#Food Lion is what’s closest to me

[twistedwriting]

Leona Kingscholar Character Analysis

"Haha stupid lazy Lion go brrrr." No. Shut up and delete yourself from my sight.

I have many thoughts on Leona, but the strongest one of them is:

"I want to hug his younger self/his inner child."

I know it's inside of him, hurting and damaged. All he ever wanted was to be loved, to be appreciated, to be *seen*. A child that longed for love but was starved for so long that it got used to the emptiness inside and now, as soon someone tries to show affection, he'll respond with verbal biting.

He's not an asshole by choice. Keeping his distance is the best defense to avoid getting attached.

Outside of Book 2, there's especially one event where he genuinely shows that he just wants to be seen: The Fairy Gala event (or better said his Fairy Gala Vignette). Vil pushed Leona further and further, nagging to no end and beyond until, at some point, Leona lashed out: "I've BEEN helping you out, and all you've done is find fault with every single thing I do. I followed your directions, and what did it get me? NOTHING. Not the slightest bit of progress." It might be my own interpretation of his words but I wholeheartedly believe that the whole Gala story reminded him of how nothing he ever does/did was ever good enough. It didn't matter what he did, it would never be enough. Vil kept nagging him, people at home keep seeing him as nothing more than the second prince, he was never enough. Which is also a reason why I believe he was so "full of himself" when he got the Fairies to be completely whipped: It was attention and appreciation for his work, for *him*. The Fairies didn't know he was Royalty, they didn't know he was the Housewarden of Savanaclaw, they knew nothing yet they were there, showing him attention and how much they loved his doing.

They gave a starving child the food it desperately needed.

If you're being constantly proven that nothing you do matters, if everything you've done is not enough, you slowly but surely stop trying. You stop trying because it doesn't matter anyways. You loose motivation, you end up in an endless circle of self-hatred and lack of motivation. You know you could and you'd know it would be good but it wouldn't be good enough, it wouldn't please anyone. Their judgmental eyes, their lack of praise, the lack of attention suffocates even the smallest amount of self-confidence and the pride you had in your own work. You stop trying because doing nothing at all hurts less than knowing it wasn't enough, again. Leona is smart and I have no doubts that he'd be actually an admirable Housewarden with excellent grades if it weren't for this huge issue in his mind. Additionally to that, I truly believe that he hadn't any intention of leaving school. In Night Raven, he was at least *someone*, he was Housewarden, the highest position in Savanaclaw. At home, he was no one and he had to deal with his family. Falenas part of the family shined brightly while he was the shadow, a dark disappointment. A nobody.

So why leave school? Why leave the only place where you were someone?

Many also dislike Leona for what he did to Ruggie. I don't blame them, I can understand their point but I think they often miss a point in his action: He didn't (only) do it for the sake of hurting Ruggie. Ruggie was/is his right hand, the probably closest person in Night Raven (Or his whole life, if we're being honest). Ruggie could've sucked up to many people - Even if it was only for Leonas money, Ruggie could've crawled up Kalims (Idias or even Rooks) butt or if it was for power, he could've gone for Malleus. But he didn't. His (seemingly) firstchoice was Leona.

Leona, out of all people. Leona, the guy who starved.

And it was Ruggie, who saw Leona fail. Leona made a small mistake and their plan failed - And Ruggie knew it. He was there. So with all that has happened, the fact that Ruggie has seen his fall and I also believe that their very bond has turned uncomfortably sour in Leonas mind, so in the heat of events, there was only one solution: "If I fall, I'm dragging Ruggie down with me."

Additionally, I also believe that Leona instinctively took Ruggie simply because they could work things out in the case he was saved out of Leonas grip. Ruggie would have a problem with Leona for a certain period but in the end, he and Leona would still work together. In a slightly messed up way, he has shown confidence in their mutual trust (which has been proven later in Book 6).

Okay whew, now that I got my view on Leona out of my system, I'm adding some more Headcanons:

I can see him the kind of "I wanna unsubcribe of life but I ain't gonna do it myself".

One of the servants at home has a little daughter and she's the only one he's genuinely looking forward to see during holidays.

He pretends to not notice whenever something "disappeared" (via Ruggie) out of his room but knows. He just doesn't want to put himself nor Ruggie in the position of "You took that" (Secretly thinks "At least being Royalty has *some* positive aspects", aka helping Ruggie out with money without going out of his way to hand the money over to Ruggie. Kind of 'letting him hunt himself')

Has read an insane amount of books as a child (mainly to be by himself and escape reality).

If emotions overboil (which happens more often than expected from him), he lets them out when he's entirely alone (Still feels extremely ashamed after expressing emotions, even though no one noticed)

Does not own a single picture of himself - Neither as a child nor his current self. The only pictures/paintings existing are those his family wanted them to be done.

Despite saying he didn't remember how he got his scar, he knows. He knows and won't forget so easily (still has nightmares of it happening sometimes).

Everyone feared Leona as a child for the way he found his Unique Magic: As a child, he was practicing his magic when his father came a little too close to him and suddenly, the king experienced the very thing Ruggie went through: His skin began to crumble more by the second. Servants and doctors came rushing by, hoping to save the King but he would pass away shortly after from completely drying out.

I must add: I'm rather unhappy about the lost opportunity in Book 2, though. Leona is a well written character, but Disney didn't raise Book 2 high enough for Leona to reach his whole potential (in the game).

Edit: I forgot to mention that being compared to his brother countless times is bound to cause an unhealthy relationship with his brother, which can also result in further issues in Leonas' mental health. It doesn't matter how hard Falena will try to build up the relationship with Leona, they will (most likely) never have a "normal" sibling relationship.

[snapdragonessart]

Part 2 of my dragon dentition series 😊 ancients coming next! Teef info under the cut

Obelisks take inspiration from Chinese guardian lion statues, with their voluminous manes, big paws and fierce face. As such, their teeth would be similar to a lion’s dentition, with massive canines and carnassials. Although lions mainly eat land-based animals, they are also opportunistic and will sometimes eat fish and even insects. This doesn’t make up for any large part of their diet, however, and in this way they differ from Obelisks which only eat seafood and bugs. Jaguars make a better match for Obelisks in regards to food, as they eat aquatic prey more often than lions do, with one remote population of jaguars in Brazil primarily feeding on aquatic reptiles and fish.

Pearlcatchers were pretty tricky to pin down. Their body and face look almost horse or deer-shaped. Their diet is insects and plants. The only creature that came to mind for Pearlcatchers were qilins; one-horned legendary beasts from Chinese mythology. They’re fully scaled, with dragon-like faces and a body shaped like a horse, deer or goat. This seems to fit Pearlcatcher’s the most, but figuring out their dentition is another matter. There’s not really a 1-to-1 comparative animal I can base their teeth on, so I think they’d be a mish-mash of different tooth structures. They’d have larger canines, maybe like a musk deer, but the rest of their teeth would follow a more herbivorous design. They’d have large, flat molars and premolars for grinding up plants, probably similar to a horse or goat. 

Ridgebacks are basically land-sharks, no question. Their diet and face says it all. Although their snouts look more like goblin sharks to me, I don’t think they’d have those creepy mouths. Their dentition would be more like a great white; they’d have a mouth full of serrated, razor sharp teeth. Like actual sharks, Ridgeback’s would have a reserve of extra teeth in their jaws. 

Skydancer dragons present another tricky situation. They’re bird dragons, and eat plants and insects like Pearlcatchers. Although some official art shows them with teeth, I don’t think they’d actually have them. The closest structure to teeth that's found in birds is the tomia, which is the cutting edge of the upper and lower beak. Tomia is not made of enamel, but of cartilage. Seed-eating birds use this to slice through seed hulls, and birds of prey like falcons have a single sharp projection to rip meat and insects apart. Geese have tomia on their tongues, which pushes the food back towards their throat as they eat. Skydancers probably have a gizzard as well, as the tomia is not enough on its own to grind food down completely. It was hard to figure out what the Skydancer’s beak would be most similar to; out of all the more hook beaked birds, it reminded me most of vultures or eagles, although in diet they do not match them at all. Skydancer beaks are a mish-mash of different bird characteristics that I thought would fit them the most, rather than based on a single bird in particular.

Snappers are tortoise dragons, and like tortoises they’d have ridges in their beaks to help chew food. The official lore states that their beaks are “lined with molars that begin halfway down the jaw and continue all the way to the back”. Real-life tortoises don’t have teeth, so I’d imagine these structures would be like the tomia of birds. Their diet would be a mix of what tortoises and turtles eat, as Snappers eat both plants and seafood.

Spirals really remind me of ferrets, with their noodley bodies and energetic, chaotic nature. Like ferrets, they’d have sharp little canines, incisors and carnassials for shredding meat. Ferrets mainly eat meat, but will also eat bugs too, which matches up with the Spirals diet.

Tundra dragons are currently the only purely herbivorous dragon. The lore states that they have “impressive canine teeth used for combat. The majority of their jaw is set with flat, wide molars, perfect for grinding up scrub.” They’d be most similar to musk deers in dentition, with both male and female Tundras having the enlarged canines characteristic of male musk deer. The canines wouldn’t be as thin or long as a musk deer; they would be thick, robust, and fit more snugly inside the mouth. 

Last for the modern breeds, we have the Wildclaws. They’re raptor dragons, based on the Dromaeosaurids - raptor dinosaurs (velociraptors, utahraptors, etc). Like raptors, Wildclaws would have widely spaced and serrated teeth. They’d be fairly equal in shape, and would curve backwards.  Raptors were carnivorous, which fits with the Wildclaw’s meat diet.

[the-kr8tor]

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

[honeyhivess]

i can't help falling in love with you <3

first 3 overblot boys falling in love with gender neutral reader

tags: cursing, might be ooc i am new to writing them

riddle rosehearts <3

riddle would only be open to dating someone after his overblot, he's such a stickler for the rules and didn't allow himself to truly let go and have fun until after the blot incident

he would be really scared to get into a relationship because of his parents, mostly his mom

he didn't want to get older and become his mother and treat his significant other like she treated him

you would probably have to be really close to him for him to start liking you tbh

the realization honestly hits him in the middle of the night

after doing his nightly routine he got into bed and relaxed, thinking over the unbirthday party that happened that night

adeuce had invited you to attend since you helped paint the roses, and since riddle had a bit of a soft spot for you by now he happily allowed it

you had a chair on one of the long sides of the table, closest to his chair at the head

late in the night his mind kept replaying you laughing at one of trey's bad jokes

oh shit.

riddle would be eyes open, staring at the wall in realization

the warmth he felt in his chest remembering your bright smile that day had him pleasantly overwhelmed

he never had the chance to crush on anyone else before since his mom so heavily sheltered him

this feeling came to him unknown and he was confused

he had a hard time falling asleep that night, and the next morning he immediately rushed to trey

after being teased a bit and prodded a bit more he realized he liked you

which, scared him

a couple days after he found out just what those feelings meant, he would have a hard time facing you

he didn't know what to do with this newfound information

you would have to confront him and make him tell you why he was borderline avoiding you

his face is RED red

he wouldn't stutter and would still kinda talk normally, but it would be more rushed

"Prefect... I've had the realization that I, really like you... If you would indulge me, I would love to take you out sometime...?"

leona kingscholar <3

...eh

lions normally have a pride of females, so leona is kinda used to flirting and romance

however, he is the bastard second born, so he isn't used to being the center of attention

when he met you, he saw an opportunity to have the chance at romancing someone without his brother looming over his shoulder

you hadn't even HEARD of his brother, which meant you couldn't even really pick falena over him

this excited leona a lot, so he got really territorial over you really fast

he would also put quite a bit of effort into wooing you, well, more than normal

he really tries to make himself just generally more appealing

he's nicer when you're around and started taking care of himself a bit more

it's a subtle change to you, but he gets DESTROYED by ruggie

when he initially realized he liked you he didn't have any big reaction

he's been through a couple relationships prior to you so it's not really anything new to him

you will start being dragged into his schemes more

also known as i really hope you like napping because you're about to get crushed

he drags you into his naps a lot, and he lays directly on top of you

you will not escape.

also he starts giving you a lot of things, gifts, food, clothing

he's not a hopeless romantic so don't really expect any super grand gestures

he also doesn't really confess? he kinda just asks you out

confessing is lame to him, it's juvenile

"Ay, herbivore? You free this saturday? You better be, I need a date to this dumb restaurant."

azul ashengrotto <3

motherfucker is NOT confessing first

i really hate to break it to you, but after his childhood, he does not have the confidence for that

now, azul may not confess, but he will flirt

...badly...

when he realized he kinda panicked and was immediately overwhelmed with worst case scenarios

he does not think you would ever like him, when he was younger he tried confessing to someone and got laughed at

so that kinda crushed him

jade and floyd would not be told, but they would notice very quickly

azul gets flustered when you're around and you get offered discounts occasionally

at first they thought azul wanted something materialistic from you

no he just wants your hand in marriage

they immediately become his wingmen, but

they are kinda the world's worst wingmen

jade is actually pretty good at highlighting azuls charms and good traits, but he also loves embarrassing azul in front of you

floyd is, floyd

he's a bit louder and much less subtle

and when combined they just start embarrassing azul, the poor octo-mer is dying

now, if you start hinting towards liking azul back, it is on

he immediately goes back into his smooth personality and he will start flirting with you

it starts of subtle, but it will become more apparent as time goes on

if you're really lucky and catch him on a good day, he'll ask you out

he'll invite you to monstro lounge, no one else will be there and you will be treated like royalty

jade would be the one serving you and floyd would be watching very intently from the kitchen

everything is on the house, just for you

"Have whatever you'd like, Prefect. This is all but a little taste of what more is to come."

a/n: i had so much fun writing azuls, i love octavinelle so much asdfghjk

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

could you write a little something about Rowan x reader where reader is Lorcan’s little sister

It’s been a hot minute since we stepped into tog’s universe…

Part II

The light we cannot see

You were the only source of light in life that Lorcan had. He had given up on life, on the right thing, on the fact that there could be good things gracing this land. But every time the last drop of light was threatened to be snuffed out, you brought it back. You held onto it with both hands. Your love was what kept him fighting. What kept him getting out of bed. His little dark-haired sister. A promise of danger with the kindness of heart.

“Anyone’s up for seconds?”, your voice fills the side dining room, pot slung on your hip as you strolled in. Maeve as much as she used them wasn’t the dine-with-me type so even her closest ate away from her chambers. “When they are coming from your hands, always”, Fenrys chirped, “I would eat poison from you”, he throws you a wink as you scoop another portion of stew into his bowl while rolling your eyes. “Careful, dreams come true”, Lorcan grunted, eyes fixed on the white wolf. Whose purpose in life seemed to be pissing Lorcan off. “I can shove it down your throat”, the table grew still, the threats didn’t surprise anyone by now but Lorcan’s sharp tone still made everyone halt. “Just joking, man. Y/n tell him that I’ve been behaving”, Fenrys pleaded making you chuckle, “I don’t know, have you?” The table echoed with laughter. “Don’t push me into the flames, love”, the white wolf clenched at his heart before turning his attention back to his food. But it was your hand that Lorcan’s eyes fell on. How it lingered on Rowan’s shoulders as you walked past him. How Rowan looked up. A strange sort of longing burning in his gaze. Lorcan lowered his spoon. Assessing eyes drinking you both in. And here it was the quickly shared looks, the slight nods. It couldn’t possibly be…

The rules applied to everyone. No one could come close to you. He wouldn’t allow it. They were all murderers. All were chained to a sadist who was willing and ready to do anything to break them. You were already hung up in front of him. You were already in danger because you shared blood with him and Lorcan hated himself for it. But to add another target on your back. To chain you to another person. To give her a reason to flung you around like a makeshift weapon. No, he wasn’t gonna allow it.

“You know you might just stare straight through the door if you keep glaring at it so hard”, Gabriel’s voice filled Lorcan’s ears as he blinked. He hadn’t even realized that he had zoned out. That you had left the room. “Have you…”, he cuts himself off, debating slightly as if he could voice his inner monologue, “Have you seen anything suspicious lately?” The older male shoots the darkness wielder a look. “As in threats in the city? No, it’s been calm down there”, Gavriel dabs at his lips with a napkin. Lorcan shakes his head, “Here, in the house. Have you noticed things… shifting”. “Lorcan be straight with it”, Gavriel states firmly, “You train Y/n, have you noticed anything strange”, he’s not sure why he stirs the conversation there but that’s where his mind takes him, and now that he’s grasping at nothing, he can use any detail.

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you”, the lion shrugs, making Lorcan shoot him a look of his own. “Maeve, shifting my guard times, Rowan is training with Y/n now. From what I’ve heard it’s going great”, he says it so casually as if he doesn’t seem to grasp the importance of the information he just shared. Not to mention that with everyone still being mid-meal Rowan gets up, waffling something about refilling the wine jugs. “I bet it is”, Lorcan watches him leave, “I bet it’s going wonderfully”, clamping his jaw he manages to take five breaths before he’s pushing his chair back.

A big part of him is hoping he would see just that. Just Rowan filling up the jugs. With you far away from him. He thinks about striding in. Making a big scene. But he halts, turning to the side pantry instead. Cracking the door ajar ever so slightly. “I can’t stay for long, too many men in the main hall”, Rowan mutters, brushing a strand of your black hair away and off your shoulders. “I was promised a night together”, you muse crossing your arms over your chest. “And I will keep my promise. Have I given you reason to doubt my promises before”, Rowan steps forward, a smile on his face. Your hands snake around his neck as you pull him in closer. “Maybe I need a reminder”, you hum, the mischievous eyes gleaming. “Is that so?”, Rowan tries to hide his smirk as he leans closer, “Let me remind you then”.

But his lips never meet yours and when you open your eyes it’s to him being pushed to the other side of the kitchen. “Lorcan”, you rasp out, moving to get closer to your older brother. Who had smashed a jug on his way, its shard now pressing against Rowan’s throat. “You lying filthy bastard”, he grits through his teeth, “The silent pig does dig the sweetest of crops, doesn’t it”. But Rowan’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Lor, I can explain”, you tug at his arm, “This doesn’t have to be this way”, you plead.

“What happened to us not having secrets, hmm?”, his angry gaze crashes into you. “I was gonna tell you”, you whine, “I was, I just didn’t want…”, “When”, he cuts you off, “Tell me when? when he screwed you pregnant and left you by some in to venture for yourself?”, his words make you stagger back. You can see the regret painting his features. But it was too late the words had met their mark. “Yn”, Lorcan breathes out, pushing off Rowan as he turns to you. You shake him off, moving across the kitchen. “I didn’t…”, “Save it. I heard you loud and clear”, you bite back, “I’m honored that you think so highly of your family”, you pull your apron off, throwing it on the table before yanking the patio door open. “Nice one”, Rowan chuckles bitterly from behind him, “You know, for someone who swore to protect her, you’re doing mighty shit work”. The males come face to face. And for the first time in a while, Lorcan realizes that maybe he doesn’t know the soldier fighting alongside him. “I should crush you beneath my feet”, Lorcan growls. “By all means”, Rowan is quick to stand even taller, “Just then you might find yourself utterly lonely in this bleak world”. His words jab Lorcan harder than any blade could. “Now if you excuse me, I have a crying partner to console, her brother is a jackass”, and with that he’s pushing past Lorcan, hitting his shoulder as he moves forward. Leaving Lorcan to stand on his own.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Updating Masterlist of "The Monkey King and the Infant" au posts;

Official Fanfic (ao3): "The Monkey King and the Infant"

Outline/Concepts:

"#The Monkey King and the Infant" Au Tag Original Post (may be outdated) Spotify Playlist (may contain spoilers for story) + with a general outlin of pre and current story events Details: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Assorted answered details

Shadowpeach being parents/mortal:

●"#shadowpeach being parents" - for all posts shadowpeach being parents. ●"#freenoodles being parents" - whether by themselves or co-parenting with shadowpeach. ●"#spicynoodles being parents" - ideas for future spicynoodles family stuff. ●"#sandy being the best uncle" - Sandy is just the Best Uncle. ●"#shadowpeach parental debuff" - posts relating to or explaining why these two are stuck on earth. ↳A (hopefully) clear outline of how the "Soul Energy Transfer" works. + Mortal Debuff ●"#dad bod sun wukong" + "#mom bod macaque" - posts about these two and their mortal bodies. Includes unrelated fanart I adore. ●"#pregnancy tw" - for all things preggers related cus I know some people ain't about that. ↳"childbirth tw" tag - you know why. Why Xiaotian? Macaque is the LMK world's version of Nicole Waterson + Fanart! "Qi Sun Wukong/Qi Wu" & "Qi Liu'er Mihou/Qi Mihou" + Now with Fanart! MORE FANART!!! Mortality/Aging Crisis + Now with really sweet edits that made me cry

Other Characters:

"#lmk character ideas" - more so for characters from chinese mythos/Journey to the West that have yet to appear in LMK. ●"#lmk bai he" - my version of Bai He/The Lady Bone Demon's Host ●"#lmk liu chenxiang" - for my version of Sun Wukong's student from The Lotus Lantern fairytale. ●"#lmk eclipse twins" - tag for Rumble & Savage, Macaque's little shadowclones in the au. ●"#lmk yuebei xing" & "#lmk lunar nodelets" tags - for my version of Yuebei Xing, and Jidu & Luohou from the non-canonical 1580-1590s "Journey the South" book. ●"#lmk sun luzhen" & "#sun luzhen" - for my versions of Sun Luzhen, Wukong's mini-me/biggest fan from the 17th century book "Later Journey to the West". ●"#lmk the four stalwarts" - for my version of the Monkey King's closest compatriots; Ma, Ba, Beng, and Liu. ●"#lmk guanyin" - for my version of Guanyin. ●"#lmk xiwangmu" - for my version of The Queen Mother of the West/Xiwangmu. ●"#lmk fan children" + "jttw inspo fan children" - for fan children of different pairings Princess Jade Face aka Auntie Jade Star Lord of Fire of the South aka SWK's Lawyer Spindrax aka the team's mean biker Mozhi the Ink Demon Babs and Gibs: The Other Celestial Primates

Events in Au/Story (may be unorganised):

●"#lmk tmkati au story events" - tag for straight forward story events in the au. Some older posts may be outdated. How does MK happen? (a little outdated but has the basic details) McCaque :3 aka "Why nobody tell me that food is amazing now!?" "A Hero is Born" changes, "A Hero is Born" changes Part 2 + Now with fanart!! What happens when you possess someone with a living debuff Diyu had two free babies The Wedding + the Proposal + Wedding Vows Azure Lion is trying to do the math here?

World Details/Non-Story Specific:

●"#lmk backstory hcs" - for backstory headcanons not particular to any aus. ●"#lmk character hcs" - character headcanons not particular to aus but may intersect. ●"#jttw inspo character ideas" - for ideas for Jttw characters who don't appear in certain other Jttw-inspired media (ex; a version of Six Eared Macaque in Smash Legends to contrast their Wukong). ●"#jttw inspo ocs" - for new characters made for my Jttw-inspired media ideas. Ie; Xiaoshi for my Netflix Monkey King idea, or the Fruit Babies in my Reborn idea. ●"#lmk gender hcs" - includes personal hcs. ●"#lmk theories" + "#jttw theories"- for theories. ●"#monkey facts" - monkey facts :)

Other Aus/Theories:

●"#Celestial NATO" - goofy idea where the LMK cast interact with other pantheon gods. ● "#wukongverse" - crossover ideas between different JttW inspired characters. ↳Different verses SWK and LEM Nicknames ↳Different verses SWK/LEM ship names/tags +Look at this amazing Smash Legends! Six Earred Macaque art ●"#born grown stone monkeys" - based on the idea that Sun Wukong and Macaque were both born "fully formed" as adults, but were mentally still kids pre-Journey. ●"#Reincarnated!lbd au" - a collection of mini-aus where after her defeat, the Lady Bone Demon's soul split off to reincarnate immediately. In the main version it splits four ways into different fan children (including a version of Yuebei Xing). ●"#lmk penumbra au" - Before Macaque got canonically ded'd, he left behind a pair of shadow clones to "watch the fort" at FFM. Wukong can't bring himself to destroy them, and donates his life energy/dao to the shadows to keep them around. The shadows decide to transform into Rumble & Savage after a few centuries of this, and now Wukong is a proud dad/mom to a pair of chirpy Macaque-looking babies. Macaque is confused when he gets back. ●"#stone egg talk" - ideas about Stone Monkeys being able to reproduce asexually under desperate means through a form of very-risky Parthenogenesis that creates a slow-cooking Stone Egg in their body. Sun Luzhen is created this way in some aus + in the main TMKATI au. ● ↳"#century stone egg au" aka "#SWK is MK's stone egg dad theory au" - exactly what it says on the tin. SWK inducing the process out of loneliness/desire to be a parent = MK's egg. The modern gang hangs out on the island with him once he gets unburied. Has vibes of a flipped TMKATI au. ●↳"#jttw stone egged au" - Turns out being trapped under Five Point Mountain is the perfect trigger conditions for SWK's body to create a Stone Egg. He spends the Journey pregnant and very pissed off. ●+↳"#slow boiled stone egg au" - an Au of an Au. In which Wukong's stone egg-pregnancy during the Journey is extended by many years from him deciding to isolate himself after the Samadhi Fire incident + the death of Macaque. By the time of the canon LMK series, SWK has been pregnant for many, many years, and still is. MK is very confused and horrified. ●+↳"#soft boiled stone egg au" - Au of Slow Boiled in which Yuebei XIng is born during the events of the Samadhi Fire Ritual. Wukong retreats from the public eye after the Journey to settle down and raise his daughter. Yuebei has spent most of her life recieving treatments and learning on Guanyin's island, and at the time of LMK has finally hit her rebelious teen phase. ●++↳"#lmk marbled egg au" - au of an au of an au; Slow Boiled but Wukong keeps MK when he gets dumped on him. Gets a bunch of friends within the Noodle Gang early.

Memes & Misc Addons:

●"#memes" - main memes tag. ●Love Dodecahedron Chart (spoilers) ●POV: You just said you were hungry within 10 miles of Pigsy ●Nezha: Ultimate Babysitter

Be sure to send in asks about any details that may be unclear, I've only just gotten back into fic-writing, and it's my first time dedicating some blog time to one.

Update: May create a new pinned post for a general overview of my blog, rather than solely LMK works.

[thecorruption-thespiralsversion]

What Sign (Astrology) is what Fear (The Magnus Archive)

I remember in the 2010s, on the astrology side of tumblr. A popular thing to was take albums and assign each song to the sign they felt represented. This is inherently an imperfect practice (Astrology is actually a very complicated process.), but taken lightly it can be loads of fun.

Disclaimer, I researched this stuff a years ago, and like The Fear, I'm basing all this on Feeling. I am by no mean an expert.

Aries - The Sluaghter - As an Archetype, Aries is the sign of The Warrior. The "youngest" of the signs, it's often seen as impulsive and reckless. Angered on the drop of a dime, and always ready for a fight.

Taurus - The Flesh - They are creature of comfort and gluttony. A sign who will work hard now so they can sleep longer later. The Bull, sturdy, strong, and grounded. Somehow the laziest and hardest working sign. They are lover of food, and the physical pleasures.

Gemini - The Stranger - This one feel like the stereotype. All Gemini are two-faced, fake, childish/immature. The eternal child. There is a whimsy to The Stranger.

Cancer - The Corruption - This one is complicated. They're sweet, caring, and nurturing. The Archetype of The Mother, but not The Matriarch. Another Archetype is seen as The Prostitute. This is complicated because it's not about sex, but that of giving yourself for the nurture of another. It is a love that consumes in all ways.

Leo - The Lonely - The Lion, The King. When will you learn that to be on top is to have no peers, no fellows.

Virgo - The Web - Their stereotype is that of a controlling and obsessive compulsive individuals. The is the sign of order.

Libra - The Web - This is a sign often stereotyped as " my way or the highway". Now mind you this is an exaggeration. This is the sign of balance, fairness, and whatever one's perceptions of that is. Equilibrium and Order. The Diplomate, Soft power.

Scorpio - The Dark... The Desolation - Guess this is where the jig is up. There is no one to one. They aren't comparable!!!!! Appropriate that I brake patterns at the sign that actually represents Death. But not The End. I have found most esoteric practice don't regard Death as finality, more a transition. This sign is that of mystery and power. Of night and rage. The Dark Feminine. If I'd have it my way, Agnus Montague would be a Scorpio.

Sagittarius - The Hunt - adventures, philosophy, and discovery are all associated with this sign.

Capricorn - The Buried - The most structured of the signs. This isn't order, but rigidity. Stren and Stoic. They have always been the biggest sweethearts I have ever meet, but they scare me, it not a malicious fear, but that of a child who respects their father. They inspire that sense of "masculine"(not gender specific) discipline.

Aquarius - The Vast - I know many will argue The Stranger, and you're right, all this shit is subjective. But hear me out. The Revolutionaries! The sign that look towards the future, towards endless possibilities, to infinity.

Pisces - The Spiral - The sign closest to divinity, The end of one cycle, and the start of another. What was that about doing the same thing over and over again? But ever The Dreamer you take another turn, another twist.

Aries - The Sluaghter....

The End can't really exist as a concept in this cycle.

But I think The Eye would be all of them. We are all the observers of our lives.

I think therefore I am, we are I.

Archives to our existence. I think that's why I like astrology. It's us trying to observe ourself and others. Find connections, coincidence, and magic in what "I was ment to have for breakfast", and maybe I wasn't. But it fun, these games we play with everyone.

I hope you're all having fun

[watchingblsnowandforever]

Peaceful Property ep. 3

Heyy y'all I'm back =D

I absolutely love what Peaceful Property is doing. And I can officially say that I will see this through till the end even if it is not a BL. That's a big thing for me to say, considering I've left actual BLs for much smaller reasons.

Every episode is like a self-contained story about someone who stayed here because of just one last wish – "I want to finish my lunch, I want to know if I was successful", "I want to get my hair back, even if it is in the form of a wig", "I want her to have this gift for her birthday".

As I said in my ep 1 post, they all talk about some sort of oppression or class differences (even the overarching plot arc, which I will come to in a minute).

The second one talks about the fallible nature of justice, especially for those who cannot afford it. It's a simple thing, to have some semblance of one's old hair before they die, but often, even the simplest of wishes gets vehemently shut down by society. I did kind of realize the cancer point before they announced it, so they're doing good foreshadowing too.

The third ep hit the closest to home, I think. And also to Home. Family is such a fickle thing. I love how they went about it, and as always, adored having P'Jennie back on my screen.

I love how they explored Home's loneliness and lack of a well... home. He has a big house, more money than he can ever spend, but at the end of the day, he has no one to even share food with. Did anyone else guess A'Kid being the villain? No?

No one is that kind and generous, especially when you got the short stick in the inheritance. The lawyer gives me the creeps, honestly.

And I think we all know Kan has some personal agenda for going into the lion's den, so to speak. Something to do with the employees not being paid properly, maybe? I worship the ground she walks on, btw. I wish I was half as scary as she is.

The overarching plot, mentioned somewhere above, is of course, the corruption within the family and how they send Home on a wild goose chase and keep his focus away from the real issues.

I think that's all for this week. If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! ☺️

Here, have a cake 🎂

[mci-writing]

I’m so ready to go home, why am I still a state away 4 days after I was supposed to leave RAHHHHH-

Bandages (Ishigami Senku x Reader)

Warnings: Spoilers for New America Arc (specifically chapters 158-161 give or take), angst with a happy ending, angst and fluff, mention of Senku being shot but no explicit detailing of it that I can remember 😭 sorry if there is, gender neutral pronouns but there may be plausible she/her that I missed (very very sorry if there is)

Giggles flow out of an open window, a desk lamp the only source of light in the room as low music plays from a speaker. The owner lays out across a bed, feet happily kicking in the air while the fluff of their socks frisk each other in passing. The international calls on the phone will more than likely wrack the bill up, but it's hard to care when their closest friend is chatting away on the phone. It's getting late for them, inching into the next day, while their friend's day is slowly approaching the evening.

“So you tried lion, just like that?” (Y/n) holds their phone close to their ear as they roll onto their back, head hanging off the side of their bed while the plush of their blankets presses into the back of their neck, "I thought you were joking about it earlier... What did it taste like? Was it good?"

The other person on the line chuckles at that, grinning as he sits in a desk chair and scoots it to the desk in his current room with his arms crossed. He flicks on a light, grabbing a pen as he pulls a notebook towards him, "I'm ten billion percent sure you're more interested in the food I've been eating here than my research, Dragonfruit."

"Of course not, Leekboy. Tell me all about your disease research onnn... Ebola!"

This is their second phone call together for the day, the first during (Y/n)'s lunch break at school while Senku was getting up for the morning. They'd talk for an hour, the whole lunch break, until the two had to disperse for their respective duties, and then would reserve ay other catching up for night calls. It was technically both of their way of tricking the other into going to bed, but they'd spend weekends up for hours on end talking to each other about whatever came to mind until they'd pass out.

Senku was currently talking about the advancement on their research, in as much detail as possible, as per usual. (Y/n) might not understand much of it, but they still let him excitedly tell them about the topic. It's enough for them, satiates the longing to see their friend and calms the tugging feeling of them missing him. Deep down, Senku also knows they don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but he still entertains them.

“Buuut,” He finally ends his rant when he can sense (Y/n) getting bored, a grin forming on his lips as he leans more against his shoulder, adjusting the phone a little better. He’s fully stopped writing, twirling his pen between his fingers before slamming it on the desk, “I’m ten billion percent sure I’ll be back in Japan soon. I finally got what I actually came down here for and our recent test trials are looking promising.”

He leans back into his chair, an entertained twinkle in his eye as he hears the realization dawns on them. He holds back a snort at the noise they make, “Really?”

“I’d give it a solid week or two,”

Senku jumps at the loud bang on the other line, a soft ‘Ow’ following a little after. (Y/n) lifts their face off of the book they’d just smashed it into, sheepishly laughing as they scrub the squashed feeling off, “Try coming back in one piece, please? I’ve really missed you… you being in the science lab every day after class. It’s soooo boring not being able to mess with you.”

The line’s quiet a moment before Senku lets out a few chuckles, “I guess a lab’s not the same if you don’t have a few goofballs running around you,” He responds after a beat, “Get excited, ‘cause when I get back I’ve got a few project ideas.”

“Ohh, joy. I’ll be sure to warn Taiju and Yuzuriha,” (Y/n) pulls up their group chat and happily sends a message, taking a minute to check the time. The sight makes them shiver, a groan releasing from the deepest parts of their body, “It’s suuuper late…” They peek at the time once more, doing a quick calculation in their head before their eyebrows furrow, “And it’s definitely getting late for you, sir.”

“I’m not even tired-,” His phone rings, a FaceTime request with (Y/n)’s glaring face staring right back at him. He feels his face warm at the small pout on their lips, eyebrows knitted together with narrowed (e/c) eyes.

He watches their mouth move as they say, “Turn on your camera,” and he’s intelligent enough to do as they say. He’s rewarded with a smile, “It’s nice to see your face again, Leekboy.”

“You could’ve seen it more often if you just asked, Dragonfruit,” He easily quips back, setting his stuff aside neatly before getting up to lay his head down. His grin grows at how flustered they get, “It’s nice to see you too, (Y/n).”

“You should’ve started with that!”

~~~

“Senku!” The sound of gunshots still ring through (Y/n)’s ears days after the fact. Every time they look at him they remember each and every detail of the attack: the blood, the look of shock on everyone’s faces, the helplessness they felt watching Senku be targeted and almost taken out by a sniper.

He may be resting now, but (Y/n) knows that first chance he has he’ll jump right back up to lead, even if he’s still in the process of healing. They’ve heard him whispering his plans for once he’s back on his feet and it makes their heartbeat pound in their ears. There’s not much they can do to stop him.

“Hey, Leekboy,” They call when they finally get him alone, sitting on the edge of his medical bed. They’re unable to look at him, (e/c) eyes staring straight ahead to the walls of the lower deck, “Promise me you’ll take it easy?”

“Heh,” He chuckles, a little more breathless than before but better than the last few days since the incident, managing to tilt his head to look to them, “It’ll take more than that, Dragonfruit. 10 billion percent sure-,”

“Don’t brush it off! Stanley still hit you with his bullets,” Their eyes finally meet his, tearing up a little. He’s a little taken aback by their small outburst, analyzing their face and body language, “I… wouldn’t be able to handle you being gone, whether you’re worried about it or not. I could barely handle when you were off in Africa for a few months, but if you died?”

They feel their tears fall onto the skin of their hands. The cool feeling shocks them as they start to realize how worked up they are. They feel Senku squeeze their hand, pulling it a little closer to him after he manages to sit up.

“Well, get excited, cause I’m not planning on dying anytime soon,” He reassures. He doesn’t stop them from laying their forehead on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the back of it, “If I did, you’d miss seeing my face-”

“Senku,” They state, straightening up and looking into his eyes. Their grip on his hand tightens, shifting their hold to press their hands to their chest. He can feel their heart hammering, the air around them stilling as their (e/c) eyes look through him, “I’m worried about you. You’ve almost died so many times, but this time…” They hesitate, their breath hitching as the tears start to roll down their cheeks. Their shoulders shudder as they attempt to hold back everything they’ve been bundling up, “This time…”

They’re unable to stop the tears, their free hand doing it’s best to run at their eyes and clear their sight. They begin full on sobbing, letting his hand go as they hold themself. (Y/n) leans into him, like they have numerous times before, and cried into his chest, drenching his bandages. Senku doesn’t hesitate to hold them their, focusing on the wall ahead of them as he takes in their words.

This isn’t his first time seeing them cry, but he’s never seen them openly cry over something concerning him. It’s makes him feel even worse, that he could cause them such distress due to his reckless actions and that they’ve been holding it in.

“(Y/n),” He finally speaks as their sons die down, his hold tightening as he pulls them more into his chest, “I promise, I’m going to survive this and I’ll try not to make you worry so much again.”

They shift in his hold, getting a better look at him as he stares down at them, (e/c) eyes meeting his crimson ones that are a mix of serious and teasing. His mouth slowly curls up into his usual confident grin, his hand coming up and wiping their tears away.

They mirror it with a smile of their own, laughing a little, “Yeah, Leekboy? I’ll miss seeing you geek out in your lab with Chrome if you’re gone.”

“Of course, Dragonfruit,” He teases back, “Heh, I’d miss seeing your face.”

He doesn’t miss the way their face flushes or the small shift in their body language as they avert their eyes, “I’d miss seeing your face too…” A small glint reaches their eyes, “Senkie~”

He grimaces at that, flicking their forehead and narrowing his eyes, “I prefer Leekboy-,”

“What happened to preferring Sen~ku?”

He grips their cheeks between his fingers, continuously squeezing them til their lips pucker, “I’m gonna kiss you to make you shut up.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.”

He doesn’t hesitate, cupping their face before pulling them closer. Their noses brush against each other, his breath fanning over their lips, before softly connecting. It’s quick, a little nervous, and leaves them both smiling. They both go straight back to each other, deepening the second kiss before inevitably pulling away for air.

(Y/n)’s a little dazed after, their hands at some point gripping his shoulders. They use them to keep them steady and grounded.

“Holy shit…” They mumble, Senku chuckling at their reaction. They take him in, remembering his bandaged state.

Wait, how long has he changed his bandages out?

His drenched bandages…

“Shit, your bandages!” They hop off the bed, pressing a quick peck to the top of his head, and rush out of the room in search of Luna or a new set of bandages stored away.

[smilingformoney]

For the Love of Books | Sinclair/Betty (OC)

X. The Lion's Den

Summary: Betty and Sinclair attend a party.

AN: Now with added Lionel :D

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Betty had never been one for adventure. She preferred to stay in and read about other people having adventures. Moving all the way to London from Falmouth to open her own bookshop had been a terrifying prospect, and certainly the most daring thing she’d ever done.

Learning to drive, being in a relationship, having sex - these were all things that most people did as a normal part of life, but they’d passed Betty by. Then came Sinclair, bringing all these adventures into her life, showing her new ways to experience the world. She loved the adventure that was being with him, and she happily agreed to any crazy idea he came up with.

But even so, his latest idea had taken some convincing and a lot of puppy dog eyes. For there was no way Betty could ever understand the appeal of rollercoasters, yet eventually she caved and agreed to go to Thorpe Park with him.

Leaving Goldie in Mei-Li’s care, Sinclair drove the two of them in the Accord to the theme park, which was only a 20 minute drive away but it felt like an eternity to Betty, especially when the tallest rollercoasters loomed on the horizon as they got closer. Sinclair, of course, told Betty all about the theme park that had opened 13 years ago, and he assured her that the rides were safe.

Sinclair practically bounced out of the car and Betty had to jog to catch up with him at the park entrance. His enthusiasm was admittedly infectious, and Betty thought that some of the rides might be fun, so long as they weren’t too fast or too high.

Somehow, Sinclair convinced Betty to go on the ‘Flying Fish’ ride. He was practically vibrating with excitement when they got off, ready to go another five times, and he turned to Betty to suggest that they go again when she dashed off into the nearest bush and promptly vomited.

“Betty!”

Sinclair quickly ran to her side and gathered her hair in his hand to hold it back from her face. With his other hand, he rubbed her back soothingly as she vomited again, then after a few moments she straightened up and Sinclair offered her his handkerchief.

“I’m never doing that again,” she mumbled as she wiped her face.

“Definitely not! Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and have a sit down.”

Ten minutes later, Betty emerged from the toilets feeling as clean as she could having used a public toilet, and found Sinclair at a picnic bench, tucking into some no doubt overpriced food.

He swallowed his mouthful of hotdog and said, “I bought you some fries in case you’re hungry but if you still feel sick and you don’t want to eat that’s okay. How do you feel?”

“Better. When we have kids, you can take them here, I’ll stay home with Goldie.”

“…When we have kids?”

“Well, I fully intend to get married and have kids and grow old with you. You’d better tell me now if you don’t want to, before I get invested.”

Sinclair smiled and wriggled happily in his seat. “I’d love that. Let me just get divorced first, though. Speaking of how much I love you - it’s a lot, by the way - Valentine’s Day is next week.”

Betty popped a fry into her mouth. She was hungry, but she didn’t want to upset her stomach again.

“Yes, it is. Did you want to do something for it? I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day before. What do we do that’s so different to every other day?”

“Well, I was going to offer to take you out somewhere nice to eat, but last night my cousin called me, he’s having a party on Valentine’s Day. He’s no romantic but he’ll take any excuse to throw a party. Would you like to go? He always throws the best parties, he’s got a huge manor in the countryside and all the food and drink is free!”

“You want me to meet the family already?”

Sinclair waved a hand. “It’s only my cousin. Neither of us had siblings and we’re the same age so we’re the closest either of us has to a brother.”

“Big manor in the countryside? Is he rich too, then?”

“Oh, very. Much richer than me.”

“Richer than you, eh? Is he single?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened as he bit into his hotdog, and Betty laughed.

“I’m kidding, Sinclair! Your cousin could be the richest man in the country and I’d still rather be with you.”

“Goo’cuseis,” Sinclair replied with his mouth full of hotdog.

“What?”

Sinclair swallowed, then repeated, “Good, because he is!”

“He is what?”

“The richest man in the country. He’s a billionaire, I’m just a humble millionaire. Only the Queen is richer than him.”

Betty thought back to last year’s Sunday Times rich list for a moment, then dropped a chip in surprise.

“Your cousin is Lionel Shabandar?”

Sinclair nodded, as if he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb on her.

“So do you want to go? It’s okay if not, we can stay in or we can go to a restaurant —”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Betty said quickly. “I’d like to meet your family. I want to hear all the stories about what baby Sinclair got up to. I bet you were so cute!”

“What do you mean were?” Sinclair asked in mock offence.

“Well, of course you’re still cute now. What do you want to do for the afternoon?”

“Oh, don’t you want to go home? I thought you might not want to go on any more rides.”

“No, I don’t, but I don’t fancy a car ride either. I’m happy to watch you go on the rides. Plus there’s other stuff we can do. I’d love to go to the petting farm!”

“Yes, let’s do that! But don’t tell Goldie we’ve been petting other animals, he might get jealous.”

Betty decided not to mention that Goldie couldn’t understand English, and if he did he probably wouldn’t be jealous, and instead she fished out the park map to find their way to the farm while Sinclair started listing all the animals the farm had.

“I heard they have ponies, do you want to pet the ponies? And sheep and goats too, but I don’t think I’ll pet the pigs, although they are still very interesting so I’d like to see them.”

“I want to see all of them, and maybe once you see how sweet pigs are, you’ll stop eating their brothers and sisters,” Betty said with a smirk, looking up at Sinclair, who had finished his hotdog and was now licking the mustard from his fingers. He looked at her with alarm.

“Do you think they’ll be able to tell?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out if one of them jumps at you.”

Betty stood up and Sinclair followed her, eyes wide with worry that an angry pig was going to tackle him.

“Can pigs jump? I have no idea if pigs can jump. Maybe we should ask someone there, just in case —”

Betty laughed and took Sinclair’s hand as they meandered through the crowds towards the ferry station for the farm. “Relax, Sinclair, they’re not going to be able to tell you’ve eaten pork.”

“Do you want me to stop eating pork? I can stop if you want, although I’ll miss the pork sandwiches that David does, but your halloumi burgers do look really nice.”

“Just pork or other meats too?”

“All of them! I’ll stop eating meat from right now. That hotdog was my last meat ever! Oh, no, but I have some chicken in the fridge… well, I’ll finish that off, then I’ll stop.”

Betty stopped walking suddenly, and Sinclair skidded to a halt when he realised she’d stopped, her hand in his preventing him from moving any further.

“You’d give up meat for me?” she asked with a frown.

“Of course,” Sinclair said with a shrug, as if it was a trivial thing. “It makes you uncomfortable so I’ll stop. Besides, when one of us cooks we always eat vegetarian so it’s not like - mmhm!”

She interrupted him with a kiss, which he happily reciprocated, and when they separated Betty was looking at him with such sweet adoration in her eyes that Sinclair wanted to melt.

“You never cease to amaze me with how sweet you are, Sinclair,” Betty smiled.

“I just want to make you happy, Betty. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, come on, let’s go pet some ponies.”

---

The following Friday, Betty stepped out of her dingy London flat feeling like an absolute imposter, dressed in a gold dress and heels to go to a party at the home of the richest man in the country. Not only that, but she was attending as the date of said richest man’s also very rich cousin, who had managed to avoid mentioning in the last four months of knowing her that his cousin was Lionel Shabandar.

Sinclair was waiting outside, and they both equally gaped when they set eyes on each other.

”Sinclair - a limo?!”

”Betty… you look amazing.”

She blushed. She’d closed the shop early and spent all afternoon and far too much money at the salon getting her very curly afro straightened and the money she had left after that had gone towards her dress. She knew that the type of people she’d meet tonight were the type who could tell if she wore a dress from Primark, and would judge her hard for it.

”Thanks,” she said with a smile, fiddling with her hair nervously. “You look even more handsome than usual. Have you combed your hair?”

”Have I —? Never mind my hair! Look at yours! I almost didn’t recognise you! Oh - before I forget - since it’s Valentine’s Day…”

He produced a bouquet of roses from behind his back with a grin, and Betty blushed even harder.

”Sinclair! You didn’t have to go to all this trouble…”

”But it’s Valentine’s Day!” he said with his best puppy dog eyes. “And I have the best date in the world!”

”You’re so cute.” Betty leant up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. Let me just put these upstairs —“

”It’s okay, there’s a vase in the limo! It’s so much fun, there’s a mini fridge too, and a TV, and —“

”Are we going to a party at a mansion or in the car?”

”Both! Come on - here, let me help you in.”

Sinclair opened the door for her and helped her in like a proper gentleman, then he tucked the roses into a compartment and instructed the driver to take them to his cousin’s mansion.

”Clair, be honest, do I look okay? I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb among all these rich people…”

”You look so beautiful, Betty! I mean it. How did you get your hair so straight? That must have taken ages.”

”Oh, it took all afternoon. Straightening an afro isn’t an easy task, I wouldn’t dare to try it myself, I had to get someone to do it. It’s why I don’t straighten it often, it’s far too much effort.”

”It looks amazing. So beautiful. I’d love it if you were able to magically straighten it so you could have it like this more often. Not that I don’t love your curly hair, I adore your curly hair, but I love this too. You’d look good with any hair. Or no hair! Please don’t try that, though. And the dress is amazing! Gold suits you. Any colour suits you, but I really, really like this one. Do you want to see what’s in the mini fridge? I had a little peek on the way over, but I haven’t had any of it yet. Only the snacks. There’s still some crisps left, I think, but I ate most of them, sorry. There’ll be loads of food at the party, and loads of drinks, and they’re all free! Lionel really goes all out for his parties. He goes all out for everything. You think I’m rich, wait until you’ve seen his place. He has artwork worth millions of pounds, just sitting there!”

”Is that any different to your cars just sitting there?” Betty interjected.

”My cars aren’t worth that much!” Sinclair insisted. He was pouring the champagne into glasses now, and shooed Betty’s hand away when she tried to help. “Okay, a few of them are worth millions, but not nearly as many. Natalie always said I had more money than sense, but if anyone does, it’s Lionel. Here you go!”

He finally stopped to breathe as he handed her a glass of champagne.

”Happy Valentine’s Day to the best girlfriend ever!”

Betty laughed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Clair. I love you.”

His eyes lit up as if she hadn’t said it a thousand times before. ”I love you too!”

They clinked glasses and drank, and Betty swore it tasted just the same as a £20 bottle from Somerfield, but she was sure the price tag was significantly higher.

”So, you just kind of dropped the bomb on me the other day that your cousin is Lionel Shabandar,” Betty said as she leant back into his arms on the double-wide seat. “Do you know him very well? I barely know my cousins.”

”Yes, we’re the same age, so we grew up together and went to Winchester at the same time. We were both very interested in business, and obviously we’re both rich and successful, but he’s even better off than I am because he invested a lot of his money whereas I’ve always loved spending. Then he bought all these media companies and put them into one big company so he owns most media companies in the country now and he can afford to spend even more than I ever did.”

”Yeah, I know he’s got a huge publishing house. Most of my stock is published by Shabandar Books.”

”Not just books! He owns TV channels, magazines, newspapers. I keep telling him he needs to invest in the internet, all my research at work says it’s the next big thing.”

”What’s internet?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened in the excited way they did when he realised he could explain something new to her, and so Betty spent the rest of the trip listening to him explaining some miraculous technology that let computers talk to each other even when they were miles apart. She was so focused on listening to him that she almost didn’t notice the limo slowing to a stop as they approached the mansion, and she almost jumped when the driver got up to let them out.

”Wow.”

It wasn’t eloquent, but it just about summed up Betty’s feelings when she stepped out of the limo - aided, of course, by her very gentlemanly boyfriend - and saw the mansion before her.

She clung onto Sinclair’s arm and let him guide her down the path. The gardens were packed with partygoers, and Betty didn’t want to get lost in the sea of people.

Sinclair was narrating as they walked down the path, pointing out stories behind statues, most of which seemed to be, “Lionel likes lions because of his name so he buys anything with a lion on it.”

“Oh, there he is!” Sinclair exclaimed. “Lionel!”

A man turned around, around the same age as Sinclair and bearing a strong family resemblance. He smiled and went to greet Sinclair with a handshake, but instead Sinclair pulled him into an embrace.

”Good to see you, cuz!”

”Ah - Sinclair. Good to see you too,” Lionel said with a restrained smile. He endured the embrace until Sinclair let him go. He turned to Betty and smiled very differently - warm, welcoming, and his eyes looked her up and down. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Elizabeth Bennett,” Betty said, holding out her hand to greet him. She blushed when, instead of shaking her hand, Lionel took it gently and kissed the back of her hand as if the sound of her name immediately turned him into Mr Darcy.

”A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Lionel Shabandar.”

”Yes, I… know who you are.”

Sinclair wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Lionel raised an eyebrow and dropped Betty’s hand.

”Betty’s my date for this evening,” Sinclair said firmly. “And every evening.”

”Oh, is that so?” Lionel replied, though he didn’t take his eyes off Betty for an instant. “You’re not tired of my cousin talking your ear off yet?”

”Of course not, I love listening to him talk.”

”Well, someone has to, I suppose,” Lionel shrugged, then turned his attention back to Sinclair. “What happened to that wife of yours? Natasha, was it?”

“Natalie. We’re divorcing. Didn’t your mum tell you?”

”Oh, probably, I don’t really listen when she starts talking about family drama. Well, I’m glad for you, Sinclair. She was such a bore. I’m sure you’re much more engaging, aren’t you, Elizabeth?” Lionel said, turning to Betty once again.

”I hope so.”

”She’s amazing!” Sinclair gushed. “She’s so smart, she owns a bookshop that she runs all by herself, and she used to be a librarian so she’s read almost as many books as I have, and she’s great at memorising things like the Dewey decimal system, cooking recipes, and she can recite most of Shakespeare by heart!”

Lionel chuckled. “A literature lover, I take it? I’m quite partial to paintings myself, and they do say a picture can paint a thousand words.”

”A thousand words isn’t actually all that much. Especially not when you’re dating Sinclair. He can say a thousand words in one breath.”

“She’s right, I can!” Sinclair grinned. “And she’ll listen to every one of them. Or at least pretend to. Say, Lionel, why don’t you show Elizabeth some of your artwork? She didn’t believe me when I told her you had paintings worth millions.”

“Yes, of course I will! But it’ll have to be later, I have rounds to do. Excuse me.”

Lionel took Betty’s hand to kiss it again, then sauntered off to speak to some other important rich white man.

“Well, he’s… charming.”

Sinclair sighed and shook his head. “That’s one way to put it. I should have known he’d try to flirt with you - he loves beautiful things, and you’re the most beautiful thing here. Not that you’re a thing - I mean because you’re beautiful. More beautiful than anything or anyone here.”

Betty laughed and leaned up to kiss Sinclair on the cheek. “You said the food here was free. Shall we go feast?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Yes, let’s!”

It soon became evident that getting some alone time with Sinclair was going to be impossible. He was constantly running into people he knew, greeting them like seeing them was the best thing ever, then proudly introducing Betty as his partner. The reactions were mixed - some were surprised or confused that he was with someone other than Natalie, some seemed happy to see him rid of her, and one or two looked at Betty like she really shouldn’t be there. Those people, as soon as their faces fell, Sinclair quickly turned cold to and made an excuse to get rid of them.

Sinclair was deep in conversation when Betty finished her food, so she excused herself to get some drinks. On the way back, she saw from afar that Sinclair was already chatting to someone else and was nearly finished with his food, so she stopped at the buffet table to grab him some more as she knew he’d be torn between continuing his no doubt very interesting conversation and eating more food.

She arrived at the table with a plate of food in one hand and drinks on a small tray she’d borrowed from the bar in another. She placed the drinks tray down first, followed by the plate of food, and Sinclair looked at the plate in surprise, then up at her, and his eyes lit up when he realised she’d brought him some more food.

“Ah, more drinks, excellent,” said the man Sinclair had been talking to, an older man in a suit as fancy as everyone else’s there. He helped himself to one of the drinks, and Betty frowned at him.

“Hey, that was mine!”

The man frowned at her, as if surprised she’d said anything. “Excuse me, young lady, these drinks are for guests.”

Betty froze. She didn’t want to cause a scene, not in front of Sinclair. It was their first fancy event as a couple, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. But she knew exactly what the man meant - he thought she was a server.

Sinclair, it seemed, had clocked too, because he straightened up and shot an icy glare at the man.

“I think you’ll find there are three guests at this table, Mr Benson. I did say my partner had gone to get drinks.”

“Well, then, she’ll have to fetch her own, won’t she? Rather than sending a server to bring them over.”

“I am the partner, dickhead!” Betty hissed.

The man looked at her with shock, as if the concept of his fellow rich white man dating a black girl was unprecedented.

“I’ve changed my mind, Mr Benson,” said Sinclair coldly. “I don’t think I have capacity to take you on as a client after all. I think you should leave now.”

“Well, I never!” Mr Benson spluttered, before standing up and storming off.

Betty felt her shoulders relax and she took her seat next to Sinclair.

“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison, then laughed.

“Don’t be sorry, Betty, you handled that very well.”

“I called a potential client a dickhead.”

“Well, he was being a dickhead. Besides, I don’t want someone like him as a client. You’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I’m sorry you had to go through that at all."

Betty shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it!” Sinclair insisted stubbornly. “People like him are morons. I can’t believe anyone would look at you and think anything other than, Wow, she’s so beautiful, I can’t believe how lucky Sinclair is.”

“Yeah, well… I can’t believe anyone would be married to you and think, Hey, maybe I’ll fuck my brother. There are some strange people out there.”

Sinclair laughed. “We must be the only sane ones!”

“We must be.”

She kissed him chastely on the lips, not wanting to be too affectionate in public, and he responded by squeezing her hand under the table.

“I can’t believe you brought me more food without me even asking!” Sinclair said with a grin when their lips parted and his attention turned to the food in front of him. “You’re so amazing. Here, why don’t you have the drink Benson didn’t touch?”

“That’s okay. Actually, it’s getting a bit crowded in here for me. Do you mind if I go for a wander? You can stay here and mingle, I just need a bit of quiet for a bit.”

“Mmm-hmm!” Sinclair replied, his mouth already full of sandwich. He swallowed, then said, “Of course you can, Betts! Maybe see if you can find Lionel and get that tour from him!”

“Good idea. I love you.”

“I love you too!”

She kissed him on the cheek and left him to his mingling, and she was barely on her feet when he was already waving over someone he recognised.

The crowd thinned when Betty managed to squeeze out of the gazebo, but with so many people she didn’t know it was still quite overwhelming, and she was relieved when Lionel emerged from the crowd and greeted her.

“Elizabeth! There you are. How would you like to have a look at my artwork now? I’m desperate for a break from all this chitchat.”

“I was just looking for you to ask that myself.”

“Perfect timing, then. Come along.”

Lionel offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, glad to have someone to anchor herself to in the busy crowd, and she felt like she could breathe again as they left the chattering people behind and approached the front doors to the manor.

Betty followed Lionel inside, eyes wide and mouth agape as she stared at the incredible architecture - and this was only the reception hall. The walls were adorned with painting after painting, and Lionel steered her into a hallway, where more paintings stood proudly on display between lion statues.

”You certainly seem to like lions,” Betty commented.

”Well, they’re the kings of the jungle, aren’t they? And the business world is a jungle in itself.”

”And you fancy yourself the king of it, do you?”

Lionel smirked at her. “I am the king. Come along.”

He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her down the hall, naming each painting and its artist as they passed it, and Betty wondered how much he’d paid for each one of them. The insurance alone was probably more than she’d make in a year.

”You know, king of the jungle is a misnomer,” Betty commented as they turned a corner to be greeted with yet another lion statue. “Lions don’t live in the jungle. They should be called the king of the savannah if anything.”

”Actually, jungle is a Hindi word for a place uninhabited by humans - such as savannahs.”

Betty glanced at him, surprised, and he shrugged. “Sinclair isn’t the only person who knows things. So what do you think of my collection, Elizabeth? Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

”There’s certainly a theme,” Betty said, glancing between two of the many paintings that depicted naked women.

”Well, I also have a collection of landscapes, but I must admit that I have a penchant for the feminine form. This one seems to have caught your eye.”

She felt more than heard him come up behind her as she examined a painting labelled Otahi .

”What is it about this one that intrigues you, Elizabeth?” Lionel asked softly. “Is it the way she sits? You know, this particular painting was considered rather controversial when it was painted. The way she sits… ready and waiting… exposed. Do you feel an affinity to her, Elizabeth? Does this particular painting arouse something in you?”

When had he got so close? Betty suddenly felt very aware of Lionel’s breath on her neck, his hands on her hips - when had they got there? - and when he pulled her back slightly to press against him, she felt a bulge on her lower back - just where —

“Lionel —”

”Hmm?” Lionel replied absentmindedly, his lips by her ear, the gap between them growing ever smaller as he leant his head down towards hers —

“I’m here with Sinclair.”

”Are you? I don’t see him anywhere. He seems to have abandoned you.”

”You led me here…”

”You were all alone.”

”He was talking to someone…”

”He’s always talking to someone. Gets distracted so easily. But don’t worry… my attention is solely on you, dear. Let me kiss you, Elizabeth. I sorely want to kiss you…”

Can I kiss you? … I’d really like to kiss you now … Can I have another kiss?

Sinclair’s voice rang in her head, and Betty felt as if she’d just been jolted awake from a hypnotic state. She tried to pull away from Lionel, but his arms were wrapped around her torso tightly - when had that happened?

”No, thank you,” Betty whispered, her voice hardly audible. She could hardly believe she was turning down the richest man in the country, but as much as he looked like Sinclair, he wasn’t Sinclair, and she only wanted Sinclair.

Lionel only chuckled. “Must you play hard to get, darling? It’s Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers… for making love…”

“Thank you for the advice. I’d really prefer to make love to my boyfriend.”

”And who says who that has to be? Hm?”

”Lionel —”

”Betty?”

Lionel let go of her as if her skin had burnt him. Betty took a sudden, deep breath, as if he’d been suffocating her. Maybe he had been. She turned to see Sinclair standing at the corner of the corridor, looking between them both.

”Sorry, I interrupted,” he said in a cold, detached voice, unlike anything she’d ever heard from him. “Don’t mind me.”

Sinclair turned and left, and Betty followed him as quick as she could.

”Sinclair, wait!”

He left through a side door that led to a quieter part of the grounds, and she jogged as fast as she could to catch up with him.

”Sinclair - come on! I can’t catch up to your long legs in these shoes - ow!”

She hissed as she stumbled, twisting her ankle to the side, and she grabbed onto a nearby lion statue to steady herself. She hopped to a bench and sat herself down to take her shoes off, but before she could do so, Sinclair was suddenly on his knees in front of her, unstrapping the shoe from the ankle she’d rolled.

”Thanks. I don’t think I’ve twisted it. Sprained, maybe.”

”You shouldn’t be running in these,” Sinclair muttered, not looking up at her as he eased the shoe from her foot.

”I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t run off like that.”

He looked up at her, his eyes full of anger and hurt, and it broke her heart to see it.

”What was I supposed to do? You clearly needed your privacy —“

”Sinclair, stop it,” Betty snapped harshly. “I’m not Natalie. Okay?”

”Am I supposed to believe that was innocent?”

”From him? No. Maybe I should have told him to back off more firmly, but… I didn’t know what to do. We were just looking at art and suddenly he’s got his hands on me and I can’t make a scene, not with someone like him, not in his own house, so I just… froze. But I said no. He asked for a kiss and I said no. Then he said it’s a day for lovers so I said the only lover I wanted was you and…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it get that far. Maybe I should have seen it coming when he pulled me away from the party and started showing me his collection of paintings of naked women, but I’m an idiot, okay? I thought he just wanted to share his art. I forgot men are pigs.”

Sinclair didn’t say anything at first. He just held her ankle gently, looking at it as if it held all the answers. Then he looked up at her meekly.

”Not all men are pigs,” he muttered. “You always said I was more of a puppy.”

Betty smiled. “Yeah. You’re my puppy.”

”You know, dogs can get very possessive. They growl at people who try to take what’s theirs. And what’s a little puppy compared to a great lion?”

”Hey.” Betty stroked Sinclair’s cheek softly. “I’d choose my puppy over a lion any day.”

Sinclair’s eyes shone a little more hopefully then. “Really?”

”Yes, really,” Betty laughed. “I love you, Sinclair. Do you really think I’m gonna sneak off to shag your cousin?”

Sinclair shrugged dejectedly. “Better my cousin than your brother, I suppose.”

”Oh, god, don’t even joke about that,” Betty gagged. “Will you get up here and cuddle me already?”

Sinclair got up from his knees, ignoring the grass stains on the knees of his very expensive suit, and sat next to her on the bench. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled up to his warmth.

”I’m sorry,” Sinclair mumbled into her hair.

”Don’t be. At least now I know you don’t want to lose me.”

”Never! I never want to lose you, Betty. You’re everything to me.”

She leant up to kiss him, and he finally smiled.

“I love you, puppy.”

”I love you too, kitten.”

“Do you wanna dance?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “You said you hate dancing!”

“Yeah, well, you have a way of making me see things in a new light. I think I might like dancing if it’s with you.”

“What about your ankle?”

Betty gave it an experimental flex. “It’s okay. I think I was just being a bit dramatic.” She leant down and slid her shoe back on, then stood up, cautiously putting weight on it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she concluded. “Come on, Mr Bryant, ask the cute girl to dance.”

Sinclair immediately stood and straightened his posture, and Betty laughed when he gave her a little formal bow.

“Miss Bennett, would you do me the honour of accompanying me in a dance?”

“Why, Mr Bryant, I’d be honoured!”

She took his proffered arm and let him guide her back towards the party, which was still in full swing, with plenty of other couples already dancing, but Betty was pretty sure none of them were as in love as she and Sinclair were.

“You’ll need to lead me, I have no idea how to do anything other than the robot,” Betty admitted.

Sinclair spun her around suddenly, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her up against him, their noses almost touching, and Betty felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Focus on me,” he said softly. He was quiet, and the music was loud, but Betty still heard him, because to her there was no one else in the world.

She looked at him, his sweet amber eyes alight with excitement, and nodded.

Betty hated dancing because it made her self-conscious, but for the first time, she felt she could move without fear of being watched. Maybe she was being watched, maybe her dancing was terrible, maybe people were laughing. What did it matter? She was with Sinclair. She was holding him, being held by him, their bodies moving in tandem, perfectly synchronised and so clearly made for each other.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Sinclair murmured in her ear. Betty blushed, shrinking in on herself slightly, and Sinclair gently lifted her chin back up to look at her. “I mean it, Betty. I think you’re even more beautiful than…” He thought for a moment. “Julia Roberts.”

Betty laughed. “Julia Roberts?!”

“She was voted People Magazine’s most beautiful woman last year. And she is beautiful, I suppose, but she’s nothing compared to you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Sinclair, whose hands were currently around her waist, reached down for a cheeky butt grab.

“This!”

“You can’t say my bum! Or my boobs. Or my heart, that’s such a cop-out.”

“Okay, okay!” Sinclair returned his hand to her waist and grinned down at her. “I love your eyes. I love how they sparkle when you laugh or smile, and the way your pupils dilate when you look at me. And I love your smile too, you have so many different smiles, but I think my favourite one is when you’re trying not to laugh. And your nose is so cute too - and I love your hair, of course. Can I just say everything?”

“Sinclair, saying everything is your whole thing.”

“That’s true! If you think I don’t shut up now, just ask me to list everything I love about you, I really won’t shut up then!”

“If we ever get married, you might well set the record for longest wedding speech ever.”

“If I was on Mastermind, my specialist subject would be you.” Sinclair gasped. “I should go on Mastermind! I’d be great at it! I don’t need the money, I’d probably donate it to charity, or just spend it on you. Not that there’s anything I wouldn’t buy you anyway. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you, Betts.”

Betty bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well… there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do but I’ve never been able to afford it.”

“Anything!”

“I’ve never been abroad.”

Sinclair was so shocked that he stopped moving, and Betty almost stumbled.

“Never? Surely not. Not even to France?”

“Devon’s the furthest we ever went for holiday.”

Sinclair shook his head stubbornly. “Devon’s not a holiday when you live in Cornwall! That’s just going up the road! No, that’s it, we’re going on holiday. Let’s find a travel agent tomorrow and book somewhere. We could go to the Caribbean, the Maldives, Hawaii… what kind of holiday do you like? I suppose you won’t know, will you, if you’ve never been away… do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, I needed one to get the shop set up. I don’t need to go somewhere fancy, Sinclair, but it’d be nice to go somewhere just the two of us, no work or Natalie in the way —”

“We need to bring Goldie!”

“Can’t Mei-Li look after him?”

“Well, yes, but she deserves a break from us too. Think about where you want to go and we’ll go! Somewhere dog-friendly with lots of fun things we can do!”

“I can think of some fun things we can do wherever we go,” Betty said suggestively, her eyes alight. “We wouldn’t even need to leave the hotel room…”

Sinclair blushed and glanced to the side, as if checking for anyone who might have overheard. “Betty…”

”Mmm?”

“Be careful what you say… you’ll make me want to whisk you off to one of Lionel’s many spare rooms.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I don’t think he’d mind…”

“I’d much rather get you home where we can cuddle and sleep afterwards.”

Betty laughed. “Sinclair, if we wait until we get home, it’ll be another hour before we leave while you say your goodbyes to everyone.”

“I… don’t have any condoms with me.”

“I bet Lionel does.”

“You’re determined to have sex in my cousin’s manor, aren’t you?”

Betty grinned. “What can I say? I waited a long time for you. I’m gonna savour every moment.”

She trailed a hand down his chest, stopping just a few inches shy of his waistband, her fingers teasing at the buttons on his shirt.

“What d’you say?”

Sinclair glanced around. No one was paying either of them the slightest bit of attention. He grabbed Betty’s hand and led her away from the dancefloor, away from the crowds, and no one noticed them slip away into the manor.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Betty giggled five minutes later as Sinclair hastily unwrapped a condom he’d snuck out of a drawer in Lionel’s study.

“It was your idea!”

“I thought we’d go to a bedroom, not Lionel’s personal art gallery!”

Sinclair grinned cheekily, a twinkle in his eye. “I thought it’d be more fun. We can go somewhere else though if you want —”

“No, here’s good, I don’t wanna wait.”

Betty hitched up her skirt around her waist as Sinclair unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out to roll the condom down.

“You don’t wanna go on the bench?”

“No, wall’s good. C’mon, Clair, I need you —”

“I love it when you’re desperate.”

Sinclair gently pushed her thighs apart, then tugged the fabric of her soaking wet knickers to the side and began teasing her entrance with his tip.

It was easy to forget their height difference when they were in bed, but it was glaringly obvious now as Sinclair loomed over her, and though she knew he’d let her go if she asked, she liked feeling enveloped by him, as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of them.

“Arms around my shoulders,” Sinclair instructed her. She obeyed, and he lifted her thighs up with his large hands, wrapping her legs around his waist to allow him to slip inside her.

“Fuck , Clair…” Betty sighed with relief as he sandwiched her against the wall, pushing himself past her walls and settling in comfortably.

“Sinclair, please… please fuck me…”

He kissed her cheek and smiled.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Betty had never in a million years expected this, yet here she was, getting fucked against the wall of a rich man’s personal art gallery, in the arms of her best friend, the sweetest and most loving man she’d ever met, who apparently had a daring sexuality with a bit of encouragement.

She felt completely safe in his arms, physically and emotionally, knowing he would never do anything to hurt her, that he loved and accepted her even with all her flaws.

“I love you, Sinclair,” she murmured against his ear, and Sinclair whined in response.

“I… I love you too, Betts,” he panted. “Mhm - fuck - this is really hot, but can I put you down?”

She giggled.

“Yes, I know I’m probably quite heavy. Wanna move over to the bench?”

“Yes, please.”

Sinclair put her down and pulled out of her, but he was back inside her within seconds when she bent over the bench and spread her legs for him.

He gripped her hips firmly as he thrust into her, and though he preferred to see her face, he did love the sight of her arse jiggling with each thrust, and he could see her hands holding on to the edge of the bench, trying to hold herself steady as he thrust inside her.

Betty knew that if either of them put a finger anywhere near her clit, she’d be done for. The sound of Sinclair’s moans, the slapping of his flesh against hers, filled the large, empty room, echoing back to them, and neither of them cared much that at any moment someone might decide to have a break from the party to have a look at some art.

They were so lost in the moment that they didn’t even notice the door open partway, only to close again as soon as Lionel realised he’d found where Betty and Sinclair had snuck off to.

Sinclair leant forward, his torso pressing against Betty’s back, and with her hair straightened he was able to pepper the side of her neck with kisses, alternating between kisses and murmured words of adoration, reminding her how much he loved her, how happy she made him, how much she’d changed his life in just a few short months.

“Clair… Clair, touch me, please, I need you…”

“Yes, yes, of course, anything for you, Betty…”

He reached around her body to rub at her sweet spot, and his expert fingers quickly had her cumming hard around him, her shouts of his name echoing around the gallery, and he came with a garbled cry soon after, the feeling of her walls shuddering around him too much for him to endure.

Some deranged part of Betty’s brain wanted him to cum inside her, to fill her up completely, and when he pulled out and lifted his weight from her, she felt like a part of her had pulled away with him.

She caught her breath, then let him pull her to her feet, giggling incoherently as she pulled her dress down.

“We really ought to get out of here before someone realises what we’re up to.”

Sinclair wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, smiling.

“Mmm, cuddles first though. Then how about we get cleaned up, say our goodbyes, and we go home and cuddle some more?”

“I’d like that. Can we fuck some more too?”

“Definitely.”

Sinclair had never left a party so quick.

[arsenalgbt]

ben + ethan (+more willo!) - part 2

summary: therapy works. let's see how much progress our single mum ben has had with his only son! 811 words of fluff 🥰

CW: obviously benpreg!!

part 1

Mealtime is precious.

His nanny has an actual, neatly printed spreadsheet list of foods that Ethan loves as a 20-months old toddler. Ben remembers some of them, as he would sit down and have the same meal. He’s pretty sure he’s helped Ethan eat solid foods before, but since when did his baby can use baby fork and baby spoon on his own? He eats spaghetti messily, but he doesn’t need his nanny’s help! Ben takes tons of pictures and sends the cutest ones to We Dem Boyz 💯 and to Mum and Dad.

+

Ethan talks to his nanny a lot. He knows his ABC until Z. He can count to 15. It’s Monday, Tuesday, Wennesday, Tuesday again, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. It’s Ethan and Mummy and Bob the Builder, the only man ever.

Then, “We going to Nanana and Papapa?” and Ben talks to Ethan the whole three hours journey down to Poole.

“I’ve always wanted to be called ‘Pops’,” Dad says, squeezing Ethan’s chubby cheek to his. “Like an American.”

“Pops!”

“Yes, baby! Pops! Call me Pops!”

“Pops!”

“Good boy!”

Ben cries. Mum holds him tight, letting him hide behind her neck.

+

The possibility of him running to his co-workers in the London Zoo is, well, probably not a lot, yet here he is, a second too late to duck from the infuriatingly hot and adorable placement student, who is beaming at him.

“Ben! Hello!” Willo greets him, looking like a sore thumb with how gorgeous he is in his assembly of Uniqlo. “And Ethan! My guy!”

Huh.

He remembers Ethan’s name from that one fleeting conversation they had at the smoking area, where Ben finished his cigarette quota of one stick per two months. Willo doesn’t even smoke. He was just there to talk to Ben.

Ethan grins, recognising his name. He stares confusedly at Willo’s offered fist, turning to Ben for an answer. Oh. That’s a first. That’s… Something blooms, deep and warm, in Ben’s chest.

“Where is Ethan’s hand?” Ben asks, and Ethan holds up one chubby hand. “Good job, now make a fist. Like this.” He demonstrates, and Ethan follows easily. “Good job, baby. Here.” He pulls Ethan’s fist so it bumps against Willo’s, who giggles and gently bumps their fists again and again.

“He’s so big! How old is he again?”

“How old are you, Ethan?” Ben jostles his baby, excited to show off Ethan’s development that he gets to be a part of. To be fair, he was the one who taught Ethan to answer the age question. “Two-two?”

Ethan nods, making two Vs with his chubby fingers. “Two-two!” he says, and Willo gasps.

“You are older than me?!” He copies, making one V and one I with his distinctly bigger and longer fingers. “I’m two-one years old.”

Ben wants to roll his eyes, but it’s no one’s fault the twunk is seven whole years younger than him. 21. Ben made sure he didn’t have a crush on a single mother when he was 21 (would fuck them, yes, but not making moony eyes at them, no).

“Bob is two-one?” Ethan asks.

“Sorry, he calls random men ‘Bob’,” Ben apologises, smiling and tweaking the tip of Ethan’s nose. “That’s not ‘Bob’, baby. His name is Willo. Say it. Wee-Looo.”

“Wee-Looo.”

“That’s right!” Willo squeals, not minding his 6’4 stature. “Nice to meet you, Ethan.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Aww, he’s so smart! Wait, was it Bob the Builder, though?”

“Yeah,” Ben answers, then, “what are you doing here?”

“I like it here,” Willo shrugs, “what? I genuinely do!”

“Right.”

“I swear I’m not a creep! I was obsessed with lions when I was young. This is the closest where I can get to them, you know?”

“Ethan likes lions, too, doesn’t he?”

“Lions! Rawr!”

“Aww!” Willo coos, looking just as cute himself with his nose scrunched up like that. “Alright, it’s nice meeting you and Ethan. I said hi already to the lions, so now I’m heading to the gorillas enclosure. Ethan?” This time, Ethan instantly gets on with the program as he bumps his chubby fist with Willo’s. “Goodbye! It’s nice meeting you, my guy. Have a nice day, yeah?”

“Bye bye?”

“Yes, say bye bye to Willo. Willo is going to see the gorillas.”

“Gogo? Let’s see gogo!” Ethan bounces, conveying an urgency. He’s only been doing it around last week; he probably feels that it’s okay to be demanding of Ben’s time and attention now that Ben is okay with giving him that. “Please, Mummy? See gogo?”

“Only if you say it correctly. Go-ri-llas.”

“Go-ri-llas.”

“Good job, baby, okay. Do you want to get in your pram?”

“No.”

“No? Alright.”

“I’ll take the pram.” Willo offers, already stepping up, and thisclose, he smells so fucking good like always. “It will be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, Mummy. Trust me.”

[whispersinthedawn]

The Sand on your Shores (1)

The first Herakles learnt about his competitor was when he stopped a shepherd in the hills.

“Have you heard of the lion killing travellers and livestock?” he inquired without much hope for an answer.

If a giant lion were hunting animals in the hills of Nemea, why would a man without even a sword hanging from his belt bring his sheep out to graze?

As expected, the shepherd didn’t even pale or look around fearfully, the confidence of one assured of his safety his shield. “Oh, you’re too late,” the man exclaimed cheerfully. “Percy the Riptide already killed the Nemean Lion.”

“Who can tell me where –” Herakles began before the words registered.

What?

“Who is Percy?” Herakles demanded.

He knew of all the greatest heroes of the age, had fought beside or against most of them, and no mortal with the moniker of Riptide had ever crossed his notice.

Cold suspicion crept in. His first quest to wipe the sins of kin slaying off his hands, and the task had already been accomplished by someone else?

“Do you know where I can find him?” Herakles changed tracks.

The shepherd shook his head. “He stayed here for only a day before leaving. Even though we offered to shower him with riches, he refused all but food and water.”

The awe and appreciation in the shepherd’s voice irked Herakles, but he suppressed the rage that refused to depart for longer than a single interval of the sundial.

Herakles offered a curt nod and walked towards the closest village in the distance.

Arriving at Cleonae did nothing for his simmering temper. Everywhere he walked, and even when he stubbornly sat down on the lip of the fountain at the centre of town, people insisted on discussing nothing but Percy Jackson, the Riptide.

Herakles huffed out a frustrated breath, ran a whetstone against his sword, and pretended he wasn’t sweltering inside his bronze armour.

He was Herakles! The greatest of all heroes, the son of Zeus, the hero of Thebes, the son in law of –

Needless to say, Herakles wouldn’t allow dismissal to prevent him from carrying out his tasks. So what if the armour hung heavy on his shoulders? He could partake of the water from the fountain at his back to quench his thirst. If he felt hungry, he had fruits and dried meat in his pack. If he felt sleepy, the verdant hills of Nemea would provide soft grass to cushion his head.

He didn’t require a mortal to offer him shelter.

He sucked in a harsh breath before finally forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation around him. If the baker in his sweet-smelling shop, the carpenter hammering away at a scaffold, the village leader pontificating at the corner, the priestess tending to the flame of Hestia, the children running across the dusty streets, and every person in sight insisted upon discussing Percy, Herakles would listen.

Herakles would learn.

And if he didn’t like what he heard, he’d take care of the threat.

He rapidly ran into the first hurdle (if one disregarded the absence of the other demigod, whose presence would have put a hasty end to the problems indeed).      

No one could agree on what Percy, son of Jack looked like.

Some described him as a perfectly ordinary young man, if a little more charming and courageous than the baker’s son, and with an appetite to rival the village’s prized pig.

Others praised him as a son of the sea, with gills around his neck, scales across his shoulders, and webs connecting his digits. A little disorienting, but perfectly cordial once you’d poured ewers full of water over his head in offering.

And then there were the other reports.

A horror from the deepest crevices of the ocean, with ash-blonde hair that swayed in an unseen wind, dark eyes that consumed your thoughts and dreams and life until all you could do was cower in terror and hope they would pass you by, and crimson lips dripping with the blood of his victims. His footsteps cracked the ground, his passage wilted plants, and when the Nemean Lion scored a lucky hit, he bled golden ichor.

But everyone agreed on one thing – this Percy Jackson had arrived at Cleonae, killed the Nemean Lion, and walked out on his merry way, unconcerned about having deprived Herakles of an opportunity to fulfil Eurystheus’s command.

Herakles despised him. Him and his cloak made from the impenetrable fur of the Nemean Lion.

***

Next

Read on ao3.

This was written for the Temple of Apollo Reverse Big Bang, with the wonderful yagodnyizefir.

[josiebelladonna]

and the actual banners themselves:

paradise is the one for my one and only, alex skolnick, on his birthday. tijuana sunrise is the main bunch. hungry lion revolves around a kink closest to me, the kink surrounding all things human belly. i am nearly done with paradise and approaching halfway with the other two!

Masks (“Treacle”)

Deep Throating / Public Sex (“And You Will Know Me”)

Temperature Play (“Cactus Jack’s”)

Aphrodisiacs (“Cardamom Kisses”)

Sadism/Masochism (“Bluebonnets”)

Lace/Leather (“Wandering and Wandering”)

Blood Kink (“Hai-Bar”)

Stripping (“Espresso”)

Knife Play (“Songkran Drought”)

Aquaphilia (“Tierra Del Fuego”)

Cross-dressing + Sex Toys (“Jack of Hearts”)

Pyrophilia (“Areias do Tempo”)

Accidental Stimulation (“Red”)

Prostitution (“Lily Munster Ain’t Got Nothin’ On You”)

Orgasm Denial (“Ugly Truth”)

Nipple Play (“‘Til Tel Aviv”)

Masturbation (“Sandstone”)

Body Worship (“Playa La Ropa”)

Seduction (“Bastards and Boozehounds”)

Voyeurism (“Pulmonaria”)

Branding (“Prayer Hands”)

Hand-jobs (“Spiderwebs on the Heart”)

Scars (“Olives”)

Late Night (“Don the Beachcomber”)

Boot Worship (“Lady Godiva’s House”)

Threesome (“Devil’s Tea Time”)

Erotic Photos (“Ten Miles High”)

Intimate Artistry (“Amorsolo”)

Graveyard Sex (“Lilac Treehouse”)

Erotic Asphyxiation (“Painted Roses”)

Olfactophilia (Scent) (“Lunatic Kibbitz”)

🌻 tijuana sunrise bestows us with its warmth september 30, 9pm pacific time

Roleplay (“Clouds of Violet”)

Corsets (“Bridgeport”)

Hair Kink (“Ivy”)

Formal wear (“Blood Garnets”)

Gun Play (“Sugar Kane”)

Strip Poker (“Neon and Argon”)

Shibari (“Hey, Jim”)

Lingerie (“Broomsticks”)

Bathtub (“Richer, Richest”)

One Night Stand (“Burning Desire”)

Phone Sex (“The Dream Catcher”)

Halloween (“The Cannibal”)

Day of the Dead (“Black Pudding of Bones”)

Rosh Hashanah (“Gold Rush”)

Spanking (“Rhubarb Pie”) 

Voice Kink (“The Faceless One”) 

❤️‍🔥 paradise sets sail from tierra del fuego september 29, midnight, atlantic time

Warm food on a cold day (“smoky”)

Pillow (“black satin”)

Ate too fast (“Imodium”)

Illness (“rafa”)

First date (“Jesus H.ad a Stroke”)

Kink (“infernal bloodlust”)

Stuffing (“what’s with the shirt?”)

Vacation (“cruzin’”)

Eating contest (“rich tea”)

Bakery (“with a schmear”)

Trying something new (“rumor has it”)

Rumbles and growls (“are you afraid?”)

Surprise (“february ghosts”)

Button popping (“peek a boo!”)

Stomachache (“hide me?”)

Hand feeding (“white velvet cake”)

Belly rubs (“rabbit’s foot”)

Weight gain (“needles”)

Indulgence (“cut your crooked teeth”)

Drink (“bleedforme”)

Emeto (“don’t look so shocked”)

Cooking (“just eat fast food”)

Hunger (“ginger snaps”)

Content creator (“have a biscuit”)

In public (“walk in the woods”)

Drama king/queen (“black cat”)

Party (“SHake Up wiTh gaUges of Perfect MAlt or DiamonDs or whiskeY”)

Sleepy (“crimson silk”)

Spicy food (“small dogs or worms”)

Kisses (“devil’s elevenses”)

Sweets (“white russian”)

🍩 the hungry lion throws itself on the antelope begins its prowl september 30, 9:30pm pacific time

[vixen525noms]

Defying Certain Death Part 10

Copied from my DeviantArt account, a non-sexual G/T vore story featuring adults along the lines of the lion and the thorn fable. There will be tons of hurt/comfort aspects, lots of safe vore. That is the primary focus in this.

Barrett is and adult giant standing 85ft tall and Hope is an adult human at 5ft 6. Barrett does not eat children at any point.

Warnings: Unwilling Prey; Fatal Mention (Implied future); Characters in Distress

Future: While this part is relatively tame, future parts include fatal vore and violence. Barrett, the giant, is not a good guy, so will be doing some occasional bad things.

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-----

Hope sighed, uncertain about the best way to answer. “Well... I’m not entirely sure about the distance... a storm took out almost everything I had growing, so I made this trip to get enough to start over. But the reason what I grow is valuable is because it is typically found a great distance away, too far to easily travel. I had to sell the last of my supply... and most of my other belongings, to be able to afford to make this trip... My best guess is my village is about fifty or sixty aroys from here.”

Barrett paused, shocked at the distance. An aroy was about a full day’s walk for him, and she had come that far? No wonder she sold her whole stock, she must have paid someone to make a portal. And it meant she probably hadn’t thought she’d be able to go back for some time, if at all. It only served to increase his curiosity about her, leading to more questions rather than answers. “So what are your plans then, Hope?” “I… I’m not entirely sure. I was just going to continue gathering plants, get some sprouts started, and head in the general direction of home. I hadn’t decided if I’d go the whole way or settle somewhere between here and there.” “Well consider my offers… I could provide you some things from my collection, and you’d be set...” 

He paused suddenly when he caught a scent, one that reminded him of the need for him to get food. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air a bit, smiling. About time he found something. “Hope? I’ll be getting you out shortly. I’ll be sure to put you near some water so you can clean up while I hunt.” “Thank goodness... despite your reassurances; this is still pretty scary for me.” Barrett turned, heading first towards where his sense of smell indicated water to be closest. It looked like a lake that the mountain river lead down to... and was likely where the caravan he smelled was heading. He was pretty sure they were far enough that Hope wouldn’t see or hear anything while she washed up... He had a pretty good feeling that if she knew what kind of prey he found, she would probably be upset. He may have nothing against hunting humans and similar prey, but he didn’t want to upset Hope if it could be avoided. Not after all she did for him.

He made his way to the lakeside, closing his eyes briefly as he knelt down. He would be ravenously hungry once he got Hope back out, and he wasn’t looking forward to that feeling of desperation. But it would no doubt be horribly traumatizing to Hope if he didn’t get her out first. Thankfully, bringing the girl back up wasn’t too difficult. Do to the potential risk that came with their habit of consuming live prey, they were able to bring back up anything they swallowed with relative ease. Before long, his small rescuer was back in his mouth, and he opened it slowly with his hand held out in front of it, letting her crawl out on her own. His stomach was already complaining at its emptiness, but he focused on how much he owed Hope, and the presence of nearby prey, to resist the urge to swallow her back down again.

He lowered her to the ground near the lake and stood, not wanting to linger near her while his need for food was so strong. “I’ll return soon,” he said simply before turning and walking between the trees nearby. He almost immediately heard the sound of Hope going into the water to wash off. 

After he had gone a bit of distance, he crouched lower, moving more quietly as he caught the scent of the humans and horses of the caravan again. He smiled, looking forward to a meal of more than just a couple mountain sheep. But he’d also have to be careful not to eat too much. After all, he’d had significantly less food for a few weeks, so his stomach would have shrunk. Eating as much as he might normally have could very well kill him. Perhaps he could save some for later... That might work.

Ears perked as he heard the humans in the caravan talking. He continued moving forward slowly, only stopping when he could just barely make out the road between the trees ahead. They were getting closer... why run after them if they would come right to him? He could wait a couple minutes. He could even get them to stop right in front of him. Just listen to them get closer, then lunge once they were in sight. 

Barrett carefully grabbed a fallen tree from the nearby woods, moving it to block the road. As he did this, he heard a word that drew his attention to their conversation. “...syor when heading this way. They had his road off limits for a while because apparently some were crossing further past the mountains and took out some of the travelers along this route.” The voice sounded male.

“So what changed? Why is the road cleared for general travel now if it wasn’t before?” The second voice also seemed to be male, although seemed younger than the first.

“Well, the town ahead has defenses against their kind, but having the road at risk cut off supplies from them. Way I heard it; they hired a couple of terran geomancers to make sure it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“How’d they manage that?”

“I don’t know the details. Try asking Marie, she’s always listening in to the latest news and stuff.”

“Hey Marie!” Before they younger of the men could ask, a female voice spoke up, “I overheard you. Loud as you two are, it’d be impossible not to have heard you. Yes, I know about it, way I heard it they were supposed to make it impassable, but decided it would be easier to bobby trap it... Shit, can we talk about this later? Looks like you two boys are going to have to clear the road ahead.”

About this time, Barrett was finally able to see the two horses pulling the pair of carts coming around the bend. He smiled as the first came to a stop, and the second soon after it. The pair of men riding in the first cart got out to move the tree, and Barrett stepped out behind the two carts. The woman driving the second cart screamed as his shadow passed over them, and the two men turned around just as Barrett reached over to grab them. 

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[blorbocedes]

Would you be willing to share a crumb of that WIP? For you less imaginative anons who love you very dearly?

this wip is called Projection looool. it'll probably never make it the light of day, but because you love me dearly 😘

cw: undiagnosed mental health issues, mild suicidal ideation, Cambridge the institution

Rock bottom for George looks like this: he's healthy, he's on a new vegan diet Lewis swears by, he has a lemon water first thing in the morning for antioxidants or whatever, he's going to the gym 4 times a week and a run in the morning, his grades tread that A minus curve 3.7 GPA carefully, and he's in charge of Student Relations -- practically asked to throw parties every other week he disappears from. By all measures and accounts, every professor who is impressed, every casual acquaintance who pats him on the back, his parents' monthly cheque depositing in his account -- he's doing fucking swell, he's leading a charmed life. If a bus hit George on his way to campus, he'd probably thank the driver and apologize for bleeding out.

Sometimes he feels like the world's most successful actor, running a one man production on the West End -- like he's not constantly tearing apart at the seams, terrified he will shatter if someone sees through the act. There's also creeping resentment, at his professors' buying his flimsy excuses for an extension without probing why, at his friends he grabs lunch with and never wondering how come he never seems to eat anything except a green juice, at his parents -- for not noticing. How could anyone see him and not see a man falling apart, the people closest to him, the people who were supposed to love him.

George feels like a man on the run, constantly, as if he's getting away with something he shouldn't -- that if he stops for one second too long, someone will notice there is something fundamentally off about him, and no amount of perfection on paper could erase the big ugly mark on his psyche. He googled signs of multiple mental illnesses before he went into his yearly mental health check up -- telling himself, it's kind of like studying for a test, knowing what to avoid, even if he identified painfully with them. Getting a clean bill of health only affirmed that he passed, with only a note stating he should sleep more.

He's at a party, the Student Body organized it -- he shows up, smiles at the people who know of him, makes sure he's in some of the pictures that will get tagged and storied -- a, "We have to hang out soon! After midterms, yeah?" that he fully intends to not follow up on, and leave, obsessively keeping track of people's socials later that night, in case he misses some next big thing the campus will be buzzing about. George was h there, right? Surely, you remembered seeing him around.

George is holding a beer, shitty pop music blaring, going over to hi and trying to tune out the multiple conversations -- who got broken up with, which team won which match, the food at the cafeteria sucked today -- the most mundane shit that left him bitterly jealous that all these people were out here living life. Like, really truly being alive. He can't remember the last time he didn't feel like a marionette puppet, he had thought getting into Cambridge would've been it, his father saying he's proud of him. But as George had held the acceptance letter, scanning it over and over again, he had felt nothing. He couldn't even remember why he wanted to get into Cambridge so badly, his one goal that would justify it all — all the sleepless nights and A'Levels hell and the extracurriculars he didn't care about to polish his application — and then, here he was; living his childhood dream, a hell of his own making.

Lewis had forwarded him an article about vegan beer and how most alcohol filtration process has gelatine or some animal based product, so George wasn't touching his -- out of principle. Not that he really cared, his parents had a mountain lion mounted in the living room his father shot during a conservation charity trip, so pretty sure that disqualified any animal activism from George's end. But it was one less thing to think about, if he wasn't supposed to drink the beer, so he clutched on to it tightly like a lifeline, unsipped. Despite not a drop of alcohol in him, his head felt dizzy, cheeks hurting from smiling at the people going, "Russell!" like it meant something, a girl trying to prolong conversation with interested eyes that George has to politely step out of; and almost tripped over someone.

"Hey, got you." The hand on his wrist that kept him from falling was attached to a body, a handsome tan man with brown eyes looking at him with genuine concern. Albon, Alexander George's memory supplied, aerospace engineering major, and George remembers because he's also in the rugby team -- recalls him taking his shirt off after a win, running to his team. He's bloody fit, and even though he's in loose fitting blue knitwear jumper now George can't help but look, know the hard, defined lines underneath, can feel the strength of just one hand easily holding George upright and is immediately ashamed of himself for knowing, for looking. He's glad the party is lit low that his reddening face isn't as obvious.

George catches himself, grateful he didn't spill any of the beer, and mumbles a thanks, the hand of his wrist which had practically branded him -- or how it felt like -- letting go easily. He was readying himself to engage in proper noncommittal small talk, to be a normal human person — congratulate him on the game, how's he enjoying the party, to see him around campus and maybe they can hang after midterms.

Alex catches him off guard before he can launch into his well practised rehearsed lines. "You doing okay, mate? You look like you could use a breather." He says it without a tone of judgement, easy eye smiles.

No, George wants to say. There's a breath caught in his chest. He could use a breather. He's been holding a breath inside for so long, his lungs threaten to burst.

What the fuck do you see, perfect Alexander Albon from CUED, in the rugby team and the 12 pets on Instagram.

Who the hell are you?

George's 15 minutes are up. He feels like Cinderella after midnight, being caught in his ruse, and if Alex and his big brown kind eyes look at him a second longer George might start crying, or twist and turn not knowing what to do with himself, using his intestines as a rope to choke himself with.

"I'll see you around." He says in a rush, knows how disparaging and impolite it comes across and makes a mental note to actually say hi at campus when he sees him next to make up for it, before he shoves Alex aside to leave.

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

I whine about my health here so I'm putting it under the cut.

I haven't unlocked the key to my being in pain and exhausted all the time (joint hypermobility syndrome aka the lower end of the elher-danos scale is but one piece of the puzzle) but diagnoses like fibromyalgia and cfs/me were thrown around before everything was just lumped under JHS and everyone called it a day.

I had a much shorter time of not being believed (five years) because I crashed and burned in college and I had way bigger things to worry about than a "new" disability choosing to make itself known.

Leopard (my aunt) is better than Lion (my mother) about accomodating my constant exhaustion, and that's really all I can ask for.

I lasted a few months with Lion after college before I went to go live with Leopard, and Leopard took it in stride and focused on helping me do things like get out of bed and stay there (with what time she had. She's a busy woman and I can respect that.) But she accepted there was more to deal with after we kicked the depression/anxiety to manageable levels and the health journey continued. Yay Leopard! One of two Best Aunts Ever!

She still thinks that I shouldn't be exhausted all the time and she also believes eating the right foods and exercising can help manage my joint pain (she's kind of right but not entirely). Neither of us has the resources (time, energy, possibly money) for another health deep dive, but i'm learning to be okay with my physical state.

I start rambling and get really pissed off here so if you got this far you're awesome but please stop here. Mentsl state angst ensues!

My mental state is another question entirely and the answer is "nope, and probably won't ever be". Kudos to whichever deity had a hand in my fate. Thanks for the life-giving but I Just Wanna Talk (whose idea was it to give me half a brain?! Did you just think I wouldn't live long enough to hate it??! Is that what you banked on???)

*sighs* i hate having a disability there's literally never going to be a cure for. I hate thst i can't manage it by myself and will need people to remind me to do basic shit like brush my teeth. I hate that I can only be active for maybe four hours at a time before I need to crash, and that crashing can last anywhere froman hour or so to all day for multiple days. I hate that I have multiple projects that I want to finish but just can't bring myself to. I hate that the closest thing to this is adhd and some of the resources help but since its not, the things that would really help, like medication, supposedly won't work on me.

And, well, let's be real. I'm probably not as okay about my physical state as I could be, but damn if isn't way better than how I feel about my brain.