Daddy came to my side of the car, helping me with my seatbelt before I hoped out. It was weird seeing the parking garage so empty. Usually it would be filled with cars. Now it had our SUV and the others cars inside of it with the rest of the spots empty.

We made our way to the elevator. “Wanna press 15 for me sweetheart?” Hotch asked. I nodded and happily pressed the button. With that the doors close and we start to go up.

Once the doors opened I immediately started to feel shy. It’s very rare that I go out regressed like this, walking around in my onesie, stuffie in my hands and my paci in my mouth.

But today was a horrible, horrible day. And there was no way I was going to be much older than I am now.

I walk closer to Dada and grab his hand. He holds onto it tightly as I walk sort of hidden behind him.

Once in the bullpen Rossi greeted us. He began briefing Morgan and Hotch on what’s going on. All the big words fly over my head as I stay hidden against Dada’s side.

After a moment he turns and looks at me, “And hello my beautiful niece! How are you doing tonight? Out on a late night adventure?” Rossi smiles.

“She’s not feeling very talkative tonight David.” Hotch explains.

“Aw! That’s no problem. Whatever is most comfortable for my favorite niece in the whole world.” His kindness starts to bring me out of my shell a bit. I turn from Dada’s side to Rossi with a small smile across my face.

“She’s your only niece.” Morgan chuckles.

“Doesn’t make her any less my favorite.” Rossi winks towards me. Again I can’t help but smile.

With my free hand I lift Sharky up to Rossi to see. “Ahh! Well if it isn’t Sharky! He scared me! I thought there was a loose shark in here! You better keep an eye on him Y/N.” He winked.

Rossi looks back up towards Morgan and Hotch and explaining what they needed to do.

Morgan looks to me and squeezes my hand before letting it go, “Alright princess I gotta go do some work. You’re going to go with Daddy, okay? I’ll see you later.”

With a pat to my back and a kiss to the top of my forehead Dada he made a move to leave. But before he could I grabbed his hand again, a whine sounding behind my pacifier.

I could feel Daddy place a hand on my shoulder as Dada turned around and took his hand from me. “I know baby, I know. I promise I’ll be back soon. You stay with Daddy.” He tried to reassure but I shake my head no.

Tears fell from my face as I watched him walk into the middle of the bullpen and take a seat at his desk. I didn’t want this! I want to be home with the two of them!

Daddy picks me up and carried me towards his office, all while rubbing my back and trying to reassure me. Looking over his shoulder I could see the whole team gathering to talk about the case.

Aunt JJ and Emily stand next to Morgan’s desk chatting with him. Not unusual. What is unusual is Spencer. I’ve never seen Spencer outside of our headspaces before. Whenever we hang out he’s regressed with me. So seeing him working and being his usual adult self was an odd shock to my system.

But soon we were in Daddy’s office with the door shutting behind him. All at once the overwhelming office became less overwhelmed with just the two of us together.

He sat his briefcase down on his desk before crossing the office and taking a seat with me on his office couch. “It’s okay. I know, it’s a long day isn’t it? And it keeps getting longer. But I’m here and Dada’s just a few feet away. We’re here.”

Daddy spends a moment reassuring and comforting me. Once my tears stop falling he coaxes me to start to color at his coffee table. “Alright, Daddy’s got to go do some work and while I do why don’t you color a picture for Dada and I? If you need anything you just come over and I’ll help you.”

With a kiss to my forehead, he picked me up and placed me on the couch. He grabs my coloring book, my crayons and my sippy cup and places them all infront of me before he heads to his desk to work.

For a little while I try not to bother him as he types away on his computer and makes phone call after phone call. But after a picture or two I get a bit antsy. I want to be by him or Dada! Not at this stupid coffee table!

So, grabbing Sharky and my weighted blanket, I make my way over to Daddy at his desk. I round the desk and pull on his sleeve.

~~~

Hotch, who can’t even remember his name at the moment with the amount of work he has, snaps out of his fog when he feels a small tug on his sleeve.

Then a small smile creeps across his face as he sees the tired Little standing infront of him, rubbing their eyes with their fist, a yawn or two escaping behind their pacifier.

“Oh, Y/N. What’s the matter sweetheart?” He asks before remembering.

He takes a moment to look them over before asking, “You wanna go to bed sweetheart?” That gets a nod. “Okay, give me a second and I’ll get the couch set up for you.”

But before he even turns back to his computer, Y/N whiles and shakes her head no. That seemed to upset her.

Hotch turns to her once again, this time confused. She wants to sleep, but not on the couch. “What’s the matter honey?” He asked concerned.

Y/N, with tired tears in her eyes, reach out to him with her stuffie and blanket in her arms. Ohhhhhhh. Finally it kicks in.

“You wanna snuggle honey? Okay. Come here, let’s bundle you up first.” Y/N holds onto her shark as Hotch leans forward and wraps her weighted blanket around her. Then he picked her up like a little burrito and sits her on his lap. Her head rest comfortably against his chest as he wraps his arms around her.

“There you go. Comfy?” He asks getting a small nod in agreement. “Alright, you go to sleep. Daddy will be right here to protect you.” Hotch adds with a kiss to her forehead for good measure.

Hotch continues on working with Y/N peacefully sleeping in his arms. Her head pressed again his chest listening to his heart beat, her paci still in her mouth and her shark stuffie held tightly inside her blankie. She’s the most relaxed she had been all day.

An hour flew by before Hotch received a knock at his door. Garcia popped her head in to ask Hotch a question but that quickly flew out the window as she got a look at how adorable Y/N was.

“Oh my gosh!!! Look at her!!” She whispered, practically dying at the sight of Y/N peacefully sleep in Hotch’s arms.

Garcia couldn’t help herself and alerted everyone to the cute sight. Soon everyone was taking a break from their work to pop into Hotch’s office and see Y/N. They all cooed and awed at the adorable Little who only cuddled closer to her Caregiver.

Morgan smirks and rolls his eyes plays fully, “Hey! When is it my turn?”

“Your chances of being president of the FBI are better than you getting Y/N from my arms.” Hotch jokes back. Now that he had the sweet sleeping Little in his arms, he was not letting her go.

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snowbriar · 3 months ago

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Project Rise Revised

Ok so we are doing a thing guys we are 👏 DOING 👏 A 👏 THING.

I have been gathering headcanons and studying the cut content for Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for a month or so since I finally finished the series. I've got a long list of observations, ideas, and canon details confirmed by the producers but not explicitly shown in the series and I'm finally feeling like I'm ready to start this thing.

(psst, also if you're here for the Rise QnA screenshots the thread starts here)

So! What is this project?

It's essentially an attempt to rewrite the entire second half of Season 2 and Season 3 to fit with what the writers originally planned for the series before corners were cut and they had to abandon it (above image). But it's not just a rewrite: It's a rewrite in SCRIPT FORM. This means many things:

Each episode should be about the length of eleven to twelve pages, which is the same constraints the ROTTMNT writing crew worked under to ensure the action scenes had time to shine.

It will not be written like a typical fanfiction but rather like a play. Character names followed by dialogue, with brief descriptions of any action intended to take place.

While still hopefully emulating the spirit of Rise's fantastic fight scene animations, most areas of intense animation will be only briefly described and left up to the imagination of the readers.

The movie will be retconned out of existence and its plot would instead take place throughout the runtime of the Season 3 episodes.

Episodes that we already have the name or plot for will be smoothed out and polished and carefully put back together.

Great effort will be made to include amy and all things that the writers originally intended to have in the show. (For example, Ron Corcillo said in a tweet that there would have been more April and Sunita girl's night episodes, and that Casey Sr. might have developed a dynamic with them and been included in those outings.)

Huge emphasis on emulating the spirit of the show, including keeping a focus on platonic relationships, highlighting the positive parts of brotherhood, and cartoon chaos.

The finished product should look something like this actual script of a cut episode:

Anywho, it's going to be a long process, especially getting through the process of reconstructing episodes. BUT. I AM MOTIVATED. AND I AM MOTIVATED TO ACCEPT HELP. THIS IS MY MOTIVATED FACE.

*screams in cassandra*

So! What's first? First thing is I'm going to be going down the list and painstakingly piecing together a summary for the episodes we have a name for but no information about. After that we will focus on creating and naming the ten episodes that would have taken place between Karai's return and her death. After that we will start blocking out an idea of what Season three would have looked like, and once we have a list of episodes, summaries and all, the writing process begins.

For the record I am PERFECTLY okay with just getting to that point where we have episode names and a summary of what happens in those episodes and if no one is interested in assisting and that's all I'm able to complete, y'know, it's alright. But my ultimate goal is to get an actual script written of this hypothetical alternate universe series. Cause it IS an alternate universe; after all, in our universe the show was cut :(

So... Yeah. I'm not an artist and I see all the amazing artwork everyone makes and I feel like I can never live up to that standard. This won't be nearly as cool as if I had the ability to draw the episodes in ACTUAL PANELS like the Cass apocalyptic series did. Man that was some peak rise content right there. But, maybe it will be enjoyable for some folks :)

If you're interested in helping out here is where we will be workshopping everything!

okayay that is all bye now.

#save rottmnt #rottmnt #Project Rise Revise #rottmnt au #I mean it technically is an au #fanfic #Project Rise Revised

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dcdreamblog · 3 months ago

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related to the Hawks, the Furies are a similarly complicated tangle. I thought the first one was Wonder Woman's daughter but apparently she doesn't have a daughter and actually the first one was part of All-Star Squadron. My brain feels like melting whenever i think about it to hard. is this a reality rewrite thing (like those missing kids?) or am i crazy

So you're not going crazy. There is a REASON the idea that the second Fury was Wonder Woman's daughter has hung around for so long that has to do with the interpersonal issues around the woman's birth and childhood. This is one of those things I have been studying ahead of time knowing this ask was coming. Especially because both women are very deeply tied into my expertise. Also you should pretty much assume the answer to "is this a reality rewrite thing" is always yes (The universe changes when we're not looking, you won't remember how or why, the best possible plan is to not worry about it.)

Now, onto the first Fury so I can explain the second.

(A propaganda poster of the first Fury. She was popular pinup and nosecone art. For reasons) Helena Kosmatos was born in Athens, Greece in 1925. The first 16 years or so of her life are undocumented and assumed to be mostly moot until the Italian invasion and German occupation of the country in 1941. Her father was killed by Italian troops in an unknown incident and soon after her brother Michael began to collaborate with the occupying forces. Confronting her brother about this at the dinner table in front of their elderly mother, Mrs Kosmatos suffered a fatal heart attack from the news (her son had been keeping his collaboration a secret from their mother, which Helena didn't know at the time). Running from her brother onto the famous Areopagus a rock outcropping outside the city she unwittingly invoked the Furies of Greek myth and was possessed by Tisiphone.

This came with the benefit of granting her superhuman abilities, mostly strength and speed. But, as she learned when her brother confronted her it also allowed Tisiphone to take control of her body during moments of intense stress and anger transforming her into he mythological fury who slew her brother in cold blood.

Eventually discovered by Johnny Quick on an international assignment and taken to live with an aunt and uncle in Miami she was present when Axis Amerika attacked the Perisphere in April of 1942 where her powers were revealed at large. Taken into the newly formed Young All Stars she was instantly attracted to teammate Iron Munro with whom she shared an on again, off again flirtation. She also grew a close, sisterly bond with Joan Dale AKA Ms America who tried her best to take the troubled girl under her wing for a while. An important detail in your question would be when she met Queen Hippolyta, acting at that time under the identity of Wonder Woman. Helena and Hippolyta became VERY close in a short period of time, Helena coming to see the amazonian matriarch as a mother figure. When Hippolyta returned to Themyscira after the war Helena never truly got over the loss of forgave Hippolyta for the decision. Post war she returned to Greece, met a man, married and settled down until her husband was murdered at some point in the mid 70s by a Greek fascist in an attempt on Helena's life. Spending years stalking the man she caught up with him in England and one he was killed her fragile psyche was put in a state where she was discovered mostly catatonic and placed in an English nursing home. Which is where our second Fury enters this tale.

(The second Fury seen here speaking at an Infinity Inc press conference)

Soon after Helena's husband was killed, she gave birth to their child. Too dedicated to revenge to raise the child properly, Helena left her daughter, named Hippolyta after Helena's beloved mentor, with her old friend Joan Dale and her husband Admiral Derek Trevor. From which Hippolyta, nicknamed Lyta, took her surname after the pair adopted her when Helena failed to return for her daughter after 5 years. THIS is where the confusion comes from. The 1st Fury was very close to the WWII era Wonder Woman who treated her AS a daughter in many ways. And the 2nd Fury is named after said WWII era Wonder Woman due to that close relationship. To wrap up the story as quickly as possible, both women would struggle with intense mental and emotional traumas in life. Helena would eventually be discovered by the modern Wonder Woman and after a confrontation with Cheetah would take her to Themyscira where Helena and Hippolyta reunited after decades. With much effort and care Hippolyta was able to help her old protegee recover and officially adopted her as a second daughter alongside Diana. As far as I know Helena lives there still as a close confidant to Hippolyta and an official Amazon. Lyta would serve as the second Fury for a long stretch in Infinity Inc alongside many other heirs of the JSA, although she assumed she was the daughter of Ms America (the coincidence, or fate, of her choosing Fury as her codename is both staggering and heartbreaking). She would fall in love with Silver Scarab, the son of the Golden Age Hawks but the couple would tragically lose their first child soon after Hector himself was killed in the line of duty. Lyta would have a poor confrontation with her birth mother leading to the pair to sever basically all attempts at contact and while Lyta's adoptive mother did her best to be there for her despite her husband and Lyta's adoptive father passing away some years ago Lyta only became more and more despondent. She vanished from the public eye for a few years with the only update being the news that she had passed away. She, Hector and their son Daniel are all buried at Valhalla cemetery in New York where one can only hope they will be together in all the ways life kept them apart.

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tyrantisterror · 6 months ago

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At Sea Without a Map Post-Script

After two months of so, my little writing experiment At Sea Without a Map has come to an end. And because I'm vain, I not only felt compelled to share it, but to talk about it in depth after the fact, so here we are. This is going to be long, though, so I'm not only going to break it into sections, but put it all under the cut for the sake of your dashboard. So go ahead and dive into the depths of the Sea of Monsters with me one more time!

Part 1: Never Stop Blowing Up

The writing process of Wizard School Mysteries Book 3 was really strained - not because of the book itself, mind you. When I was actually able to work on it, Book 3 came together really well - I think it required the least substantial rewrites of any my novels thus far. It's just that real life was kind of beating the shit out of me while I was trying to get it done - or maybe the better metaphor was that it was just slowly but steadily draining me of energy all the time. I'm honestly surprised I got the book out in roughly the same amount of time as the first two - by the way life had been treating me, it should have taken longer.

But when I got done with it I was accutely aware of how tired I was. I still had the creative drive, but fuck I needed something simple as a palette cleanser - something easy, and more importantly, something that was allowed to be bad. I needed something creative to do that was surplus to requirements and fully within its rights to suck ass so long as I had fun making it.

Around this time, I decided to rewatch Dimension 20's Never Stop Blowing Up. Brief explanation of what that is: Dimension 20 is an actual play show, i.e. a recording of people playing D&D and other TTRPGs. I'd say its reputation is built on the contrast of its main DM, Brennan Lee Mulligan, who makes these meticulously crafted campaign plans, and his chaotic band of improv comedian players who promptly derail those plans spectacularly. Like, a good deal of the show's humor comes from Emily Ashford or Ally Beardsly doing something so off-the-wall that it shatters whatever the scene was going to be and creates a far more absurd and zany spectacle in its place. Which is why Never Stop Blowing Up is pretty notable, because it's the one campaign where Brennan himself is the agent of chaos, fully unleashing his own brand of madness that the players struggle to keep up with. And fuck does he seem to have fun with it.

Of course, all of the analysis above is purely from the outside looking in - it's likely that a lot of the "chaos" is played up for the audience. But still... there is something to the idea of a person who's been working on meticulously structured stories letting loose and just doing something extremely stupid.

So I decided to give myself a Never Stop Blowing Up moment - a short story that would be simple by design, with no standards to live up to or goal beyond "have fun telling a silly little story." I then came up with a few key criteria:

It can't be set in the Midgaheim/ATOM universe. I don't want the burden of figuring out where this story would fit among others.

It's gotta be a romance. People who've read my books might have picked up on the fact that I like to write about people falling in love, for the same reason I like to write about fire-breathing reptiles and friendly monsters (i.e. I use writing to indulge in things I'll never experience in real life). I've only used romance as subplots in my fiction before, and tend to feel a bit guilty if I focus on it too long - like I'm being self indulgent. Well, this is all about self indulgence, so the romance should be front and center.

It's gotta be SIMPLE, episodic even. Not complex plotting required.

I almost chose my xenomorph romance for this, but I had developed its outline to the point where it would be too complex to fit. I then considered a sort of superhero story that could be pitched as "what if Bringing Up Baby but Katherine Hepburn's character is a Harley Quinn-esque supervillain and Cary Grant's character gets turned into some sort of horrifying genetic mutant in the first ten minutes." That one hit a weird roadblock when I got to the character brainstorming phase (the first phase of any writing project I do) - I was trying to figure out what the mad scientist who turns out Cary Grant-figure into a mutant would be named, came up with the name "Dr. Skullfuck," immediately realized that having a character named "Dr. Skullfuck" is a Mark Millar-ass writing move that I could not allow myself to do, but then couldn't stop thinking of the name "Dr. Skullfuck" and giggling, which just brought all thinking to a grinding halt on that project.

(I'll still probably do it someday, though - just, you know, without Dr. Skullfuck)

Inspiration struck again, though. I'd been getting into Epic: The Musical, a musical retelling of The Odyssey, and it put me in the mood for a sea monster story. But, more than that, it got me thinking about one particular archetype from sea monster stories - but that brings us to the next part of this Post Script...

Part 2: It Was Always About Calibani

Ok, so, one of the big changes Epic: The Musical made involved Odysseus's encounter with the sirens, and before you read more of my rambling, I'd like you to watch two animatics for the two songs in question here:

youtube

A summary: one of the sirens takes the form of Odysseus's wife to try and tempt him into getting in the water, Odysseus tricks her into giving him directions, captures her and the rest of her kind, and proceeds to have his men slaughter them horribly. In the OG story the sirens don't die - nor does their song involve imitating a man's wife, for that matter, it's just a really pretty song.

This is done for an important narrative purpose - Epic: The Musical is focused on analyzing the moral ambiguity of Odysseus, and how it is constantly challenged by the impossible choices he is forced to make in his attempt to get home. At this point in the musical, Odysseus has decided to stop trying to be a compassionate man, shirking all mercy in favor of utter ruthless pursuit of his goals. These two songs are meant to be unsettling as hell - this is the beginning of a series of heartless choices by both Odysseus and his men that will culminate in the mutiny and complete annihilation of Odysseus's crew, as well as Odysseus himself being so hopelessly stranded that nothing short of divine intervention will save him.

I bring this up because when I first heard these two songs - specifically while watching these two animatics - it, like... it devastated me. I was so horrified and sad, so shaken by it. And part of it was for the reasons outlined above, but admittedly that wasn't the gut reaction I had. No, my immediate reaction was, and I quoute my own broken brain verbatim here: "You can't kill the sirens! They're not for killing, they're for loving!"

...now, those of you who know me are probably not surprised by this very stupid sentiment coming from me. One of my more popular posts is just me talking about how down bad I would be for various folkloric monsters whose whole shtick is "looks like a pretty lady but Watch Out." But as a person filled with immense self loathing and doubt, my brain immediately looked at that very stupid sentiment I expressed and said, "Wait, no, that's fucking dumb, I'm fucking dumb. The sirens are remorseless murderers. These sirens in particular preyed upon a man's love for his wife, who he has not seen in twelve years, to convince him to let them kill him. They are, by all standards of morality, Very Fucking Evil, and if they were not women you would not feel bad about them getting killed."

And as my brain argued with itself over this topic, I got to thinking about the various monstrous/othered sea women of The Odyssey - not just the sirens, but the witch Circe, the nymph Calypso, the monsters Scylla and Charybdis. And I thought about the others of their kind in other myths and folktales - selkies, mermaids, etc.

There's an archetype of sea monster that focuses entirely on one specific anxiety sailors are prone to, namely the fact that (for a good deal of human history) being on a boat meant spending a lot of time away from women. The horror of this monster is how it uses that desire for female company to tempt people into danger - like a mirage, it leads you to expose yourself to danger in pursuit of an illusory comfort.

But, unlike real world mirages, these monstrous sea women DO exist in their stories. More than that, they're often, like, sad and lonely. Their narrative purpose is just to be a temptation, but that doesn't change the fact that they do have lives of their own in these worlds. And, softie that I am, I can't help feeling sad for them, especially the ones who actually seem to want the same companionship the sailors they tempt want. Sailors don't stay with their Circes, they don't marry their Calypsos. The sirens live on a barren rock, alone, Scylla is left to wallow in misery at her monstrous form, and the selkie always has to leave for fear of being trapped by a person who won't love her on her terms.

I realized I had my hook for this simple, easy, silly little sea monster romance story: I was going to give a sea woman the happy ending she'd never get from anyone else.

Sailor may be the protagonist, but make no mistake: At Sea Without a Map was always, always, ALWAYS about Calibani.

The goal with Calibani was simple: I was going to set up a fairly standard Monstrous Sea Woman, but where other stories would let her be in one episode of the travel narrative and move on, this one would stick around. She'd be an unambiguous predator of human beings - an open and admitted maneater - but she would have no true malice to her. She, like all predators, eats what she can get to survive, and it just so happens that she's adapted to eat humans. And the story would pose the same question to the reader that my brain posed to me during Different Beast: is there any way you could make a siren-style sea monster sympathetic? Can you make a normal person who doesn't have my particular brain rot look at a maneating siren and think, "You're not supposed to kill her, you're supposed to love her!"

One of the few unavoidable plot points of At Sea Without a Map was that Calibani and Sailor's relationship would become romantic. What kind of romance it was could have varied substantially - it could have been one-sided, it could have been toxic, it could have been far more tragic OR far more comedic. But it was always, always going to be a romance of some sort - the goal of this experiment was to make you, the reader, love Calibani. All else was icing on the cake.

I decided to base Calibani's personality on Miranda from The Tempest - i.e. a sweet girl who is both wordly and naive, who understands the strange setting of our "lost at sea" story far better than the audience viewpoint character does, but views the mundane world of the audience viewpoint character with wonder and naiveté. In fact I almost named her Miranda outright... except I already had a character in the setting I chose for this story who had that name, and as an allusion to the same Shakespearean character no less. So I settled on naming her after Miranda's adoptive sibling (of sorts), Caliban - more fitting in some ways, as Caliban is a fish-human hybrid who is arguable more native to the magic island in The Tempest than Miranda herself.

(Calibani isn't the only Tempest name homage, either - her mother, Sycorax, takes her name directly from Caliban's unseen but oft-spoken of witch mother. Dr. Antonia Warefore takes her first name from Antonio, one of the human villains in The Tempest who hopes to use being lost at sea as a way to perform a coup. And the mothman Iriel takes her name from Ariel, the wind spirit in The Tempest who aids the wizard Prospero in controlling the magic island. If Sailor has a "real" name, it's probably either Ferdinand or Miranda, the two lovers who manage to blend civilization and the wilderness together with their romance.)

Visually, I wanted Calibani to not be any common archetype of sea monster woman, but rather something that evokes the popular images while still being her own thing. She's not a mermaid or a siren or a selkie - she's basically "what if a sea serpent was also a girl." In-universe, she's chubby because she, like all marine megafauna, needs blubber to survive. Out-of-universe, she's chubby because I've found that routinely drawing cute chubby girls is good for my mental health.

Part 3: CYOA

Now, while we live in a post-Muncher society where shame and cringe are emotions only the cowardly should experience, I am nonetheless Very Catholic about expressing my own feelings of, like, liking girls and shit. I cannot help feeling guilty when publicly expressing adoration of women without, like, an excuse - it's gotta be a joke or something, you know? I can't be genuine about it, or else Jesus will beat me with a cane for disrespecting women with my lecherous gaze.

But luckily I've cultivated a loyal audience of fellow monsterfuckers, which meant I had an excuse lined up: if I made this a choose your own adventure type deal, a story with audience participation, then you all would be my accomplices. And Jesus can't cane all of us! He doesn't have enough hands! I found a loophole bigger than his stigmata!

Plus I love collaborative story-telling - there's a thrill in not having total control of where the narrative is going. As Brennan Lee Mulligan must know, there's a joy in having to deal with the chaos thrown your way by letting others grab the figurative ball, even if just for a moment.

Part 4: Offbeat Melody

Since I did not want to set this story in Midgaheim, I decided to steer myself away from a vaguely medieval setting altogether. But I also didn't want to limit myself with the need for "realism" that putting it in a normal sea would require, and making a new setting whole cloth would start pushing this project into "not easy" territory.

Luckily, I had a setting lying around that I hadn't played with in a while, which just so happened to have a location that was PERFECT for the sort of Never Stop Blowing Up style madness I was aiming for. For a few years I ran a Monster of the Week TTRPG campaign called Offbeat Melody, and one of its core setting elements was taking the goblin universe hypothesis in paranormal science (yeah it's a real hypothesis) to an illogical extreme. We had specifically seen glimpses of the Sea of Monsters in Offbeat Melody, i.e. the parallel universe where monsters like Nessie, Ogopogo, Champ, and the like all hail from. Well, why not have a whole story set there? It's literally a universe devoted solely to creating sea monsters - what better place to strand our modern Odysseus?

Offbeat Melody was always sort of a Never Stop Blowing Up project, or at least NSBU adjacent. Some of my most unhinged story-telling moments are in that campaign - you could make a supercut of just the "commercial breaks" in the various sessions and it'd basically be an I Think You Should Leave episode. Taking one obscure corner of its multiversal world and exploring it in detail was perfect for this project.

Part 5: Monster by Monster

With our main romance as sorted out as could be for a CYOA story, it was time to figure out the "episodes" of this sea voyage. I settled on there being ten to roughly align with The Odyssey - just in terms of number, mind you, not in a one-to-one comparison. The first was, obviously, Calibani herself, which left nine more slots for me to fill with monsters. Let's go through them together in brief:

Tree Storks - any lost at sea story eventually has to get its protagonist into an island at some point, but this immediately begs the question, "Why don't they just stay on the island where it's safe?" The answer to that question has to be, "it's not safe there, actually." The Odyssey does this quickly and cleverly with a one two punch: the first island seems safe until you realize the food on it brainwashes you into forgetting everything except your desire to eat it, and the second island is full of delicious sheep but also giants who will eat you just as easily as they eat the sheep. When other islands show up in the story later, you immediately regard them with suspicion, because you don't know HOW they're going to be fucked up, but they definitely will be. My goal with the second episode was to establish the same sort of danger - that land is NOT safe, that islands WILL be fucked up and dangerous in ways you might not expect.

I also wanted to establish that this is not just a sea of monsters, but a very WEIRD sea of WEIRD monsters. It couldn't be any old monster on this island - it had to be one that was unique, unexpected, and maybe just a bit silly while still being menacing.

I've always felt that there's a lot of un-mined horror potential in storks, cranes, and herons - any bird with a long neck and spear-like beak it uses to stab smaller creatures from above. Just imagine yourself in a frog's place in the world - tiny, going about your business, when suddenly something shoots down at you from above and impales you before you even feel the shadow fall over your face. Or perhaps you did see the shadow - some of these birds spread their wings to create shade specifically to attract fish, and then spear the poor little bastards.

Well, what do people often look to islands for when out at sea? Shade - the shade of a palm tree. And palm fronds kinda resemble feathers, don't they? Wouldn't it be both ludicrous and terrifying is there was a stork big enough to mimic a palm tree - and wouldn't that be a DEVIOUS trap for a sun-drenched sailor to fall for? So the Tree Storks were born.

The Globster - I made a list of sea monster archetypes in the early planning for this project, and one I wanted to include was a kraken, i.e. some sort of tentacled sea beast. But I didn't want to do JUST a big squid or octopus, or even a riff on them. I wanted to take the idea of "big sea monster with lots of tentacles" into a stranger direction.

Since the Sea of Monsters is explicitly the home universe of lake and sea monster cryptids, I thought it might be fun if ASWaM's kraken equivalent was a globster - just a big ball of rotten meat. I love drawing monstrous faces, so I decided it'd just be, like, MADE of hideous rotten faces, all melting and congealing together, with its tentacles doubling as the tongues of its many mouths. A perfectly wretched image that, like the Tree Storks, would do well to establish how Fucked things could get in this setting. Plus similar monsters had appeared in Offbeat Melody, which would make for a fun sense of familiarity for the, like, five or so readers of mine who had listened to that campaign before.

Captain Peter & the Dolphin - Another thing I did in the early planning stages of this project was make a list of the different sea voyage stories I know and love, the most contentious of which is The Life of Pi. That's a story that I love on a literal level but kind of hate on a figurative level - its whole theme/message is that doubt is the worst thing you can have, that if you don't commit to believing something with zealous conviction you are a coward. As a person who thinks doubt is valid, that "I don't know" is sometimes the ONLY truly valid answer to a question, I have issues with that message.

But I can't help loving the beautifully ludicrous idea of a non-anthropomorphic tiger sailing the ocean on a big Odyssey of its own. Like, if that story didn't actively hate me for being agnostic, it would be one of my favorites.

So I decided to, you know, just steal the idea of a tiger Odysseus. The tiger in The Life of Pi is named Richard Parker. Richard Parker also happens to be the name of Peter Parker's dad. Hence we get Captain Peter - the figurative son of Richard Parker, if you will. And to ratchet up the absurdity of a tiger Odysseus, I made him a pirate and the sole sailor of his voyage. Somehow, this tiger has manned a boat on his own.

Captain Peter was intended to be the hero of another story - a sign for the readers that it IS possible for a stranded person (or, in this case, tiger) to survive out here. To that end, he had to rescue our heroes from another threat, but not one that would be interesting enough to take the focus off of the tiger pirate. Originally I planned for that threat to just be a big shark, but I ended up liking my shark design too much to put it in a role that small, so I quickly designed a nasty dolphin for the role instead. I think that worked out well, honestly.

Dr. Neptune - Episodes 5 and 6 were the mid-point of this journey, so I wanted the two monsters of those to escalate things significantly. I figured episode 5 was probably a good place to FINALLY give some meaningful exposition on what was going on, and there are a lot of stories about mad scientists doing weird shit on islands in my big list of sea voyage stories I love. So we get Dr. Neptune, a classical brain-in-a-jar mad scientist who's affable enough to give more-or-less accurate exposition but loony enough to be a problem. This also felt like a good spot to remind the reader that Calibani is not just a girl with a tail but rather a Sea Monster herself, and one that we'd been making stronger by allying with.

With his human-but-not-quite nature and cyclops eye, Dr. Neptune could sort of be seen as the Polyphemus of this story, couldn't he?

The Crocodisle - One of the sea monster archetypes on my list was "the island that's actually a sleeping monster," of which there are many in mythology and folklore. My favorite is the Jasconius from the voyage of St. Brendan, mainly because it's more or less benign and actually comes back to help St. Brendan and his crew at the end of the story. I always love when I can find an old story with a friendly monster in it.

When thinking of my own spin on the island monster concept, I remembered the only Magic the Gathering card I had as a kid, which I still have and love to this day: The Sandbar Crocodile. This card already inspired Crocogon's color scheme in The Atomic time of Monsters, but I felt I could go to that well again one more time, and so made a crocodile that wasn't just a sandbar, but a whole damn island to itself. And, like Jasconius, it turns out he's pretty chill.

I did not think of the pun name "Crocodisle" until I was actually writing the chapter in question.

The Femdom Mermaids - These three were a late addition to the roster. When I had Calibani bring up mermaids early in the story, I realized as soon as I wrote her rant about them that we'd HAVE to meet some later on in the story.

The readers had significantly shaped Calibani and Sailor's romance by this point, and I decided that it could be useful to have a chapter that was devoted to showing definitively how these two were good for each other. I thought the mermaids could provide a good contrast: have them act out a seemingly more benign take on the monstrous sea women trope (they abduct our hero to protect and care for them!) only for it to quickly feel MORE deranged than Calibani's comparatively simple desire just to eat him.

The spirit of Calibani's rant about mermaids was taken from weird* girls I knew in high school complaining about cheerleaders, so I wanted the mermaids to look like the sea monster equivalent of popular kids to Calibani's chubby weird girl. Two of them got the names of famous beauties - Helyne = Helen of Troy, Clio = Cleopatra.

(*when I say "weird" I mean it in a complimentary and affectionate sense)

Bob, meanwhile, kinda... rebelled, I guess? Before I had names for them, I listed "bob" by her as just, like, a descriptor for her hair cut, but then I liked it as her name, and once she was named Bob she became more than just a mean popular girl. She was a weirdo too, the little punching bag of the two mean popular girls who did their dirty work and smiled through their abuse because hey, at least they included her. It gave the trio an easily defined dynamic, helped make two of the three more visibly nasty, and gave us comic relief in an arc that could very well have gotten too uncomfortable otherwise.

And I guess it worked - readers REALLY loved Bob, and were very vocal about it, and I realized mid-arc that I had accidentally made her too likable to just leave in this arc. So Bob got to be rescued from her awful friend group thanks to readers like YOU.

Lord Ironteeth - yeah, this was the shark that was too cool to be a minor threat. When I drew his noggin, I realized he would need a chapter of his own, one with gravitas. I decided he'd specifically be the threshold guardian -once we beat him, we'd know for sure how to get home, even if there were a few more threats in store.

Spindle Inc and Sycorax - when I was a kid I used to have this recurring nightmare about being on some sort of underwater sea station that had this huge sea serpent trapped inside it. I'd look at the sea serpent from a window within the station and see it coiling in its tank, only for it to look at me with fury. In that glance I would suddenly realize two things with absolute clarity: first, it was going to break free and kill everyone, and second, we deserved that destruction for what we had done to it. The terror of the dream was less that the sea serpent was going to break free, and more the guilt of knowing that all the mayhem that was about to unfold was our fault to begin with.

I thought that would be fun to homage with the penultimate chapter of this story. OBVIOUSLY the sea serpent was Calibani's mom, obviously the trauma of its capture was why Calibani grew into a predator that specializes in hunting humans, obviously we would have to free the sea serpent despite that running counter to Sailor's goal of getting home. Easy, easy, easy plot point to include.

Spindle, Inc. is the primary antagonistic force in Offbeat Melody, so they easily slotted into the role of the arrogant humans who captured this monster for nefarious and selfish motives. They could tie a lot of other plot threads together too - Dr. Neptune was a scientist who worked for them as a contractor only to get screwed over (i.e. they stranded him in the Sea of Monsters, expecting him to die, and then used his research to make their own base of operations in it), we'd learn of him through a spindle briefcase left behind by some unfortunate rogue agent who got eaten by the Globster while he was trying to escape, hell they could even be one of the possible origins of Sailor themself (more on that later). Very useful villains, Spindle.

The Abyssal Mother - I knew the last sea monster would need a lot of punch to it. I briefly considered just a big whale - the Moby Dick to Spindle's corporate Ahab - but it felt underwhelming after all that came before. So I went for arguably the most dramatic possible sea monster, a full on Cthulhu-style elder god. If you're a frequent follower of this blog, you might know I have particularly high standards for Eldritch Abominations, so I realized this was going to be a pretty big challenge for me to live up to, and decided to keep the cthulhu in question reserved to the last few entries as a result - the less it appears, the less it has to live up to.

I realized I had a good angle when my experiments with the Cthulhu "squid for a head" concept ended up having a face framed in shadow - you know, the same visual that our protagonist has in most appearances. That provided some very juicy parallels between the two that made this final monster feel particularly noteworthy to me, ones that I'll leave you to ponder, since they tie into...

Part 6: Themes

I did not set out to have a theme in this story. I just wanted to make a sailor and a sea monster kiss. That was my only goal.

But I really don't begin with theme in ANY of my writing. I figure out topics I want to address, but for all my novels I feel like the themes didn't start coming together until about halfway through the first draft, when enough of the elements of the story had been set down and interacted with each other enough for me to realize what I was saying with them. A huge part of my second and third drafts for my novels have focused on making the themes of my stories more concrete and unified.

Well, ASWaM is very much a first draft of a story, but it's a simple enough story that I think the theme found itself pretty well despite lacking subsequent drafts to refine it.

ASWaM is about doubt and direction. It's about being adrift in a world that is in many ways hostile by nature, about not feeling like you're where you're supposed to be or even WHO you're supposed to be, and about setting off aimlessly in the hope that maybe you'll find your way to that mythical land of "what my life is supposed to be."

When I began the story, Sailor had amnesia and wore clothes that obscured their identity as a way to make it easier for anyone to step into Sailor's role. Sailor had to feel like You, the Reader, and so we don't know their name, their gender, their eye color, their hair color, even their skin color (note that their hands are always wearing gloves, and their face is always in shadow).

But it also meant Sailor is, well, undefined, at least at the start of the story. Sailor doesn't know who they are, what they are, how they came to be. Sailor feels distinctly that they should be Something Else, should be Somewhere Else, should be Someone Else, should not be who/what/where they are. Sailor is plagued by doubt, by a need to go in a different direction, by a need to be other than they are.

This initially contrasts with Calibani, who begins the story very confident that she is doing exactly what she was designed to be doing and acting exactly like she should be. As they interact, they begin to shift each other in opposite directions - Calibani questions her existence and nature, sometimes to a self destructive degree, and Sailor begins to find something about who and where they are that they like. They find a healthy middle ground together - doubtful enough to want to be better people, but with love for themselves that allows them to not feel the need to up-heave their lives entirely.

I knew at the start that I would build an expectation for there to be some answer to the question of who Sailor is and where they came from, because those are the questions that begin the whole narrative. I brainstormed a number of answers to those questions, but once I got a few chapters into writing the story and saw this theme of doubt developing, I realized I couldn't answer them. From a thematic standpoint, the doubt HAD to remain. So I gave hints to possible answers, bits of evidence to support the possibility of them being true, but never planted a smoking gun that answered it for sure.

Sailor can't know the answer because NONE of us know the answer. Outside of blind Life of Pi style faith, you cannot know for sure that you are living the life you're supposed to live. All you can do is figure out whether you're happy with the life you've got, or if you need a change. Sailor will never know who they are supposed to be, but they did learn who they are, and they love that person now.

For those curious, the possible Sailor origins are:

Occam's Razor: they're exactly what Dr. Neptune theorized, i.e. a human who got stranded in the Bermuda Triangle (or the Devil's Triangle or any other number of paranormal triangles) and fell into the Sea of Monsters. The trauma of that experience gave them amnesia. It's just brain damage and bad luck.

A Spindle Experiment: Dr. Warefore mentions that Spindle has been trying to find a way to make a human who can evolve like the denizens of the Sea of Monsters. Sailor may well be an attempt to do just that, perhaps one they wrote off as a failure and abandoned (they do that a lot)

A Deep One: Sailor is the offspring of one of the denizens of the Sea of Monsters (most likely the Abyssal Mother herself) who has somehow been tricked into believing they are human, to the point where they seem to be human to everyone else, even other monsters. Maybe a human summoned a sea monster to breed with on earth, and Sailor ended up being subconsciously drawn back to the Sea by their blood. Maybe Sailor never actually lived on earth at all, but was only made to THINK they had as part of the transformation into a human.

The Platonic Ideal of a Sailor: the Sea of Monsters is full of archetypal concepts, and arguably a sailor trying to find their way home is just as archetypal as any sea serpent, mermaid, or kraken. Our only proof that humans aren't native to the Sea of Monsters is Dr. Neptune, and he's not as reliable an expert as he claims to be.

This theme of doubt and direction also made the compass more important to the narrative than a simply mechanic for audience participation - a compass, after all, gives direction, and the feeling that Sailor is not where they're supposed to be, that they need to head in a different direction, is ultimately the catalyst of the plot. The compass is, in many ways, the antagonist of the story - the force that keeps Sailor from accepting themself. I realized this a little after I started making the different directions have personalities - initially they just represented broad concepts (North = follow conventional wisdom ala the North Star, South = preserve your short-term self interest at all costs, East = act with curiosity and be willing to take calculated risks, and West = throw caution to the wind and do anything that seems novel and exciting), but over time they became little characters themselves.

Since it was our thematic antagonist, I decided to pepper in some ideas about what the compass might be in-universe - and, in a move that would no doubt frustrate the compass, we also don't know for sure which of those is "correct." Is the compass a poltergeist, some amalgamation of dead sailors who try to steer other lost souls home? Is it a malign entity that leeches off of those desperate enough to seek its aid, living through them while pretending to aid them? Is it a device Spindle made to lure sailors to their clutches, OR to guide their experiments in human/monster hybrids? Was it a cursed item that forced a sea monster to assume a human shape? Who can say - the compass sure can't, it can only tell you a direction to go in.

Part 7: Q&A

Since this was an interactive story, I felt it was only fitting to add one last interactive element to this post-script write up, and some of your happily obliged me by sending in questions.

When I noticed how fast readers were falling for Calibani, I figured there was a good chance we'd end up staying in the Sea of Monsters. By chapter 7, I figured it was more or less a given, and by the end of the Lord Ironteeth encounter I was almost 100% sure Sailor would remain at sea. There was always a chance, though - while a look at the polls shows that the audience got more and more on the same page towards the end, there were always dissenting voices, and the desire to get an answer to the question of Who Sailor Was remained strong, as a number of people kept trying to find angles where they could get that AND stay with Calibani.

I was surprised early on by how easily the audience fell in love with Calibani, to the point where I made a few posts commenting on it. I mean, I shouldn't have been - as I said earlier, I have cultivated an audience of fellow monsterfuckers on here, and I know at least a few of them saw my bait and knew they could get me to be freaky in a way we found mutually agreeable (thank you all again for helping me escape being caned by Jesus for being horny).

Like, we REPEATEDLY ignored developing the plot in the Tree Storks chapter for several days just to spend more time with Calibani - something that I enjoyed immensely (this whole thing was an excuse for me to write and draw a cute chubby sea monster girl as much as possible aftter all) but also knew as a storyteller was not what most would consider a good story call. I like how it turned out, but it defied conventional narrative wisdom, you know? I was surprised.

On the other side of the coin, I was also surprised by how the audience NEVER chose an option that was humorously disastrous. I gave plenty of them, and, like, generally in collaborative storytelling there will be at least one moment where your collaborators decide to do the really, REALLY stupid thing that makes everything spiral out of control really quickly. I figured at least once the audience would choose the troll response, but no, you guys worked hard to keep Sailor and Calibani alive. You refused to let them hurt each other, refused to let them throw themselves into danger, refused to imperil them for your own chuckles. It was very sweet and unexpected.

I say "you refused" but to be fair it's not like NO ONE voted for the troll options - they generally got a handful of votes, just one that was beaten by a landslide of more reasonable options. Hopefully those of you who voted for the troll options enjoyed Bob throwing you a bone by disintegrating Dr. Warefore - that was my consolation prize to you.

Yes. I knew at the beginning that there would be two endings for this story: either Sailor leaves the Sea and goes home, or Sailor stays there forever. Or, you know, Sailor dies as a result of you guys choosing several stupid options in a row, but as stated above you guys avoided those scenarios pretty decisively.

Had Sailor gone home, the following would have occurred: first, they would forget everything that happened in the Sea of Monsters. Second, they would wake up in a hospital, having been found in the Atlantic Ocean by a human-recovery charity run by... oh, isn't that funny, some tech company named Spindle Inc! Spindle would foot the medical bills and even offer Sailor a job, but Sailor would decline because even now they're still not sure what Spindle even does. Sailor would go back to their life and find it familiar and utterly mundane, but not particularly happy. Their father died when they were 18, their mother was never in the picture, they have no siblings. They worked an office job and were sort of a nonentity - that position has long since been filled, but Sailor gets a new job and lives out much the same life: simple, mundane, dreary. Every now and then they get a pang of desire to leave, to go to sea, but they push it out of mind. They never even see the ocean again as long as they live.

Sailor would have gotten the normal life they thought they were supposed to have, the normal memories and name and identity, the mundane life of a normal person. And they just had to trade everything they found in the Sea of Monsters to get it. A question is answered, a direction is followed, but is it the right answer, the right direction?

Well, I think doubt would have remained.

I had a very vague idea for there to be some sort of man-eating giant in, like, a crystal castle. He got cut to make way for the mermaids.

I wanted to fit in a big whale and a giant crustacean, but there wasn't room or an interesting angle for me to want to make room for them. Saved for a possible sequel, I suppose.

I also wanted to have a scene with, like, DOZENS of sea monsters, including some of the ones from Offbeat Melody, but the goal of "this should be EASY you dumbass" made me kill that idea pretty quick.

Thank you!

The primary inspirations were:

The Odyssey and Epic: the Musical

The voyage of St. Brendan

The many "weird shit happens on an island" movies in Toho's filmography, i.e. Godzilla vs. the Sea Monster, Son of Godzilla, Yog Monster of the Deep, Matango, etc.

The Island of Dr. Moreau

The Boy and the Heron

Ponyo (specifically Ponyo's parents - I wanted Sailor to have the same desperate energy as that wizard who fucks the giant sea goddess)

The Life of Pi

Slay the Princess (perhaps most obvious in the use of second person narration, multiple voices in the protagonist's head, and falling in love with a creature that has tried to kill you at least once)

I'm going to use this to springboard to a related point in a second, but first a genuine yet humorous answer: Yes, absolutely yes, I am enough of a big romantic sap that I would give everything about my life away to be with a person who loves me and explore a world of monsters in a heartbeat. Hell, I would have jumped in the water the minute Calibani asked and died with her fangs in my neck and a smile on my face. I am dumb this way. Do not follow my example.

On that related point, though... Most stories like this, I daresay ALL stories like this that I know of, end with the hero abandoning the fantasy world in favor of reality, never to return. And that seems like the proper choice and lesson on the surface - we don't want to tell audiences to give up their real life in favor of a fantasy, after all. That's encouraging escapism, and that's not healthy!

But, like... textually speaking, the fantastical world IS real to the characters in these stories. And it's often not really an escape - was Sailor's life devoid of conflict and suffering in the Sea of Monsters? Fuck no! It's just that they figured out how to deal with that conflict and suffering - they built skills and a support system, they adapted, they learned how to overcome what was there.

I think it can be argued that sometimes the return to a "normal" world is, in itself, an escape - the idea that your life can spiral into chaos but that's ok, you can just reset everything and go back to The Way It Was and Should Be is just as unrealistic and unhealthy an idea as You Should Escape to A Better World. Sometimes your plans for your life fall apart, sometimes you're thrown into a place you never intended to go, sometimes you have to learn skills you never anticipated needing and ally with people you never thought you'd befriend to deal with problems you never dreamed you'd have to overcome. And sometimes it's ok to look at your derailed life, your Not Where You Should Be life, and say, "Well, I've learned how to live here... maybe I can stay."

Especially if there's a cute chubby sea monster girl who loves you.

Bob was never supposed to appear past chapter 7, but about halfway through that chapter I realized the audience and I myself would be heartbroken if we didn't rescue her. Definitely for the best - she provided some well-needed comic relief in the final chapters.

This is gonna sound snarky, but, yeah - there were 58 choices with four options a piece, and we only chose one of the four. While some of the options would have similar results, almost none would have had identical outcomes. And some would have been VERY different.

Like, to go back to the beginning: when Calibani attacked, we could either throw a net on her, harpoon her, try to drive around her, or hide below deck. We picked the net, but for the other three options:

Harpooning would result in us hitting her in the thigh, causing her enough pain that she collapses on our deck and we, horrified at the violence we committed, just sort of push on. Calibani would be wounded for at least the next chapter, perhaps longer, and significantly weaker (and probably harboring a great deal of hidden resentment while also being genuinely scared of Sailor). She would be vulnerable during the stork attack, forcing Sailor to take a more active role in that chapter.

Trying to steer around her would result in us essentially fighting her with our boat, resulting in the boat capsizing and Calibani getting tangled up in it. We'd wake up alone on Stork Island and have to travel in search of our boat, alone and vulnerable among man-eating trees. We'd run into Calibani again, also beached and in trouble, end up recruiting her to help us get our boat out of the sand.

Hiding below deck would end in a sea storm that leaves us inside our boat as it's beached on Stork Island. We'd fend off the storks alone, and run into Calibani once we get our boat out to sea, as she got away more or less unscathed.

All of these would have majorly changed the trajectory of our relationship with Calibani and our identity as Sailor, despite seeming to have the same component parts on the surface. Now account for how similarly slight changes in the other options could have gone, and we could have had a very different story indeed.

Part 8: Our Girl

I just think she's neat!

#At Sea Without a Map

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xcherricutie · 2 months ago

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« written in blood »

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[Goku Black × F!Reader]

[act 1. death's door]

[word count - 4.2k]

[synopsis - Your time had prematurely come, getting a knife in the side when you foolishly decided to walk home alone at night. And right when you had accepted your disgraceful death, with a mouthful of the sidewalk and your own blood, you were saved. Though after getting to know your savior, you have your doubts that he's as good as people believe him to be. Your savior, Son Goku, the man who has supposedly saved the world, has just saved you. And now you owe him]

[tags - descriptions of blood, injury, romance, yandere themes, themes of obsession, toxic love, possible eventual smut]

[notes - I wrote the first 1.8k words over a year ago, found the draft, and wanted to keep the idea going. I hate that you can see a personality switch in the reader half way through, but I didn't have the energy to rewrite, sorry. Also, this is supposed to have multiple parts, but I haven't even written the second part yet, so I can't guarantee it'll get another update. I don't have an ending planned, and don't know where this will go yet. Hopefully I'll plan that before we get there. Crossposted on wattpad]

[proofread]

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Death's Door

A vile, putrid smell filled the night air as a dark crimson liquid splattered across the ground.

Gasping for breath, you collapsed to the ground, your attacker taking off in the dark of the night. You gagged as the taste of your own blood filled your senses, the very essence of your life spilling from your mouth. You attempted to push yourself up, blurry eyes scanning for any sort of help, but a gargle of a gasp escaped your lips as your arm slipped from under you, your face smashing into the sidewalk below. You couldn’t even utter a sound of pain, your body stilling as you lay in a puddle of your blood.

Your hands squeezed the soft flesh where you had been stabbed, tears brimming in your eyes as you wished you hadn’t even risen from your bed earlier that day. You choked on a sob as you realized the sight of the sidewalk stained in your blood would be your last. You would never get to go back home, get cozy, and watch tv or read books for hours on end. You would never get to talk to your friends or family, or find that one special someone. You were doomed to lie here on the cold, hard concrete, the moon’s light reflecting off the fluids pouring from your body.

As that feeling of hopelessness began to set in, you barely heard the nigh hysterical screaming off in the distance. It didn’t even register in your head that something was going on, not even as a pair of white boots stood in the river of your blood. Your eyes fluttered closed with the cold comfort knowing that at least someone saw your death.

Or at least, that was the feeling you recalled upon your “passing”, but as light began to rouse you from your slumber, you groaned in annoyance, peeking your eyes open. As you took in your surroundings, staring at the curtains covering the open window as they blew in the gentle breeze, your eyes widened.

You were in your own bedroom. You stared with wide eyes, full of shock as you scraped your mind for your most recent memory. You very clearly remembered being attacked, but your memory after collapsing grew fuzzy. Perhaps it had all been a dream? You lifted the blankets off, your breath catching in your throat as you spotted the maroon stains splotched across your shirt. Swallowing thickly, fear gripping you, you lifted your shirt hesitantly. Just as you pulled the cloth up, you squeezed your eyes shut, as if terrified of what kind of sight might be awaiting you.

You pushed those fears into the back of your mind, trying to reason with yourself that there was nothing wrong. Perhaps you had managed to crawl your way home and wrap yourself up. The fact that you knew nothing of first aid prodded at your mind, but you ignored the thought as you opened your eyes. You looked down in surprise to see bandages neatly and meticulously wrapped around you, as if done by a professional, or perfectionist. You wanted to be thankful for the sight, knowing that you had survived the attack, but a particular thought began to make your stomach twist with anxiety as you tried to remember how you were taken home and treated. You knew realistically it couldn’t have been yourself, so how?

Just as the thought crossed your mind, a small creak from within the tiny apartment you lived in made you jump, your skin crawling as you realized there was only one reason this happened. A hazy memory made your hair stand on-end as you remembered someone had been there. Someone had seen your body, you were certain.

Pulling your legs from the blanket, you were careful not to make a single sound as you tip-toed toward your closet. Carefully opening the door, you grabbed an old, discarded metal bat you’d long forgotten in your closet. You clenched your jaw at the thought of having to fight someone, your injured side aching and begging you to lie back down. Furrowing your brows, you held onto the waning feeling of bravery as you made your way toward your bedroom door.

You failed to notice the moving shadow beneath the door, taking a deep silent breath as you reached for the doorknob. However, just before you could lay a hand on it, it twisted from the other side. You stared blankly, as if to let your brain process the action, freezing in place as the door opened. Your eyes met a pair of pitch-black eyes, the sight of a lumbering man towering over you making your bowels nearly empty themselves as your heart plummeted to your stomach.

Without a second’s more hesitation, you let out a shrill screech, swinging the bat with all your strength. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, the bat coming to an abrupt halt in the palm of his hand. He gripped it tightly, ripping it from your grip, your heart thundering in your chest as he glared at the bat, dropping it on the ground.

A hysterical cry escaped your lips as you fell onto your bottom, scrambling backwards, your back hitting your bed frame. The man looked down at you with furrowed brows, almost like he was merely annoyed. Your eyes welled as you stared up at him, waiting for him to attack, to spew insults or demands. But your eyes widened in shock as he crouched down to your level, holding his arms out as if to show he wasn’t going to make any sudden moves.

“Calm yourself, mortal, I mean no harm to you,” He spoke, his voice smooth and soft, speaking gently in your presence. You stared at him in a mix of horror and confusion, taking a closer look at his appearance. His sense of style matched his odd way of speaking, with his hair sticking out wildly in every direction, defying gravity. He wore a dark martial arts gi, confusing you even further, unable to make a single sound in response. He sighed deeply, his dark eyes meeting yours, as if staring straight through you and looking into your soul. “I happened to witness your attack last night and took care to bring you home.”

“H-How did you know where I live?” You managed to question, worst case scenario thoughts intruding your mind, such as the idea that you had a stalker. The man smirked, sending a chilling shiver down your spine as he pulled out a card, your driver’s license. You let out a deep sigh of relief at the sight, taking the card as he handed it to you. You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of dread building in your gut, staring at him nervously as he rose to stand. “Wh-Why?”

“Hm?” The man looked down at you in confusion, a brow raised. His lips twitched downward into a frown as he processed the question. Indeed, why, why did he feel it necessary to go to such lengths, and for a mortal?

He sighed, running his fingers through his bangs as he feigned a smile to the best of his abilities. “I just felt compelled to help you. However, that makes you indebted to me now.”

You felt your face pale, squeezing your shirt in your fist to still your shaking hands as you opened your mouth to speak, the word barely spilling out, “I-Indebted?”

“That’s right. You see,” He paused for a moment, as if to think of his next words carefully. He gave her a soft, almost deceiving smile as he held his hand out to her. “My name is Son Goku. I am here to observe.”

His vague words only made you question his intentions more, glancing between his sickeningly sweet smile and his outstretched hand. Hesitantly, you placed your hand into his own, noting how calloused and rough his skin was. Goku pulled you onto your feet, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder as he made sure you stood steady. As you stood before him, his tall figure still leaving you feeling small, you cleared your throat.

“What do you want from me? Money? Y-You can take anything, I don’t care,” you said, rubbing your shoulder nervously as you looked away from him. Goku let out a light chuckle, holding a hand to his mouth, as if to hide his smile.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I just simply want your help in my research,” Goku said. You looked up at him with wide eyes, the feeling of dread from before growing exponentially. Just what had you gotten yourself into?

After that, you quickly discovered that Goku was not someone you should be associated with. You couldn’t quite place it, but something was off about him. The first thing that sent the alarms in your head blaring was the fact that he insisted he stay with you. You had questioned why he didn’t get medical help for you, and he said his help was “more than adequate”. Which appeared to be true, as your stab wound had quickly begun to heal. You had little issues with it, and even when it reopened, Goku was swift in treating it.

It had only been a few hours after getting acquainted with Goku that your injury reopened the first time. You were sent spiraling into a world of pain, dropping to the ground with a sudden thud. Goku whipped around, eyes wide as they landed on your shaking form.

“Dammit...” Goku muttered, a hint of annoyance in his tone, but you couldn’t care less about that at the moment as searing hot pain shot through you. You hissed in pain, curling into a ball as you squeezed your side, staining your hand and your carpet with your blood. Your eyes widened as you felt Goku’s hand on your shoulder, prying you from your curled position. “I’m going to need you to close your eyes for me.”

“Wh-Why!?” You exclaimed, much louder than you had intended. Goku furrowed his brows, giving you a cold, stern look.

“Do you want to see your own blood spilling out? If so, then by all means, keep watching,” He spoke, his voice making you want to curl further into a ball. But you did as he demanded, closing your eyes hesitantly.

Immediately, you had to suppress a shiver as you felt his rough hands grab your shirt, pulling it up to reveal blood-soaked gauze. Careful not to harm you any further, Goku pulled the bandages off your skin, maroon fluid pouring down your skin like a river. A strangled whine left your lips as you covered your mouth, resisting the urge to fight Goku’s touching hands.

You felt Goku press his palms to your injury, what you thought was him applying more gauze and cleaning the blood. Your eyes shot open as you felt a soft, almost comforting warmth engulf you, looking down to Goku with wide eyes.

Goku leaned over your injured form, eyeing your wound carefully as his hands firmly pressed to your skin. You swore you saw something glimmering with light before Goku scoffed, glaring at you. “Close your eyes, woman!”

A yelp escaped your lips, eyes squeezing shut. You heard Goku let out a huff, returning to his work as he applied pressure to the wound. Despite the pressure, the warmth of his hands seemingly took away the pain, and before you knew it, he had pulled his hands away. The skin where he had touched you froze, and you almost wished he hadn’t removed his hands. You had to wonder just how much blood you lost if you were freezing in the middle of the summer.

“Try not to move around too much,” Goku said. As his voice pierced the silence, your eyes peeked open, looking up at him. Just as you were starting to take in his eyes, a small gasp pushed past your lips as he lifted you up into his arms. You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word though, still trying to swallow down the faint taste of metal. He laid you down on your couch, which you noticed already had blood stains on it. So much for keeping it clean. He must have dressed you there the night before.

“Is it bad?” You asked, though you should have known. You felt like you skyrocketed past level ten on the scale of pain. That knife was definitely not legal carrying size, you felt like it stabbed straight through your chest and back. And all for a couple of zeni, you didn’t have any money on you.

“Your inferior epigastric vessels were perforated, and your small intestine had some tearing. You will die if you don’t let me treat you,” Goku said. The tone in which he spoke was completely flat, as if entirely uninterested in your health, whether you live or die. Was this truly the man who saved you? Now you could see why he felt you were indebted to him. This was just a chore.

“I-I’m sorry. I can just go to a hospital, you don’t have to do this for me.” You looked down, avoiding his gaze. Even if he was a seemingly good doctor, you’d rather have somebody that actually cared.

“I do have to. And you will pay me back. I’ve done this much for you already. Be thankful.” Goku pulled away, stepping back. You watched as he walked into the bathroom, grabbing some gauze and a towel. You guessed he allowed himself to explore your apartment while you were asleep. You supposed you couldn’t complain; he was treating you for what sounded like a deadly injury. You didn’t know, you weren’t a doctor.

Returning with the tools in hand, Goku knelt by your side, pressing the towel to the injury. It wasn’t seeping blood as much as before, and when he wiped the blood away, that’s when you noticed it. The wound wasn’t sutured. He must have been one hell of a doctor to keep it closed without suturing it.

“Which hospital do you work at?” You asked, trying to fill the silence between the two. You only just now realized you were assuming his occupation, but from your eyes, it was obvious. The way he spoke, and how he treated you screamed doctor. Or so you assumed.

“Excuse me?” Goku looked up to you in confusion, as if the question made no sense at all. You wondered if maybe he just wasn’t aware of the other hospital, clearing your throat.

“You know, do you work at West General or South Shore?” You asked. A beat of silence passed, the two just staring at each other, Goku’s eyes widening slightly. And then you wondered if you were wrong about your assumption. A doctor was the only reason you could think of as to why he was so well versed in anatomy and diagnostics. You thought serial killer, but then it didn’t make sense that he was saving his victim. A little counterintuitive, right? You even wondered if he was the one who attacked you, but you didn’t recall your attacker wearing martial arts clothes, his hair styled in a way that you wondered how many containers of hair gel it took for one day of styling, or the pure white boots that somehow weren’t stained despite stepping in your blood. Only doctors and serial killers were sticklers about everything being pristine, and only doctors saved people. Then again, a killer doctor wasn’t unheard of.

“Not from here,” Goku muttered, his eyes dropping from your gaze. You wanted to question where he was from, why he was here in West City, but he rose to a stand before the words could leave your mouth. “No more moving. If you want to live, I suggest you lay there and don’t move. I will handle your meals from now until you are healed.”

“How long will that be?” You asked. Goku hummed, turning around, his hands behind his back as he stared out the window walls that overlooked the bustling city outside.

“Not long. If I treat you daily, about a week. If you have any plans, I recommend you cancel.” And with those words, Goku stepped away, leaving you on the couch. To where he went, you could only guess. Your kitchen was in the direction he had stepped in, so perhaps he was going to take a peek at your storage of food. He wouldn’t find much.

The sun was reaching its peak in the sky, which meant that the injury you had suffered was now over twelve hours ago. That fact only further reassured you that you were in good hands. You wondered what you would have to specialize in to be so good at identifying injuries without having to look inside.

Your eyes widened as Goku suddenly appeared at your side, his approach silent, setting a plate of food in your lap. It was the last food you’d expect too, a plate of steak and roasted veggies. The thought to ask if he had prepared it crossed your mind, but you were more concerned about if this food would actually make it to your other end.

“Can I really eat this? Didn’t you say I had intestinal tearing or something?” You asked with a brow raised. You were no medical student, but you were pretty sure digested food leaking through a tear into your body would be pretty bad.

“You’ll be fine. Eat it.” Goku wasn’t giving you much of a choice. But you didn’t want to argue, he was the medical professional. You did wonder if you could possibly put in a complaint though, his bedside manners were lacking, to say the least.

The food was good. If he did cook it - and judging by how long he had left you lying on the couch, it was a high probability, you didn’t ask - then he was an amazing cook. Great at cooking, an almost flawless doctor, and he was traveling alone? If he was married, then his partner must have been completely secure and trusting. But then again, a married man wouldn’t be asking to stay with a stranger for a week, injury or not.

Even though you only ate around lunch, Goku must have known you would be getting sleepy far too early to eat dinner. The sun was still fading beyond the horizon, and you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Goku sat at the end of the couch, a book that had caught his eye in his hand. You shifted slightly, your back aching from laying in one position for hours, your movement bringing his attention away from the book.

“Am I supposed to be getting sleepy so soon?” You asked, half worried that you might be dying, half asleep. Goku sighed, the book in his hand snapping shut as he rose from his place. You watched him with blurry eyes, eyes that widened in surprise as he pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest. Maybe you were being creepy, noting all of his good qualities mentally, but he was also very well built. He was more statue than human, it felt like your cheek was pressed against a wall and not his shoulder.

“It’s normal. Your body is burning more energy than normal to heal itself. It’s why I fed you that specific meal. Protein and vitamin c promote soft tissue repair. You’ll feel sleepy for a few days,” Goku said. You hummed, relaxing in his arms as he carried you towards your room. You thought you had bad luck getting stabbed, but it seemed you were wrong. You must have had the best luck possible to have a doctor like him find you. If he hadn’t taken such good care of you so far, you would be putting up more of a fight to a stranger being in your home. Not that it would do you much good, he already knew where your home was. If he turned out to be crazy, you’d have to run away from your own home. But it still didn’t make sense for a killer to save his victim, so you didn’t let it worry you too much. Him saving your life earned your trust.

Laying you down on your bed, Goku pulled the blanket up and over you. You smiled, thanking him, still nervous about doing much more movement after what happened earlier that day. Your eyes stayed on Goku as he walked around your bed, opening your window just a crack and allowing fresh air in.

“If you feel any pain, call for me. I will be just outside,” Goku said, stepping through the doorway.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want. You might have to lay a blanket over it though...” You muttered the latter part as you recalled the blood stains. They were dry, but you wouldn’t want to sleep on someone else’s blood stains.

“There will be no need.”

The door shut behind him before you could even process that answer. Your brows furrowed as you looked up to your ceiling, the flashing lights outside slightly muted by the curtains. No need? What was he, a vampire?

Sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the small balcony, the sounds of the city roared below. How people could live through this noise, let alone sleep through it, he would never understand it. It would be the equivalent of subjecting himself to torture.

“Having fun?”

The man chuckled, leaning on the rail, looking over the city. The flashing lights were sickening, but for all the different reasons. He looked down, unable to stop the small bubble of laughter that escaped his lips. “She thinks I’m a doctor.”

“She already trusts you? That was fast.” The other scoffed. And that’s when he looked up to his guest, who floated beside the small balcony. Green skin that stood out from everyone else, poofy white hair pushed to one side of his head, and empty grey eyes stared down at him, unamused. “You’re wasting time here. We have no need for this timeline, Black.”

“But it’s fun. No harm in having some fun. This is the experimental timeline, and we’ll build our paradise in the other,” the man, “Black”, said. The summer night breeze brushed against his dark bangs, turning his eyes up to the sky. He groaned, his smile falling. “You can’t even see the stars from here. I could never understand why anyone would subject themselves to this. It smells putrid here as well.”

“So why are you here? We could simply go back, finish our plans. That boy, Trunks, is nothing but a blip in our plans, he doesn’t stand a chance at stopping us. Killing him would be a simple matter, if only you would actually go back—” The man was cut off as “Black” looked up at him in annoyance.

“I think you forget who’s in charge,” he spoke, his tone dripping with a poison the other man didn’t dare test. “I’m the one that initiated this. I’m the one that brought you to this point, Zamasu. I think you can be a little patient.”

“I’m fully capable of being as patient as you’d like,” the man, Zamasu, glared at Black. “But it’s a difficult request of you when you won’t explain why we’re here.”

Black huffed, standing up straight and turning his back to the city. He stared into the dark apartment, where you slept soundly, unaware of your guest. “I want to understand them more. See what makes them tick. What makes them so violent.”

It was an interest that had been born when he took on the body he currently resided in. The body that made him mortal, and one of the most violent ones at that. He chalked his interest up to how the Saiyans were drawn to battle, had a thirst for blood and violence unlike any other. It was something even he struggled to reign in, especially since he was still quite new to the body. He’d only had it for a few weeks at this point. It made him want to know more about mortals. If they were all just as violent, or if some were different.

He’d certainly been convinced that they were all violent monsters when he witnessed an attack the previous night. A woman had been minding her own business, walking home in the dead of the night, when even the city had finally gone to sleep. And out in the open, for no reason at all, she had been attacked and left for dead. That woman was you. He had to know more, and that led him to caring for you. He was curious to see if you wanted revenge, if you were going to seek out your attacker, surprise him with the fact that you were still alive, and kill him.

“Mortals are certainly interesting beings, I’ll give them that.” Black chuckled, sliding the glass door open. “A few more days. After that, we can go.”

And with that, the conversation died, and “Goku” disappeared inside the silent apartment.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ -xcherricutie

#dragon ball x reader #dbs #dbz #dragon ball #yandere #goku x reader #son goku x reader #goku x y/n #goku black #goku black x reader #reader insert #yandere dragon ball #goku black x y/n

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multifandom-exe · 6 months ago

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Leather Jackets and Ketchup ‘Mishaps’- S.Black x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k (my longest yet :p) Request: hey there! can i get one with prompts 79, 174 and 175, with Sirius, please? thank you! Prompts: 79. No its just… I cant believe your wearing my clothes” 174. “Did you see what she was wearing?” 175. “So what if I had sex with your ex?”

A/N: this is a rewrite of an old fic from nearly 5 years ago. Find the terrible original here. Lmk if ive improved. Warnings: None rlly, swearing, kissing, marlene hate (sorry marlene your my wife but youre sacrificed to the story)

A hogsmeade weekend! Practically the only thing keeping the students of Hogwarts from pitching themselves off the astronomy tower during their 6th year. You and Lily had planned to meet up with the boys later on for some drinks an some shopping, definitely spurred on by Lilys growing affection to James (no matter how much she denies it).

You stared into the full-length mirror stuck to the wall. It felt as though something was missing in your outfit. Youd worn your favorite today, but it still didn't feel like enough. Lily sat on the bed behind you, looking as perfect as ever.

“Can you stop hogging the mirror please, i need to do my makeup!” She nudged you with her leg that was hanging off the bed as a giggle bubbled up from her throat.

“My outfit is not suffering because you want to look nice for James Potter!” You turned to her with that sly look as her face dusted rosy, pink, whilst she spewed phrases of denial.

“Well, my makeup is suffering because you want to look nice for Sirius.” Now it was your turn to gasp.

She had this idea that you were in for it with Sirius. You disagreed of course. Sure, i mean, you had feelings for him, you liked him. He was funny, attractive, and almost as smart as you. But it had been 6 years, if there was going to be any movement on that front, besides flirting that could make Casanova blush, it probably would've happened already. You were trying to let it go, but its difficult when you see him every day.

“Not true! You know he doesnt like me like that, im totally over it!” You began observing yourself in the mirror again, as she gave you that, ‘whatever you say’, look. “Speaking of, though, a nice leather jacket is just what this outfit needs, do you have one?” Lily agreed and turned to look into her trunk for a jacket.

“No, sorry sweetheart”.” You jutted your lip out and frowned a little. There goes your perfect outfit.

After a little more observing in the mirror, whilst you watched Lily apply her makeup on the floor, the obvious thought entered your head. “You know who does have a leather jacket.” That mischievous smirk littered your face. “Sirius.”

Lily then put a head in her hands, and you could see her reaction in the reflection of the mirror. “Sure you don't have a thing for him?”

“Shut up lils, your just jealous of how goooood im gonna look.” You guessed Sirius wouldn't have a problem with it. Youd shared a lot of things over the years. Blankets, books, food, tea, you name it.

She chuckled at that and finally stood up, giving herself a final glance in the mirror. “You know the boys will have a fit when they see you in that.”

You rolled your yes, laughing softly. “Yeah, because those boys are the authority of fashion.”

She giggled at that too, before picking up everything she needed for the day. “Well, whilst you commit grand larceny, im going to go get my pancakes!” She drawled sarcastically as she turned to leave.

You muttered a soft goodbye as you also grabbed everything you needed. The boys had said before that you were free to use their dorm whenever, although Remus did add ‘Not for nefarious purposes Casanova’. You slipped out of your dorm, your boots hitting the floor with purpose. A woman on a mission. A leather jacket mission.

The door to their dorm creaked open slowly, as if you were trying not to wake them. but you were surprised to see they weren't all still asleep right now, desperately savoring every extra 5 minutes.

Their dorm was an exact reflection of each of them. Vinyl records of the latest rock bands on the walls. Books and chocolate strewn about. Stubbed out cigarette butts (Don't tell Minnie). Dirty shoes and outfits from the last quidditch game. Mugs of tea forgotten about. It was so them. Everything you loved about your friends, all perfectly wrapped up in one little room. You made a mental note to spend more time here.

As your eyes glanced around the room, you finally spotted it, dangling across the back of a chair that was pushed against his desk. It was surprising that it was actually here, since Sirius was very rarely seen without it. It had S.B written on the back in big white letters, and various patches from bands. But according to Mary, ‘the back of my outfit isn't my problem because i can even see it’.

You slid it across your shoulders and instantly felt more comforted. The familiar scent that you loved enveloped you. You turned and checked yourself out in the boy's mirror. Now this was a complete outfit. Perfect for a Hogsmeade weekend.

You slipped back out of the boy's dorm and started making your way down to the great hall for breakfast.

You pushed open the heavy doors to the great hall, the smell of fresh breakfast food immediately hitting you. You skipped down to the table, going to meet up with the girls to discuss the future Hogsmeade antics.

You giggled as you jogged past the marauders. With the prettiest smile, you waved to them. “Hi boys, don't cheap out in Hogsmeade later!”. You rushed to meet with the girls, oblivious to all the eyes that were on you.

As you sat down, the boys, who were a little further up the table, all sat gawking at you. James nudged Sirius excitedly. “D’ya see what Shes wearing mate?”

He had seen, which is why, when James had asked him, he had barely been able to form a response. He had felt the wind be knocked out of him as he saw you giggling and waving, clad in his leather jacket. It was almost like he was in a trance, raking his eyes over every inch of your frame, wondering how on earth that happened. And how he could get it to happen every single day. His thoughtfulness was broken by his friend's voice belting across the table.

“Oi, (Y/N), you look absolutely astonishing in Padfoot’s jacket!” The sound of your name made you whip your head up, as you giggled with a blush coating your cheeks. Just as quickly as he had shouted, Lily had shouted back.

“Dont be jealous James, just because you don't want to share him!” This caused all your friends to burst into a fit of laughter, all except one. Marlene was holding a firm glare at you from across the table.

The boys vehemently questioned Sirius for the next 5 minutes. Questions of ‘did you know she was gonna wear that?’ or ‘did you finally make a move?’ or ‘i bet you're loving this’. The latter wasn't really a question, more a very correct observation which made him blush.

Their conversation was cut short however, when they heard a clatter of plates from a little way down the table. They all snapped their heads toward the sound and found you and Marlene glaring at each other across the table. If looks could kill, wow. It had honestly only been a few minutes since you arrived, and they were all puzzled as to what could've happened in such a short time.

And then, as if you were reading their minds. “So what if you had sex with your ex?” Came from you, as you flicked your head to the side condescendingly. The boys' jaws dropped; they probably would've hit the floor if there wasn't a table in the way. James looked as if he was watching the best soap opera of his life.

Sirius and Marlene had a fling a few weeks back. It obviously meant more to her than him. And through the pangs of jealousy, you had comforted her. But it seems that wasnt enough for her, she wanted you to drop Sirius entirely.

Sirius felt a jab into his ribs, and he quickly dragged his eyes away from the scene. “Ow!” He mouthed silently, trying not to disturb the tension. Remus rolled his eyes and mouthed back, ‘did you actually sleep with her?’. Now it was Sirius’ turn to roll his eyes as he whispers. ‘Obviously not, you know she doesn't like me back’.

‘Yeah, he wishes. Peter added quietly, which caused Sirius to blush and tut, before they all turned their attention back to the scene.

“Listen, im sorry he didn't want you, but that's no reason to treat me horribly, because he wants me now, is it?” The condescension in your voice was enough to grate on anyone who was on the receiving end.

“Not wrong on that one.” Remus whispered quietly, causing Sirius to whack his arm lightly. HIs heart rate sped up like crazy. Did you know he liked you, all this time? Or where you just trying to get under her skin. The thoughts felt overwhelming.

And then, It almost felt as if time slowed, as they watched Marlene snap. She grabbed the jug of pumpkin juice on the table and dashed it all over you. You had an utterly shocked look on your face. Not just because you were covered in pumpkin juice, but also because you were slightly impressed, she stood up for herself.

But alas, war does not stop because of bravery. Your hand quietly slid a bottle of ketchup under the table as you spoke. Marlene had missed it, but it didn't get past Sirius. “You know Marlene, I wouldn't wanna ruin that pretty fake blonde hair of yours.” You laughed cynically, lifting the ketchup bottle.

That second, Sirius jumped from his seat and ran down the table, grabbed your waist and hauled you up in his arms. He was already dragging you away as you pressed down on the bottle, squirting it all over her.

“Ugh! You Bitch!” She screamed as she desperately tried to rub the ketchup from her face, with the girls next to her trying to calm her down.

You laughed maniacally as you struggled against Sirius's grip while he carried you out of the great hall. Phrases of ‘let go Sirius!’ and ‘it wasn't my fault!’ fell from your mouth. Youd eventually stopped struggling about halfway to the common room, accepting your fate.

When you finally reached the common room, he dropped you lightly onto one of the couches, and loomed over you, like a teacher about to reprimand you.

“Sirius! Why did you drag me out of there I was winning?” The adrenaline was still clearly running through your veins as you laughed. By the look on his face, he did not find it funny.

“(Y/N). You’ve just lost your friendship with Marlene, and potentially just sacrificed your friendship with Lily and Mary.” That definitely soured your mood. Suddenly, it wasn't very funny. “Why, in Godric Gryffindors name, did you do that?”

You threw your hands down on the couch and pouted. “You wouldn't get it, Pads.” You sighed and tried to turn away from him.

He had crouched down to your level now, turning you back to him with a hand on your knee. “Oh yeah, what’s so possibly bad that it warranted staining a girl, apparently fake blonde hair, news to me by the way, red with ketchup?” You tried to hide your giggle at his comment and did your best to keep silent. “Seriously, did she insult you or something? Whatever it was couldn't have warranted that.”

You sighed again as the argument replayed through your head. You could already feel the anger building up in you again. “You should’ve heard what she was saying about you Sirius, it was all ‘he’s this, he’s that’ And then! She insinuated I slept with you, for my own personal gain, not because I liked you, not because Im in love with you, she thought I did it for bragging rights! Which is absolutely ridiculous by the way. Anyone who uses someone for bragging rights is absolutely disgusting, especially if they use you. So no, her insulting me wasn’t enough to warrant ketchup hair, but insulting you was!”

You were bordering on shouting at this point, although your anger was misdirected. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your shaking hands. After a beat, you lifted your head to look at him, worried youll still find an angry look in his eyes.

Instead, he was gaping at you. You furrowed your brows, questioning the incredulous look on his face.

“You said you loved me.” He whispered lightly, worried if he spoke too loudly the words might crack his resolve.

Your eyes widened as you studied his features. “I did not!” You tried to insist but the shock caused it to come out smaller than intended.

“Yes, you did! You love me!” A smirk spread across his face as he pointed a finger at you. There was another beat of silence, before you jumped up from the couch and tried to run away from him.

“Come here!” Unfortunately for you, his tall stature was not just for show, as he quickly caught up with you.

He caught up with you as you rounded the couch again, pushing you down onto it. He had you captured between his arms. All he did was stare at you, into your eyes.

“Im sorry your jackets covered in pumpkin juice.” You spoke softly in the space between you two.

“It's fine i just...” His eyes racked over your figure once more. “I just can't believe your actually wearing my clothes.”

You giggled in response and muttered low apologies.

“Plus, I like the taste of pumpkin juice” He smirked, capturing your gaze again. Obviously, you didn’t get the memo, as your response was…

“Taste? I know you're a dog, but you don't lick your-” but your words were soon cut off by Sirius’ voice.

“For once in your life, be quiet!” He chuckled lowly before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss. It was slow at first, soft, almost anticipatory, but it quickly sped up, almost like it was 6 years of emotions spilling out into one kiss.

“I love you too, by the way” He breathed out as you broke apart, your foreheads laying against each other

“Well id be very upset if you kissed somebody you didn't like, like that” You giggled, lightly running your hand through his hair.

“And i love seeing you in my jacket by the way. But maybe next time tell the truth, and dont antagonize and cause a scene.” His reprimand fell short since he had the dopiest grin on his face. “But thank you for standing up for me.”

You didn't think your grin could get any wider, “Of course.” You lay another kiss on his lips. Maybe Lily was right, you are definitely in for it.

Bonus

The portrait hole swung open as James, Remus and Peter tried to search for their friend. Who was wrapped up in his own little world with his sweetheart on the couch.

They stepped through as James tried to shout up to the dorm. “Pads? We're going to Hogsmeade soon!” His shout wasnt answered, so he glanced around the room. He found you two nuzzled together on the couch, only breaking away at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Christ alive, Pads get a room! Peter cover your eyes!” James wrapped a hand around his friend's eyes as you and Sirius burst into a fit of giggles on the couch.

“Were coming!” You both untangled from each other and shifted off the couch.

“I cant believe that was what got them to confess! A jacket! D’you think it would work the same if i wore Lilys clothes?” And with a smack of the back of his head from Remus, the group left to finally enjoy their Hogsmeade weekend.

A/N: lmk how i did, leave requests for any hp character. comment for taglist. i love u

#sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin x reader #harry potter #sirius black x you

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rewrittenmha · 11 months ago

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I'm gonna be completely real... I feel like BNHA should've been more about the LOV fighting to change a corrupt system instead of what we got.

They're way more interesting than the cardboard heroes and that they actually had a point in how things were and wanted to change that.

And that the ending would've been something similar to the ending in the DLC We All Fall Down from We Happy Few. Where now the people hate them, with time others will start to realize that they really did the right thing.

I like the idea of them meeting somewhere in the middle.

Because when you think about it, the heroes suffer a lot of the same things the villains do. Hawks and Nagant were exploited children raised to be assassins and used to do the HPSC's dirty work. Izuku, Shoji, and Monoma faced discrimination. Shoto was abused.

Someone, forgot the name, made a good point a few weeks back. That MHA is the only series that pits victims against each other instead of the abusers. And in a lot of ways, that's right. Because other series do that, but in a way that it's obvious and supposed to be something that's called out and amended.

A great example of this being The Hunger Games. The Districts are pit against each other to keep them separated and foster animosity so that they won't rise up against The Capitol. That's why some Districts are kept in poverty while others prosper. The only way to resolve this is to unify the Districts by making them realize that the true enemy here is the corrupt system.

I was waiting for the LOV to start to actually be the ones to teach Tomura this because let's be real, he's sheltered. What he knows about heroes was a bad experience one night and everything AFO told him. The other members actually lived through and faced corruption firsthand. Tomura didn't actually have a plan in the beginning; he wanted to destroy heroes but he didn't actually know why. Not until he formed the LOV. But the majority of the LOV's goals didn't align with Tomura's in the beginning, they aligned with Stain's.

Spinner, Dabi, and Toga even explicitly state that they were only joining the League because of its (fake) connection to Stain. Spinner because he wanted a world with justice and equality. Dabi because of his detestation for false heroes. Toga because she felt a kinship with Stain due to their quirks and wanted to find people like her after being outcast and shunned for so long.

And if we take these goals/motivations for what they are, they aren't bad at all. In fact, I would even say that they're reasonable. I barely counted Spinner as a villain until the Final War because he believed in true heroes and wanted equality for people like him, he even saved Izuku from Magne. Out of all of the LOV, he would have been the easiest to redeem.

(Yes I'm still mad that Horikoshi ruined him leave me alone)

The problem is, those goals were undermined by their actions later. They were either completely disregarded (Dabi), simplified (Toga), or contradicted (Spinner). Horikoshi basically said screw their established characters, they're one dimensional mustache twirlers with no substance. Every character who points out the flaws of society is demonized to justify the status quo.

And this is actually why I take issue with the whole every character having a villain thing. Because this shouldn't be a case of Hero vs Villain. We shouldn't be looking at the LOV like obstacles to defeat, or even to save. We should be listening to them. The goal here should have been to make a better world where what happened to them doesn't happen to anyone else.

My Hero Academia should have been a story of change, not war. And I think that's going to be the heart of this rewrite

#mha rewrite #bnha critical #mha critical #ask

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yoonia · 24 days ago

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For those of you who have read or are currently reading Carousel, you might know that I've been rewriting the story lately and posting it on Wattpad.

I was planning to post the final product here on Tumblr once I'm done, but since the chapters have grown A LOT, I don't think it would be as easy as editing the old chapters with the updated version (like what I did with Blood Moon Rising and The Stand-In) and I'm considering on keeping the old one for those of you who still want to read the original version.

So, please help me decide whether I should just keep it on Wattpad or should I post the new version somewhere else and how:

Please help share this around and share me your thoughts (or ideas) in the reblog or replies.

Thank you!!! <3

#fic: carousel #misc: poll #I'm Libra-ing so hard right now get me out of here #ps: by archive I mean placing it on my archive masterlist so you can still find them here

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some-sort-of-firefly · 2 months ago

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For @tamlinweek day 4, I focused on the powers side of the prompt. Would you believe me if I said this one wasn't meant to be like this? I was going to explore Carranam in the ACOTAR world like they existed in Throne of Glass. And instead you get... this?

Still, I'm pretty happy with it, I must admit. The idea of the Children of the Blessed being ridiculed, but if given guidance and protection being able to lend strength to the High Lord who blessed them is a really fun idea. I loved exploring this dynamic between High Fae and their worshippers. The Children of the Blessed worship the Fae, not the Mother. And I think that's really fun as an idea. Especially when you take magic, and worship, and put them together in a nice little bundle. Their worship turns Tamlin into a more godlike figure. And in turn, he protects them, and loves them. They're his and he will keep them safe.

Title: Children of the Spring Relationships: Tamlin & Original Human Character(s) Characters: Tamlin, Original Human Character(s), Children of the Blessed Word Count: 3347 Tags: Worship, kindness, godlihood, creation, ascension, powers

Read HERE on AO3

Around them, the war raged on. Tamlin had long since lost his upper ground. Since he’d revealed himself to save Feyre, Elain, and that poor human girl who had been dragged around from camp to camp. He could still hear her screams sometimes. Every time he tried to rest, he could hear screams of some kind. Whether it was Briar, tied in some kind of wicked display to be laughed at and tormented. Her silver bluebell chains had clinked around her wrists and ankles as she writhed and sobbed. Or Feyre, waking up in the dead of night screaming. He’d been unable to help her lest it devolve into another row. Or Lucien… Gods, Lucien. The screams from under the mountain. The worst part was that he’d caused some of those.

His hands still shook when he thought about it. He could feel the weight of the whip in his hands, and it made him feel sick. His hands curled into fists. He was shaking, before he opened his eyes to defend against the onslaught of Lucien’s pain. He’d lost him too. Pushed him away. Just like he had everyone. If he hadn’t pushed him, he didn’t doubt that Lucien would have chosen him over Feyre. Although, perhaps not with Elain Archeron lingering over him.

He couldn’t hold that against him. Not when his actions had led to her capture. Not when it was his desire to bring Feyre back to Spring that had led to the desecration of his court. The displacement of entire villages and trade routes.

All he could do was sit in the forests, cross-legged as he closed his eyes and felt. He felt for the magic of Spring, which gave life and light to the nature around him. He ignored the distant screams of far off memory, and thrust them further and further away until all he could hear were the sounds of the wind. The trees, rustling and moving. The birds, still singing, even with no one to listen. The Spring fae - not the High Fae, but the ones from before - still existed within the relative silence. They still came out at their respective times. Still sat in the grove with him, whispering reassurances. From flower faeries to wind spirits, they reminded him that the magic of Spring lived in him; he would never be alone.

His path was not yet set in stone. He had chances coming to rewrite the stories in which others would paint him negatively. He had chances to atone for the things he had done. He wanted to atone. He wanted to speak up and make sure his story would be told with neutrality. He wanted not to erase the bad, but for his actions to be met with understanding and patience.

He deserved that much, did he not?

He shook it off. Now was not the time to sit around moping like he had forever to do so. He could have forever to mope after he helped defeat the king and his troops. There was so much to do, and he had to start planning.

He sent word to the other courts, anonymously even though he knew it would be obvious, letting them know about the current plans, and that they may be subject to change if the king thought the information would get out. He knew the other High Lords weren’t stupid, but their penchant for wanting to be right was known to cloud judgement. He was not immune to such things himself, but he was trying to be humble. He knew by allying himself with Hybern like his parents had, he was putting himself in a precarious position with both the Loyalists and Prythian alike.

He could only hope no one from behind enemy lines caught on to what he was doing. Spring had suffered enough at their hands, and its siege had laid the road to Adriata bare. He was to blame for Tarquin’s current pain. The wall, too. The moment it had crashed down, Tamlin felt his power flare, trying to reach for the old lands of Spring in the south. He drew it back in. He would not fall to that. Spring was here. The mortals deserved their sanctuary. As long as Hybern’s forces did not march on them, Tamlin would steer clear of the mortal lands. It was the least he could do, to continue to protect their borders from wayward fae as he always had done.

Especially after seeing Briar like that. He came across Children of the Blessed every so often, and he wasn’t eager to let them cross the wall, especially now it had fallen. That made it more risky in some ways. Without the wall to signal when someone was trying to cross. He couldn’t save everyone; he was barely able to keep himself above water.

He spent his days patrolling the fallen border.

He came across a fallen human, a young woman with fear etched on her face. Her guts had been spilled, and Tamlin found himself mourning the senseless loss of life. He scented her for any clues, before carefully picking up her delicate form and carrying her back to the manor. He was no doctor, but he stitched her up as best as he could. He cleaned her up, and provided her with new robes. Priestess robes. Yes, maybe some would call it sacrilege. Tamlin called it respect. These humans, they worshipped the fae like no other. For no reason. After what Ianthe had done, he couldn’t think of anyone more fitting to earn the robes of a worshipper.

He could cover more ground in his beast form, so he shifted, gathering her in a large wicker basket. He had woven it himself in the time she had been there. He carried her for three days and three nights, stopping only when he got to the resting post of which she smelled. From the forest outskirts, he could see more Children of the Blessed, and a campfire in the centre. He knew he would be safe to enter. There were no other humans around. This must be the only place where they were safe. He knew fae and humans alike were cruel to them.

He padded into the throng, men and women rising to their feet to look at him. He did not stop until he reached the campfire, and only then did he lower the wicker basket to the floor. He stood tall, and looked from each man and woman around him.

“You must not return to the wall. There is a war happening, and fae there who will harm you. I bring you your kin as proof, and as an offering of peace, so you may provide your funeral rites for her.”

Humans surrounding him dropped to their knees, bowing, all but one woman, older, wearing chains of silver that almost made Tamlin flinch as he heard them. So similar to Briar’s. But he stood strong as she threw herself atop the deceased with a wail. Her mother, perhaps? How many humans were born into the belief that the High Fae would accept them? How many each year suffered? How many had Tamlin not found?

He wondered how many sons and daughters had suffered at the hands of monsters during the Blight? How many during Amarantha’s reign had been dragged in and torn to shreds, like those the soldiers of Hybern tormented?

“State your name,” the elder woman declared, staring at the beast before her. Tamlin realised she did not ask for his name. She followed old traditions about names holding power. Interesting.

“You may call me Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.”

Whispers raised around them, but the woman simply pushed herself to her feet and stepped towards him, meeting his gaze as she stood firm.

“My name is Babette. I give you my gratitude, for returning my child to me.”

Tamlin bowed his head. He lowered his snout to the floor, and felt his magic touch the earth. He could feel the remnants of Spring here, from where it had once spread into these lands. So he closed his eyes, breathing magic into the land. He granted the Children of the Blessed sanctuary, bluebells blooming in a perfect circle around their camp. His magic touched each of them, claiming them as Spring’s own. Not as fae had before the wall went up. Not as slaves. He claimed them as protected. In doing so, he claimed this one area as an extension of his court. But his magic also touched Babette specifically.

“You will be marked as the protector of this grove. And I shall in turn grant you protection from fae that wish you harm.”

It was an old magic that rushed through him. It made him shudder and his fur stand on end, but he welcomed it. Babette too. He saw her eyes glow with a long forgotten power, something similar to his. She bowed to him, and the other acolytes followed suit.

Tamlin feasted with them for one night only.

He could still feel them when he returned to his court. He could feel the pressure of a new grove of Spring-blessed land. It was nice, in truth. Knowing that he could offer even a small group protection in return for loyalty.

Prayers reached him that night. No longer did they grasp at the wall. No longer did they fight to find any high fae that may listen. They found Tamlin. Not just any High Lord, but theirs. He did not ask for service, only that they provide a home to any humans cast out because they weren’t afraid. Only that they provide aid to any misplaced by the war. In turn, if anyone showed up in their little corner of land, Tamlin would be there. He would tear them to pieces.

The battle fast approached. Tamlin heeded the call for aid. He doubted they expected him to show up. He knew what they thought of him. The breeze carried whispers to him. But he went, ready to fight. For Prythian. For his Court. For that little pocket of land, three days into the mortal lands. He couldn’t fall; he had promised them protection. So he took note, and even dragged Beron into war with him. Prythian would not fall.

He felt strong as he stood on that battlefield. In fact, he felt stronger than he had before. Like he had eyes all over the field in which he stood. He didn’t understand it, but he was grateful for it as one of the king’s creatures tried to come at him from behind. He leapt up, twisting in the air and sunk his teeth into the back of its neck, shaking violently before planting a paw on its spine and ripping. The blood flooded his mouth, but he carried on. He tore through creatures and fae alike. Ripping, tearing, clawing. He was not without his own share of injuries. Blood trickled down his chest, shimmering with an almost imperceptible golden hue. His eyes narrowed. It was a question for another day.

Even when the Bone Carver fell, even when Stryga was thrown to the ground and eaten by the naga hounds, Tamlin didn’t waver. He led his remaining troops into battle. He threw himself between Hybern’s soldiers and his own. Threw himself between those from other courts when his eyes on the battlefield indicated it was necessary. Those phantom eyes on the battlefield became his saving grace.

A blade, tearing through his fur and skin; slicing into his throat.

It would have made him fall. Should have. His power waned, just briefly, and then it flared with a gale-force wind that grew into a hurricane like Spring had never seen before. He felt it then, the prayers. Carried on the spring breeze and they bolstered him. Those eyes sharpened. Manifestations of prayers to aid. He could see. He had eyes everywhere. Omniscient.

He was not just a High Lord. He felt the surge of strength. It wasn’t much. He was nothing like the Mother, or even the Old Gods. He was Tamlin, God of Spring, and his powers reflected that. Vines sprouted among the warring sides, and his eyes glowed. Gold overtook green in a burst of warm magic. He sent waves towards Winter and Summer, at those closest to his own court. He felt for them. He sent winds to them. Blizzards and Thunderstorms clashed in midair. They rained down on enemy soldiers with devastating precision. They hindered their movements; slowed them down. It was all Tamlin needed. That reduction in speed let his magic catch up to them, holes opening up in the earth. Vines sprouted. They curled around necks, and grew through bodies. Carnivorous plants took chunks out of naga hounds and swallowed soldiers whole. Even as Tamlin felt other High Lords pulling back, running out of magic, he fought on. He pushed, and raged, and threw himself into the fight harder.

Lucien returned to them.

It was the only time Tamlin paused. He met his friend on the battlefield, and their gazes met. He knew Lucien would be on the lookout for Elain. But at least for now, they met each other where they needed to be. Back-to-back like old times, with eyes on the monsters that approached. They sliced through them. Synchronisation came like a memory; they knew each other. They could mirror one another and slice or shred through hordes without any problem. Until Tamlin heard that scream. A name, one of Rhysand’s inner circle, on female lips. Fear. He felt the pulse of energy around the battlefield, and he sought out that female. Archeron. Nesta, he believed.

Behind her, behind Cassian, he saw a hound. The king of Hybern advanced on them from the front as they were stalked by a beast of scale and sulphur. Tamlin prowled closer, keeping his body low to the ground. His steps were silent, tail cutting through the air as he assessed the beast’s movements. He sought out the weaknesses he recalled, and then pounced. He flew over the couple and dragged the hound to the floor, his teeth tight around its throat as he shook it. He ripped out its throat and threw it to the floor, turning when the king made a choked sound.

He swivelled to see the sword glistening with blood as it pierced through his neck.

Good.

Nesta rose, and he was reminded of the ferocity with which she had left the Cauldron. Her movements were fluid as she joined her sister at the king’s back. He crouched by the side of the Illyrian general, watching for more threats.

None came.

The battlefield was silent as Nesta’s hand covered Elain’s on the hilt of a sword, and twisted. Twisted. Until the king’s head came clean off in front of him. Tamlin snorted lowly, and the fe- no. Woman. The woman stooped to seize the royal bastard by the hair. She held his head aloft, like a trophy. Tamlin howled, victorious.

As the Cauldron rumbled, fae turned to the mountain on which it stood. As the world began to crumble, Tamlin realised that many of the fae looked scared. He did not feel scared. Even as Prythian threatened to fade, some part of him realised that he would not fade with them. As long as his small grove was protected. As long as they kept whispering his name in reverent tones. He would live on. The magic would protect him.

But just as it started, it stopped. Silence. No crumbling, no destruction. Just a stabilising force that held the magic lands together. He turned, and raced up the mountain to examine the damage. Only to be met with screams. Agonising, terrible screams. He’d never heard anything like it. His ears were pinned back against his head, and he had to shift back just to give them a break. He stood before Feyre, as she was pleading with the High Lords.

Bring him back.

He could refuse. He could declare Spring neutral, and never again concern himself with Rhysand’s infuriating presence. But he had loved Feyre, once. He had loved Rhysand, once. In fact, he still held love for both of them. He saw the kernels of power as they entered his chest, and watched as Rhysand remained still.

“Please,” Feyre whispered. Her eyes fixed on him, rimmed with red as she begged. “Please save him.”

Tamlin reached out his magic. He felt for Spring, and he felt it. But something else, too. He felt the primal power, long forgotten associations of his season that had been left to rot. He felt life. New life. Returning life. He felt the Mother, but something more beside her. The Mother was Creation. But Tamlin was Life.

He stepped forward, and extended a hand over Rhysand’s chest. His power surged, and Spring leapt through the battlefield like no other Court had done. Flowers sprouted in a circle, similar to his Mortal Children. But these weren’t bluebells. Daffodils, the flowers of Imbolc. They were flowers of a new life. Eternal life and soul bonds. His magic twisted into a golden tendril and pressed against Rhysand’s chest until it pushed through. And with that connection made, night dark magic began twisting up the tendril. Blending, sharing, growing. Tamlin gazed at the magic, feeling the strength pulsing behind it. Feeling it grow stronger, more resilient. He did not stop until he felt the Night Court shudder against that magical bond. It welcomed its High Lord home. Only then did Tamlin disengage, leaving the faerie ring around them as Rhysand’s chest stuttered back into life.

All eyes on him, he did not respond. He merely bowed to his former lover and her mate, though he still slept on.

“Be happy, Feyre. Both of you.”

He turned then, and walked back down the mountain, pausing only beside Lucien and Elain to cast them with a curious glance. She had cast the first blow. A worthy mate for one who had been his most loyal friend. If she chose to accept the bond, of course.

“You must know, you shall both be welcome in Spring, should you ever feel the need.”

The invitation was open, and he didn’t wait for a reply. He had somewhere to be.

The celebration lasted a tenday. There was laughter and fire. Chatter the likes of which he hadn’t seen in decades. The Children of the Blessed, his Mortal Children of Spring flocked him. They bestowed gifts on him; sacrifices of meat, and plants. They communicated with the faeries that came to meet them, and for the first time, it felt like unity.

He returned year after year, to regale his Mortal compatriots with tales of the war. He told them of Elain. The former mortal who braved danger to save her sister. He included Nesta in those tales, but the stories of Nesta seemed to exaggerate her part. In Tamlin’s view, at least. Elain had been the one to stab him. Whichever way one spun it, it was a story of familial love and sacrifice.

The first time Elain came to visit, she was unaware of her own importance. Tamlin did not show just anyone to his Sacred Lands. His power grew, and outward influences on him shrunk. He no longer felt inclined to cower from Rhysand’s visits. No longer dreaded them, for he knew he could stand tall.

Eventually, he did introduce Elain to his Children of Spring. Her awe spoke for itself, and she was immediately welcomed as Protector. Patron of their Hallowed Grounds.

If Tamlin noticed, some generations down the line, that his Children were starting to be born with pointed ears and fairer features; it was only Spring’s way of blessing those that had helped it rebuild. With Spring’s resurgence came a new and beautiful magic. One that led to antlered Children with cloven hooves. Winged Children with flowered freckles. And Children that looked more and more like High Fae with each passing generation.

This was Tamlin’s Spring.

Dividers and page breaks by @olenvasynyt <3

Banner by me following template guides by Tamlin Week

#tamlin week 2025 #acotar #tamlin #powers #godlihood #ascension #creation of a god

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