#and I wish to destroy it. I remember staring at it for hours

[alexwritesit]

The day I was ready to say goodbye

The mirror that seemingly looks into the past of you. (kind of a Vent post)

As the evening sun cast a warm, golden glow through the windows, I sat in the living room, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. The woman across from me extended a key with a gesture that was both graceful and calculated, her eyes holding a spark of envy as they fixed on me. Perhaps she longed for a life less bound by formalities and signatures. “Please sign here,” she requested, her voice a smooth melody, as she presented a document whose contents were as enigmatic to me as the distant stars.

Her elegance was undeniable, draped in a fur coat that lay across the sofa like a slumbering beast. The suit she wore spoke volumes of the stark, unforgiving world she navigated - a world of sharp edges and colder hearts. Yet, there she was, an epitome of grace under pressure.

“Thank you,” I murmured, accepting the pen with a nod. My signature flowed onto the paper, an unremarkable finale to our transaction. She responded not with words, but with a smile that was a masterful performance in itself - polite, pleasant, yet as devoid of warmth as a winter’s dawn. It was a smile born of years in a role that demanded perfection and offered little room for genuine emotion. In that moment, I felt a fleeting sense of camaraderie for this stranger, bound as we were by the roles we played in a world that watched with unblinking eyes.

The silence that hung in the air after my signature was laid upon the paper felt almost suffocating, dense with unspoken thoughts and veiled intentions. She examined my signature with a practiced eye, her lips curling into that same insincere smile that seemed to mock the very notion of genuine emotion. It gnawed at my patience, stirring a restless urge within me to escape the confines of this opulently oppressive room.

I could feel the weight of the room closing in around me, as if the very walls were whispering secrets meant only for the shadows. The fireplace behind her, cold and neglected, stood as a silent witness to countless such transactions, its ashes untouched and forlorn, a stark contrast to the superficial warmth of her demeanor.

Breaking the stifling stillness, her voice, smooth and controlled, filled the space. “Thank you, once again, Sir,” she said, her words meticulously chosen, void of any genuine sentiment. With a fluid motion, she retrieved her coat from the couch, its fabric whispering secrets of luxury and distant, cold places. Her glance towards me was brief, a fleeting connection that held no promise of understanding or empathy. “I won’t bother you, I’ll see myself out. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I echoed, the word a mere formality, empty and devoid of meaning. As she moved to leave, the room seemed to exhale, releasing me from its invisible grip. Yet, in the wake of her departure, the echo of that insincere smile lingered, a ghostly reminder of the masks we all wear.

The old house, veiled in the soft glow of twilight, seemed almost to beckon with a deceptive warmth. As I stood there, the world around me felt steeped in a melancholic stillness, the kind that speaks more of sorrow than of peace. The air carried a faint, musty scent, a reminder of years gone by, unyielding to the passage of time.

From my vantage point, the living room stretched out, shrouded in the twilight’s embrace. Each shadow seemed to hold a whisper of the past, a murmur of moments long since withered. The chill that crept through the room was more than just the absence of warmth; it was the ghost of forgotten laughter, the echo of dreams that had once danced within these walls.

In my hands, the keys felt like relics of a life half-lived, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets. They were cold to the touch, as if they too had absorbed the essence of this place - a tangible reminder of a bond broken, a promise unkept.

My husband’s words echoed in my mind, a somber melody that matched the rhythm of my heart. “This is not a home,” he had said, his voice a low thrum of conviction. “A place that breeds only pain deserves no fond remembrance, no tender thoughts.” And as I gazed upon the dim outlines of furniture, the remnants of a life once cherished, I couldn’t help but feel he might be right.

The silence that hung in the air was not empty but filled with the longing of what could have been. It was a silence that spoke volumes, a testament to the chasm between the life we live and the life we yearn for.

Rising slowly from the couch, I could hear its aged frame sighing beneath me, a creaking sound that seemed to fracture the silence, releasing a breath of bygone years. It felt as if the very air around me shifted, infused with a transient, almost ethereal sense of relief, as if the house itself were exhaling a long-held breath.

My gaze drifted towards the fireplace, now a silent guardian of memories. It was adorned with an array of flowers, their colors faded yet still clinging to a semblance of life, and picture frames that captured frozen moments in time. Each frame was like a window into a past that felt both distant and painfully close, painting a picture of an era when this house still dared to wear the mask of normalcy, when it still held onto the illusion of warmth.

Those photographs, with their smiling faces and eyes full of hope, seemed to mock the present with their portrayal of a happiness that had long since ebbed away. The fireplace, once the heart of the home, now stood as a somber monument to what had been—a time when the house had tried, in its own way, to emulate a haven of love and laughter.

As I lingered in my observations, a pang of nostalgia twisted within me, a longing for those days of feigned normality, for the comfort of an illusion now shattered. The semblance of warmth that once permeated these walls had dissipated, leaving behind only the cold truth of what this house had become.

With each step toward the doors leading into the foyer, a sense of finality grew within me. Casting a lingering glance back, the living room, a space where years of my life had unfolded, now lay before me as a desolate shell, its echoes of laughter and tears reduced to mere whispers in the dust.

Crossing the threshold into the foyer, memories rushed at me like a gust of cold wind. The staircase, once a playground of innocent adventures, where I used to slide down in giddy delight, stood stark and uninviting. Its wood, once warm to the touch, now felt as cold and distant as my faded childhood. I was no longer the carefree child who had once seen these stairs as a mountain to conquer.

Ascending the staircase, I felt the gaze of paintings lining the walls. These familiar faces, once mere decorations, now seemed to scrutinize me, their silent judgment echoing the changes time had wrought. In their stillness, they questioned what I had become, witnesses to the transformation of both the house and myself.

Turning right down the hallway, each step was a journey back in time, to the room that had once been my sanctuary. My bedroom door stood ajar, like a portal to a past life. Within those walls, I had battled imaginary monsters lurking under the bed, traveled to faraway lands through the pages of books, and wept into my pillow in the solitude of night. The room, which once echoed with the boundless imagination of a child, now waited, silent and unchanged, yet irrevocably altered in the eyes of the grown person I had become.

As I stepped into the room, it was as though time had stood still. Everything was exactly as I had left it years ago, a capsule of my younger self. My diary, its secrets still safeguarded by a lock, rested inside the desk. The key, cleverly hidden between a painting and the wall through a small hole, remained my secret.

The room was suffused with a sense of stillness, as if it had been holding its breath all these years, waiting for my return. Dust had settled over everything, a testament to the passage of time, yet it felt oddly fitting, like a veil over the past. The mirror, standing sentinel against one wall, was the only object that seemed unchanged, its surface clouded with the dust of years gone by.

I paused, my reflection a ghostly outline in the glass. “I read a story that mirrors hold memories of times past,” I murmured to the silent room. The words hung in the air, a question left unanswered.

In the ensuing silence, a strange sensation washed over me. My gaze drifted away from the mirror, lost in thought. But when I looked back, the reflection had shifted subtly. There, in the glass, was a younger version of myself, eyes wide with the innocence and dreams of youth.

“Is it true, Alexandra?” The question slipped from my lips, half in wonder, half in disbelief. The reflection in the mirror - a younger me - seemed to hold a world of answers, a connection to a past self I had long thought lost.

“You changed,” the girl in the mirror observed, her voice tinged with the unmistakable timbre of youth. Her words echoed softly in the room as I settled into a chair, facing this fragment of my past.

“Time does that to people,” I replied, a smile touching my lips despite the surreal nature of the conversation.

“It didn’t change me?” Her image in the mirror tilted her head, a gesture so familiar it tugged at my heart.

“You changed alongside me, in a way,” I said softly, reflecting on the journey that had led me here.

“What is your new name?”

“Alexander,” I answered, feeling a strange kinship with the girl who shared my history.

“We still don’t have a good imagination with names, do we?” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

“No, we don’t,” I chuckled, and her laughter, so pure and unburdened, filled the room like music. It was a sound from another time, a reminder of a joy that was both lost and found in this moment.

“So Alexander,” she said with a sense of newfound respect, “You’re very tall!”

“I am!” I agreed, a sense of pride swelling in my chest at her awe.

“Can you climb trees?”

“I can! And not just trees,” I added with a smirk, “I can even climb some mountains.”

“Wow!” Her eyes widened with admiration. “Did you climb Mount Everest?”

I paused, a flicker of unfulfilled dreams crossing my mind. “No,” I admitted, “But I did climb Shkhara and Risnjak.”

“Risnjak?” Her curiosity was palpable, her image leaning closer in the mirror.

“Yes, I went back to Croatia.”

She gasped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mom and dad let you!?”

At her question, a shadow passed over me. The room seemed to grow a bit colder, the dust motes in the air swirling with silent histories. I remained silent, the weight of unspoken stories hanging heavily in the air.

Her expression in the mirror changed, a dawning understanding replacing her initial excitement. “Oh,” she said softly, the single word heavy with meaning.

In that moment, the gap between us – the child full of wonder and the adult bearing the complexities of life – felt both vast and yet intimately close. Our shared reflection in the dusty mirror bridged years of experiences, unifying two parts of a singular journey.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“They don’t live here anymore,” I responded, the words feeling heavy even as they left my lips.

“Why?” The innocence in her question made my heart ache.

“They… they don’t like it here,” I said, choosing my words carefully, trying to soften the blow of reality for her youthful understanding.

“And what about grandpa?” Her eyes, so full of childlike curiosity, searched mine in the mirror for answers.

“He went to Heaven,” I said gently, the words stirring a whirlpool of emotions within me.

“He died?” The simplicity of her question struck a chord, echoing in the silence of the room.

I nodded, feeling a tightness in my throat. It was a challenge to maintain composure, to be the bearer of truths I knew would pain her. “He said he was very proud of us,” I added, offering this white lie as a small comfort, both to her and to myself.

Her reflection in the mirror took on a solemn air, absorbing the news with a quiet maturity that belied her years. In that moment, the lines between past and present blurred, as I found solace in the imagined approval of a loved one lost, conveyed through the hopeful eyes of a child who was once me.

“Do you still wear dresses?” she asked, her image tilting its head with curiosity.

“No,” I chuckled, the sound echoing slightly in the still room. “I don’t wear dresses. They’re just not my style.”

“Good. You’d look weird in them,” she said with the blunt honesty only a child could muster.

“You think?” I raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Yeah!” she giggled, her laughter ringing clear and light.

“I guess it’s also because I can’t find dresses in my size,” I added playfully, “Which is just as well.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened in mock surprise.

“Mhm.”

There was a brief pause before she asked, “Do Mom and Dad call you Alexander now?”

The question caught me off guard. “They…” I hesitated, grappling with the complexities of that relationship. “They don’t,” I finally admitted.

“Do you talk with them?”

“No, I don’t.” The words were simple, but they carried the weight of untold stories and deep-seated feelings.

“Good, I don’t like them,” she declared with a firm nod.

Her straightforwardness took me aback, a stark contrast to the nuanced feelings I harbored. But there was also a sense of validation in her words, a reminder that some parts of us remain unaltered by time and circumstance.

Her image in the mirror smiled, a reflection of resilience and a hint of shared rebellion. In that smile, I found an unexpected ally in the girl I used to be, a bridge across the years that had shaped me into who I am now.

“Your accent is weird too,” she noted, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Weird?” I echoed, feigning surprise.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “You don’t sound like I do.”

“Well, I haven’t sounded like you in a long time,” I replied with a smile.

“Is that…” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Puberty?”

I burst into laughter at her earnest inquiry. “Kind of,” I managed to say between chuckles.

“Your puberty was very strong,” she observed with wide-eyed seriousness.

“Ha?” My amusement grew.

“You turned into a boy,” she said, as if stating a fascinating fact.

“Oh-” I struggled to contain another laugh, “No, this isn’t just puberty. It’s because of surgery and medicine.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in understanding. “So, we are no longer girls?”

“No, you are still a girl. I just realized later that I was actually a boy.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head, considering this new information. “Was grandma happy? She always wanted a grandson.”

“She was,” I nodded, a warm memory surfacing. “She was happy, as long as she got great-grandchildren.”

“Well?” Her curiosity was evident.

“Well, what?”

“Did you get her great-grandchildren?”

“I did,” I laughed, my heart lightening at her reaction. I pulled out my phone, swiped through the gallery, and turned the screen to show her. Her reflection in the mirror leaned in, eyes wide with wonder.

“Wow!” she gasped.

“Her name’s Anastasia,” I said, a proud smile crossing my face as I scrolled to another photo.

“Like the princess?!” she exclaimed, her smile bright and infectious.

“Exactly like the princess,” I affirmed, feeling a surge of joy at her excitement.

I flicked to another picture. “And this is my husband.”

“We have a husband? Ew!” She scrunched up her nose in mock disgust, her childhood aversion to boys still apparent.

“He’s actually very nice,” I assured her.

“Really?” She looked skeptical but curious.

“Yep. And he looks nice, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” She studied the photo, her initial ickiness giving way to intrigue. “He’s a good cook too,” I added.

“That’s cool. Did Grandma meet him?”

“She did,” I nodded, recalling the meeting fondly.

“Did she like him?”

“She did. She really did.”

“Yes!” She jumped in excitement, her energy almost tangible even through the mirror.

Her enthusiasm filled the room, bridging the years between us. In her reactions, I found echoes of my own journey – the initial doubts, the discoveries, the joys of building a life that was true to who I am. Seeing her acceptance, her unfiltered happiness for my choices, was like receiving a blessing from my past self.

The room fell into a contemplative silence again, the figure in the mirror watching me intently as I pocketed my phone. I could sense her unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Why did you come back?” she finally asked, her voice soft but curious.

“Can’t I come back to my home?” I countered lightly.

“We didn’t like this house. We never called it a home,” she reminded me, her reflection a mirror to my past sentiments.

“You’re right,” I conceded, acknowledging our shared history with the place.

“Then why return?”

“I came back because I had to,” I explained, leaning back in the chair. “I had to do something to get this house under our name.”

“This house is now ours?” Her eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“Yes, it’s ours now.”

“Without Mom and Dad?”

“Mhm.”

“But what if they come here?”

“They won’t,” I assured her confidently. “Thankfully, they won’t.”

“But what if they do?”

“Did I ever lie to you?” I asked, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“No? I mean, you’re me and I’m you. You never lied to yourself.”

“Exactly,” I affirmed with a smile.

“You’re weird,” she declared, a playful note in her voice.

“You’re weird,” I echoed, teasing her.

“I’m not!” she protested, but her smile was soft, content.

In that moment, the bond between us – the grown-up Alexander and the child in the mirror – felt both surreal and profoundly real. There was a comfort in this strange communion, a sense of closure and new beginnings. The house, once a source of pain, was now a blank canvas, waiting for new memories to be painted on its walls.

“I was thinking of turning this room into a nursery.”

“For Anastasia?!” Her voice rose in excitement, echoing the glee of our shared childhood.

“Yes!” I confirmed, her enthusiasm infectious.

She squealed, a sound that transported me back to my own childhood days. “Turn this room into a princess room!”

“A princess room?” I repeated, intrigued by her imagination.

“Yes! With golden curtains, white sheets, and beautiful stars…” she trailed off, her eyes sparkling with ideas.

“I might just do that,” I said, considering her suggestions with a smile.

“But—” She hesitated, her expression turning thoughtful.

“What is it?” I prompted gently.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?” I asked, curious about her sudden change in tone.

“For becoming happy,” she said sincerely.

“No, Alexandra, listen,” I started, feeling a swell of emotions.

“I am,” she assured me, her gaze earnest.

“You were like a butterfly ready to bloom,” I said, trying to convey the journey of transformation we had undergone.

“You’re a narcissist, Alexander,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I’m joking,” I laughed, relieved by her light-heartedness. “We became happy. Without you, I wouldn’t exist.”

“Well, you are me and I am you,” she said, a profound understanding in her voice.

“That’s right,” I agreed, feeling a sense of completion.

In this exchange, the room filled with more than just laughter and light-hearted banter. It was filled with the understanding that every step I had taken, every decision made, was part of a journey that led me to this moment of contentment and self-acceptance. The nursery, once a room of dreams and make-believe, would now be a place of new beginnings and joy for another generation.

“Mirrors hold memories, Alexander,” she said softly, her voice carrying a wisdom beyond her years.

“They truly do,” I agreed, feeling the weight of our shared past in her words.

“Can you please let me go?” Her request was gentle but firm, a plea for closure.

I hesitated, the silence stretching between us. “Let you go?” I echoed, the idea startling.

“Yes. Break the mirror.”

“Break it?!” I was taken aback. “But that’s ten years of bad luck.”

“That’s just a superstition,” she countered calmly.

“What if I just leave you here?” I suggested, not ready to part with this connection.

“Why?” Her question was simple yet profound.

“Well…” I struggled to find a reason.

“You don’t have an answer,” she observed.

“I’m thinking,” I chuckled, buying time. “Actually, I think it would look great in this room.”

“What would?”

“A beautiful golden mirror for a princess, don’t you think?” I tried to lighten the mood.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she gazed at me with eyes deep as the ocean, and for a moment, it seemed as if the sea itself spilled from her eyes, tears cascading down her cheeks into an unseen abyss.

“Thank you, Alexander,” she whispered, her voice filled with a blend of gratitude and farewell.

“Thank you, Alexandra,” I replied, feeling a surge of emotions.

In that instant, the mirror rippled as if disturbed by droplets of water. As the surface calmed, her reflection faded, leaving only my own. The girl I once was had vanished, her parting a symbolic release of a past self.

I stood there for a moment, absorbing the quiet. The room felt different now—lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. My heart echoed that lightness, a sense of peace settling in.

[vxnuslogy]

𐙚 the poets department.

— or in which i associate certain ttpd songs with (some) honkai star rail men.

— warnings: angst if you squint

— author's notes: notice how jing yuan is the only one who had a happy part? banner credits to @cafekitsune please check them out they make very pretty banners <3

𐙚  BLADE    ;    THE PROPHECY

blade has never known peace ever since his betrayal with an old friend. 

he yearns and yearns for his time to finally come. howling like a crazed wolf at the moon whenever the mara trapped in his body strikes and every time he’d gaze longingly, wishing to be taken back to time where he and his old friends would sit under the moon drinking their sorrows away. blade didn’t care if the graying hairs on his head spoke of his eventual departure; so long as his friends would remember him fondly then he’d die in peace with no complaints.

but now, every waking hour, he waits for destiny’s slave to write down his death on his script.

he was a monster, cursed to eternal loneliness,  and yet that didn’t stop you from treating him with kindness. little old you who frets over him like a nagging but loving mother. greeting him with a smile that made feelings he buried deep within his chest start to resurface.

maybe this was the “death” he’s been hoping for; blade would die from all the yearning he has for you.

all the times you would keep him company after tiring missions did his cracking heart no good. the urge to throw himself into danger just so you could patch him up; yearning for the arms that reminded him of a home that’s long gone. how he wouldn’t be ashamed to stare at you or your hands, wanting to hold them in his own calloused ones. he doesn’t shrug off the thoughts of you from his mind but he’d cut off his own arm before they could ever reach you.

in blade’s mind, you were too good for him. something he’ll come to destroy one day and he didn’t even dare to imagine how that would affect him. now, instead of waiting for destiny’s slave to write out his death, he hopes that he finds a few more reasons to stay longer, for your sake.

𐙚  DAN FENG   ;    IMGONNAGETYOUBACK

what petty rivalry you and the high elder had. always trying your best to one-up him at anything and everything but ultimately failing while dan feng laughed in amusement in your seething bitterness. but the high elder couldn’t deny the feelings of endearment whenever you show up with jing yuan and others to drink, or how you show him the new weapon yingxing had crafted for you. challenging him to another sparring session while the others watched in the sidelines with amusement.

oh how you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck when you caught wind of his plans to try and resurrect his fallen comrade, making yingxing his accomplice in the process.

the way his eyes started to crack with panic as you pulled your bowstring back and aimed an arrow straight to his heart. but dan feng knew, you knew as well, that you wouldn’t actually let the arrow go and kill him even if you say otherwise. in the end, you lowered your weapon as the high elder was escorted to the shackling prison.

before he was forced to be reborn into a new reincarnation, you visited him and how you wished to punch that knowing smile off his face. you exchange brief pleasantries before you ultimately get fed up with his nonsense. all the while you ignore the shouts of his promise in his next life.

sneak him out of the prison, run away somewhere far from the luofu or to turn your back on your first love, it didn’t matter. both choices were poison either way.

𐙚  DAN HENG   ;    PETER

how many years have passed since you thought of him? better yet, why do you still think of him? why do you feel a wave of ambivalent emotions when you see his new incarnation?

 when your eyes met for a brief moment, you had turned away quickly. muttering a soft apology to the merchant you were speaking to a moment ago as you sped walked your way back home. oh how you wish your feelings for the previous high elder would die just like him.

how you hate the way your heart replayed the days spent with him under the sun as he argued that he’d recognize you in every lifetime; the ocean deep promises to find you in every life. you wonder if he remembers you now.

by the time the sun had risen again, he was right there. just a few feet away from you while you carry documents for the master diviner. you hated the way your feet refused to move as he strides towards you, a smile you remember all too well on his face as he offered you a hairpin.

“i remembered, like i promised.”

oh how pitiful was it of you as you dropped the papers in your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling him a tight embrace. you didn't want to admit that you had been waiting for his return, but truly, love is never lost when perspective is earned.

𐙚  JING YUAN   ;    THE ALCHEMY

it was quite a sight to behold really. the great apprentice of the luofu’s sword champion, on the ground with you pointing a wooden sword at his throat with a victorious smile.

you reveled in the compliments your peers gave you but eventually grew tired of how jing yuan would annoy to no end. you were this close to asking his master to cut him from the training sessions. but you don’t deny the way your cheeks flush after every sparring session jing yuan would win, he’d come running to you, asking if you were watching.

you’d hope that when he grew older he’d at least grow a mature bone in his body, oh how wrong you were. how was it possible that the same kid you’d beaten to a pulp would grow to be taller than you and even more annoying. 

his relentless teasing when you couldn’t land as much hits as you did when the two of you were just kids nearly sent you spiraling over the edge. poor yingxing had to listen to your rants for hours on end, sometimes even kicking you out of his workshop so he could actually get some work done.

but despite all of his annoyingness and your wishes for him to mature, you will never grow tired of him running straight towards you after every victory he’s won under his belt. jing yuan has made it known to everyone that your name was etched into his heart, and really, who were you to fight the alchemy?

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[sillylittlestoryblog]

(Not) Hard to Love

( Part 1 of 2 )

Trafalgar Law x Reader

Warning: ⚠️ reader has self love issues, angst, some suggestive thoughts, not a native English speaker here :)

Authors notes: I have read your comments about writing a part 3 to Keeping me warm, i hadn’t really planed it as a series, so if you have a suggestion how the story should end, I would love to hear your thoughts.

I know this story isn’t that much different. But I am just living for that angsty pining shit. 😗✌🏻this will have a part two and it will follow soon. Anyways have fun. Feel free to comment your thoughts. And remember nice words are good for everybody’s mental health. ;)

"You're staring again"

Robin's words snapped you out of your thoughts. The dark-haired girl was sitting next to you on a sun lounger. There was an open book on her lap. She giggled.

" what?! No. I'm not!"

"Are you sure? You seem to be quite fascinated by him"

She held her sunglasses up for a moment so that you could see her eyes. She winked before putting the sunglasses back on her nose. She grinned and looked happily towards the sun.

It was a hot midday on the Thousand Sunny. Chopper and Luffy were playing a mixture of catch and hide-and-seek, with Luffy usually winning.

Zoro was snoring on deck, his swords always beside his sleeping body.

Usopp and Franky repaired small things on the Sunny and Sanji prepared a few refreshing drinks. While Brook was singing to himself somewhere.

Nami, Robin and you were sunbathing on the main deck. At least that was Nami's plan. Robin had gone along to do some reading. And you had mainly agreed to it for a very specific reason.

Normally your friends would have been reason enough, but the drastic heat was anything but pleasant.

If it hadn't been for this one reason, you would have gone somewhere in the shade long ago, preferably to Sanji in the kitchen or to the girls' room. Somewhere where you could best escape the sun.

But your reason for staying out on deck hadn't really moved for two hours. He was sitting at a small table with a parasol, a few sheets of paper and books spread out in front of him. Immersed in his work.

He was sitting far enough away not to be disturbed by Chopper and Luffy's games.

Trafalgar Law had been on board the Sunny for a few weeks now. Being part of the Strawhat crew again, even if only for a short time, was really getting to him. Groaning, he stretched his body, which was already a little sore from the uncomfortable posture. He really should take breaks from studying more often.

He walked briskly towards the kitchen. As a good doctor, he knew how important it was to drink water regularly, especially in these temperatures.

" and do you like what you see?"

" huh?!"

Once again, your mind wandered. For a brief moment, you wish you could take photos with your eyes. Just save certain moments in your mind forever. And return again and again to study them in detail.

That's all it was. You wanted to know what his deal was. Although you had already had several conversations with him, and in your opinion always with friendly intentions, he had managed to make you feel terrible every time.

Almost every conversation had degenerated too quickly. You could hardly believe how stubborn someone could be. And your captain was Luffy.

So you definitely knew your way around stubborn men. But Law was different. He was cold and grim and always wanted to be right.

You were annoyed by him from day one. Annoyed because this handsome, strong pirate was making you feel things. And that completely destroyed your former inner harmony.

There were either constant arguments or harsh silence between you. Sometimes he ignored you for days. At first you didn’t understand why he stayed with your crew, if he hated it so much.

But every now and then you could see a different side to him. How he talked caringly to Chopper about medication, how he complimented Sanji's cooking, how he gave Robin a brief smile after she had shown him her newest book collection in the library.

But these little moments were never with you. Every interaction between you and him was a disaster. He was grumpy, stressed and strict. So most times he just gave you a weird glance or turned the other way when he saw you walking towards him.

At least you had tried. But ever since Law decided to treat you differently from the other crew members and set out to make your life a living hell, you didn't want to be the friendly one either. You were sure, he didn’t have a problem with the rest of the crew. His problem was you.

But the heat was getting to everyone, and with such temperatures you can shortly forget the real problems.

Especially after Law had gotten rid of his long coat and overly thick sweater. Even his hat, which he usually wears, had been laying on the table next to his medicine and history books for almost half an hour.

And law without all that, was definitely interesting enough to briefly forget what the real problem was.

Tattoos on his upper and lower arms, his dark hair crushed and disheveled from wearing his hat. And his warm eyes that were now really visible for the first time.

"Robin! ... Why is he like that?"

" like what, y/n?"

" like so... so... so arghhhhh..., annoying ?! Angry? Attractive?!" You sighed and put your hands before your face. Not wanting even more people to see your blushing face.

Robin grinned again and took the book off her lap.

" so you do fancy him. Nami and I were right. ... hey Usopp! You owe me 50 berry!"

"Oh no. You did a bet on me ?!"

You loved Robin. She was the most beautiful, intelligent and loving woman you knew. But sometimes you were a tiny bit mad at her for knowing you so well. You couldn’t keep any secret from her. This woman had all the wisdom of the world (+ the gossip on the sunny ) in her head.

" I just don't get why someone who has that gorgeous hair and pretty smile, is such an asshole."

" Law isn't that terrible, Y/N. I told you he's just shy around new people. He'll make friends with you sooner than you know, I'm sure of it. And I don't think he hates you. He just doesn't know how to talk to you yet."

"Yeah, but he can't really get to know me and be my „ friend“, if he always leaves the room when I walk in.... I just want to know why he won't at least try to be friendly to me.

I mean, we have a lot in common. And I was really nice to him on his first day here. I showed him around the ship and even made him fresh juice from Nami’s trees and prepared his room. And all I got was a grumpy face and not a single comment.

And I just don’t know what is wrong with me?! He likes you guys, and he is so kind to Chopper." A sad frown making its way onto your face.

„sounds like you are jealous.“

Nami hadn’t really participated in the conversation yet. But she just enjoyed teasing you too much.

„ ahhh… just shut up, Nami.“

Now hiding your entire body under the beach towel you had brought with you.

You sigh after rolling your eyes for a moment. This wasn’t helping. You would have to find out what exactly his problem with you was.

Later that day, you helped Sanji in the kitchen. You were preparing some muffins for after dinner.

" Hey, can I ask you something?"

" Sure thing, honey. What's on your mind?"

Nervously, you bite your lip. Should you really ask Sanji for help? He certainly wasn't your first choice, but you felt you had to talk to a man. And the other men on board wouldn't be much help either.

„ but of course you are! You are incredibly beautiful and as pretty as a glowing nightsky or a bouquet of expensive flowers.“

Sanji was dancing around you with hearts in his eyes. Making weird noises while twirling like a ballerina.

That’s exactly why you were nervous. Surly Sanji wasn’t the right one to talk about this. But you at least had to try and find out what was wrong with you.

„ but like… do you like my personality too?“

„ yes of course sweetheart, you are the kindest, sweetest and most loving creature to ever bless my eyes.“

„and do you think that the others think so too? That I m helpful ? And kind ? And have a purpose on this ship?“

Sanji stopped dancing and looked at you seriously. „ why are you doubting yourself so much Y/N ? Of course the others think so too. You are part of our Nakama. What makes you think that way? „

Sanji stepped behind you and wrapping his arm around you. „Did the stupid Marimo say something again? I told you not to listen to the shit he says.“

You sat down on one of the chairs next to the kitchen table.

You immediately felt your chest tighten. You didn't want to cry. You really didn't. But the whole thing bothered you more than you initially thought.

"I just don't understand what I did wrong. I was only ever friendly and did everything I could to make him like me. But he hates me and I don't know why."

You sat uncomfortably on the chair with your legs drawn up. Sanji had never seen you so irritated.

" hey hey. It's all good, y/n. Who are you talking about?"

" The fucking Doctor, of course..."

Sanji smirked. He had almost suspected that. He had seen how you kept looking after the dark-haired man after he had ignored you and quickly left the room.

" I just don't get it! Why does he hate me? I've really tried everything, but he won't even look at me when I talk to him.

I've been asking myself for days... am I so ugly that he can't even bear to look at me? Is there really nothing to like about me?“

Hot tears started falling. Your flushed cheeks covered with them.

You didn't deserve all this attention you were hoping for. There was a reason nobody loved you. Something must be wrong with you. Something everybody probably knew, but was too afraid to tell you.

Were you this hard to love ? Why did you have to be so interested in this dude anyway?! Oh yeah, he was gorgeous to look at, intelligent like no other and had seen more of the world than you could ever dream of. Of course you had a stupid crush on him. But for him, you were only air. Or maybe something worse.

Sanji didn’t know if he should laugh or cry with you. He couldn’t believe how stupid you were. Almost as stupid as his captain and the dumb green haired swordsman.

„ y/n hey. Calm down. It’s okay. Nobody hates you. Shhh.“

His arms wrapped around you and held you in a tight embrace.

He almost chuckled thinking about what happend just a few hours before.

Law couldn’t take it anymore. The weather was already killing him. But seeing you in just your short bikini, laying just a few feet from him in the glistening sun. That was clearly to much.

He frowned under his breath. What a cruel joke. Almost as if his crew was behind an evil prank. Watching him, suffering all by himself.

He knew he was fucked the moment he saw you for the first time. He was just saying goodbye to his crew, when he spotted the newest crew member on deck. You were holding Chopper up like a toddler. Making sure he wasn’t gonna fall overboard, while still being able to see the other pirate ship.

Law had looked at you far to long for his liking. Your hair floating around you in the sea wind. And your bright smile lighting up his entire mood. You were mesmerizing.

How did Strawhat-ya always find these people? Law was almost jealous. Even tho he knew he wouldn’t be able to have a woman like you on his crew. It would never work out.

Looking up from his textbook he noticed you watching him again. In some wild fantasy in his head, he would wink at you now.

But Law was a serious man. He had things to do. And he couldn’t get distracted. Even tho the sight before him was definitely something he couldn’t forget in a while, he knew it wouldn’t be good if he was gonna stay sitting at this place. His mind was already wandering to very different places.

This wasn’t good.

Law exhaled and got up. He picked up the textbook before him and went inside. The kitchen wasn’t nearly as hot as the outside and definitely not as distracting.

The blonde cook was standing next to the stove preparing something that looked like dinner.

„ Hey. Is it okay if I sit here for a while?“

The cook turned around and gave him a kind smile.

„ sure. I don’t mind. Was it to hot for you outside?“

„ something like that.“ Law muttered, wishing he wouldn’t have noticed how the sentence had a double meaning. Ignoring Sanjis knowing grin he pretended to already be occupied with his book again.

During the afternoon, some crew members came by the kitchen. Law remained quietly seated at the table, absorbed in his studies.

Even when Nami and Robin entered the kitchen together, still dressed only in their bathing suits, Law did not look up from his work. There was no reaction to be seen on his face.

The others had been observing this behavior for a while. And Sanji was pretty sure by now.

His expression was mostly relaxed or thoughtful. Busy with his work. But that could change abruptly. Because Law showed some other forms of reaction as soon as you entered the room.

You had fallen asleep in the afternoon sun and after finding the deck empty, the first thing you did was head for the kitchen. A glass of water was now your only salvation.

Sanji saw you climb the stairs to the kitchen. And even though he would have liked to continue looking out of the window, enchanted by your face, he had more important things to do. His gaze darted back to the Surgeon of Death as inconspicuously as possible.

When you entered the room, he had already given himself away. Law's face was strangely tense. His eyes stared as unnaturally as Sanji had ever seen them, at the sheet of paper in front of him.

Bingo.

Sanji knew exactly what was going on.

Only when y/n turned to Sanji did Law look up from his book.

Law had to swallow. The view in front of him made him freeze for a moment. His mind going absolutely blank.

The next time Sanji turned his gaze to Law, he held his hand in front of his nose. He rushed out of the kitchen with a bright red head.

Sanji couldn't help but grin. So he had been right all along.

Nami, Robin and Sanji whispered through the night. Their captain laying and snoring between them. Luffy had initially been very excited about this secret meeting. But after he had found out that it was only about you and Law, he had fallen asleep from boredom.

"Haha, I knew it." Nami was beaming from ear to ear.

"Usopp doesn't stand a chance. I'll be rich tomorrow!!!"

"Oh Nami love, it can't just be all about money for you, can it? After all, it's about love, devotion and passion. Law is so attracted to Y/N that he can't even stand to be in the same room with her."

Sanji got heart eyes. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever witnessed. Oh to be in lovee..."

Robin giggled. "So what exactly are we going to do now?“

„ We have to get them to confess to each other !!“ Nami hushed to her friends „and not just for the money“ she added while holding her hands up in the air. Signaling a promise.

„ Maybe we could set up a romantic date for the two of them. I could cook their favorite meals and“ Sanjis lovestruck face suddenly changed into a dark frown.

„ Watch over them, because if Traffy tries to hurt my dear Y/Ns feelings I will kill him.“

„ Oh we shouldn’t do that Sanji, it would be more than stupid to do that. If he hurts her I will simply give him to the marines. At least we could make a profit like that.“ Nami was grinning proudly at her plan.

„ My dear friends, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Let’s see, Franky said that he didn’t have time yet to repair the door to our storage room yet… let’s say for some unknown reason he doesn’t repair it until in a few days? I m sure there is enough other work around the sunny!“

„ What are you suggesting Robin, Dear?“

The dark haired woman placed her chin on her hand, grinning into the blonde cooks face with a mischievous look in her eyes.

„ You’ll see Sanji. You’ll see.“

[thelov3lybookworm]

Remember me? (Part 15)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: basically filler, fully feyfey's pov, we'll get revelations in the next chapter 🫶🏻

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Feyre's pov.

The relief that spread through Feyre was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was her chest constricting, making it hard to breath, but it was also the first full breath she had taken in the past hour.

And that beast...

Tamlin.

Feyre did not know whether to cry in fright, weep in joy or hide in shame.

The male she had destroyed for no reason other than her mate's wishes had brought her child, her light in dark and a part of her soul, back to her, and also probably saved him from some sort of danger.

She did not know whether to beg for his forgiveness or thank him for his mercy.

And when his beast-like eyes met hers, everything stilled around Feyre.

Only for her though. She stopped hearing anything, only a high pitched ringing in her ears. Everything around her seemed to move, the room spinning.

The huge and airy space did nothing to alleviate her light headedness.

Feyre watched as Tamlin crouched low so Nyx could get off, as if in slow motion. Nyx grabbed fistfuls of Tamlin's fur, scrambling to get off, the smile on his face never faltering.

Feyre did not realise that she had stopped breathing, that tears were flowing down her face anew until her lungs screamed for air and she had no choice but to oblige.

She drew in a sharp gasp, the feeling a little painful as she watched Nyx waddle over to her. Feyre knew that the only reason Nyx was walking towards her was because Cassian and the other two were holding themselves back from picking him up.

Feyre fell to her knees, holding out her shaking hands, and Nyx's brows furrowed, his smile dropping.

"Mama? Why are you crying?"

Feyre shook her head, pulling him into her chest. "I'm not crying. My eyes are just sweating because there is dirt in them."

Feyre glanced around, realising everyone was staring at the two. Y/n and Mor were crying, while the rest of the males looked on, their faces grim.

With a start, she realised Tamlin had turned to his fae form.

He looked healthy. Healthier than he had been before.

That was all she could focus on, her mind refusing to let go of her fear and making it hard to think properly.

Nyx pushed away from her, smiling again. "You know momma, I made a new friend." He turned halfway to point at Tamlin, who looked on, curiosity shining in his eyes.

"Is that so darling? That's very nice. But how did you meet him?"

Nyx opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, his brows furrowing. Dread started pooling in Feyre's stomach.

"I don't remember..." He trailed off.

"It's okay baby. We'll figure it out later." Feyre pushed his hair back from his face, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Nyx? Are you still awake?" The sound of Fin's voice drew everyone's attention, and Feyre watched the three members of the inner circle closely.

Confusion scrunched their faces before recognition set in. Even Azriel, who was usually collected and calm, could not hide the shock at seeing another child that resembled so much of his brother.

Their wide eyed gazes swung to Y/n, who walked up to Fin and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, a determined expression on his face, before he walked over to Nyx, tugging him away. The maid that had been assigned to Fin followed the boys closely back to their rooms.

Feyre rose a questioning brow at Y/n, who simply extended a hand to help Feyre climb back to her feet. Y/n glanced around once, then whispered to Feyre. "Go with the kids. After the meeting is done, I'll bring them to Fin's room to talk." She inclined her head towards the confused Inner circle members.

Feyre nodded.

And, with a last glance at Tamlin, followed after the kids.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Eris Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @tele86

Remember me Taglist: @holb32 @awoa1 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @luvmoo @we-were-beautiful @eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913 @j-pendragonx @thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz @esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten @txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman @leeknows-wife @aria-chikage @amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover @kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay @acourtofbatboydreams @stained-glass-eyes0708 @glaciuswduo @wallacewillow0773638 @cassie6392 @quackitysdrugdealer @txzii @anuttellaa @coisas-da-dani @hnyclover @sassyslytherinshai @historygeekqueen @why4anne @mybestfriendmademe @going-through-shit @thisblogisaboutabook @thehighlordishere @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival

[petrichor-idyllic]

Hi Petri, soooo I just finished Dead man walking and already (not that soon though, cause I know you have many requests to get through) need a part 2 because this is my new favorite thing, I love it, you did amazing (as always <3).

You can do whatever you want for part 2 but I wish you could do a little scene where the reader is trying to figure something about her job out and Gally is there just staring at her, and how beautiful she looks when concentrated,and they're just flirting and having fun. Also please do a lot of Fry teasing them because I absolutely love it.

Yes, absolutely, I can.

Love my boy Gally.

Sorry I've been MIA.

DEAD MAN WALKING PT. 2

MASTERLIST | GALLY MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2

SUMMARY: See above. Continuation from part 1. Time skip to the Safe Haven.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, Frypan bullying Gally, awkward tension, you not being sure what to do with yourself, reference to Chuck's death. WICKED being WCKD because movie. Newt's dead. Rip.

The past few weeks have been a blur of chaos and emotion.

You'd arrived at the Safe Haven. But, you were the only person left from the rebels.

Lawrence stormed the City, destroying and setting fire to everything, which was not the plan. And not something you agreed with.

You'd split off and made your own way through the City, managing to bump into Gally on his way to their escape ship. His group had taken some blows.

They'd lost Newt to the Flare. Teresa got swallowed by a burning building. Thomas had been shot. Minho had been deeply traumatised at WCKD's hands.

Life hadn't been easy on these kids. But at least they're safe now.

And so are you, even if you're permanently having some kind of identity crisis due to too much free time and losing your rebellious means.

But, hey, you've still got Gally, at least.

Well, sort of.

Things have been painful awkward since your kiss in the Last City.

It's no one's fault in particular. You've been moving a hundred miles an hour your entire life, and now you get shouted at for finishing your work too quickly, and you're not really sure how to deal with people when you're not bossing them around or being bossed around.

And, Gally is just generally terrible at feelings.

It's actually mildly concerning, sometimes.

Which has led to a weirdly tense friendship where neither of you really know what you're doing.

It's a painful watch.

And you kinda sorta forgot that Gally is still a slightly awkward teenage boy with no experience with women.

It's definitely an experience; but on the bright side, you've become an honorary Glader. Sure, you don't understand the slang still, and you have to remember to not ask too much about the Maze or some of the people because you'll be met with several PTSD induced panic attacks. But, you've befriended them.

Minho is funny and sarcastic and incredibly tough.

Frypan is sweet, and also kind of funny. And he's an excellent cook despite what the other boys say.

Thomas is bold and determined, even taking a bit of a leadership role alongside Vince - even after his well-deserved break.

And whilst Brenda and Jorge aren't quite Gladers, you also like them quite a bit. Jorge reminds you of Lawrence in a way. He's rebellious and bold, but instead of cold and occasionally terrifying, he's funny and fraternal. And Brenda is kind of like you in a way, except she's playful. Which you have severely been lacking in the last few years of your life.

Yet, despite integrating into his friend group, his new home, his daily life - yours and Gally's relationship is still at a weird standstill.

So, you've decided to dive into work. Helping Vince is an easy way to clear your mind, and helping out people who've suffered under WCKS's hands is kind of your speciality.

You prepare blankets, clean, help Frypan in the kitchen, help with building plans, settle petty disputes; you name it, you do it.

And that's something Gally has always admired about you.

"Oi, shank, you're starin' again." Frypan says, snickering as he sits next to Gally, the light from the flames bouncing off his face.

Bonfires are an almost nightly occurrence at the Safe Haven. A celebration of their freedom and security. But, it's a bittersweet experience for the remaining Gladers. Memories of happier times dance in the fires of community. They always thought escaping the Maze would be the end, but they often find themselves remembering simpler times.

You don't share the same heartfelt irony.

"I'm not starin'." Gally grumbles back, yet his eyes still linger on you.

You walk around, handing out drinks and occasionally adding to the fire, making small talk; mainly with Vince, Thomas, and Brenda. You also occasionally take grimances sips of Gally's special brew - another festivity bought from the remains of the Maze.

"Uh huh, sure you aren't." Frypan chuckles as he sips his drink, a beat passing between the boys. "I don't get it. You guys kissed. Like, you kissed an actual girl. And now... what?"

Gally sighs, dropping his head as he speaks in a grumbled tone. "I... I don't know, man. She's... she was my boss. She saved my life. You know she found me in the Maze and-"

"And did everything to patch you up. Took you under her wing. Yeah, yeah, we know, we get it." Frypan rolls his eyes, knowing the story off by heart. "You clearly care about her, so why not actually doing something about it?"

"She hasn't done anything about it."

"Uh, yeah, she did."

"When?"

"When she shuckin' kissed you, slinthead."

Gally falls silent for a moment, eyes landing back on you. It's everything about you; your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way you hold yourself, your passion - everything.

"...I don't wanna shuck it up, Fry."

Frypan's eyes land on his friend, the teasing tone slipping away as he looks at him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Gally anxiously taps his foot, eyes lingering on you again. He looked at you like you were a Goddess and him a feeble insect, blessed to be in your mere presence.

"Gally?" Frypan presses him, brows starting to furrow in worry.

Gally has never been good with words. He's aggressive, and scary, and dangerous. Even if he has learnt to forgive and become more humble thanks to you, it's not like he's become an expert at this. And now he has...

Feelings.

Ew.

He sighs, running his fingers through his short hair. "...I messed everything up back in the Maze. I was scared, and I acted on my own. I tried to hurt you guys, and I..." He trails off, the sound of the gunshot and Chuck hitting the floor still burnt into the back of his retinas. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I don't wanna mess this up, too."

Frypan looks at him for a few seconds, before smacking him on the back of the head.

"Klunk-! Fry! What the shuck, man?" Gally grumbles as he rubs the back of his head.

"Are you hearing yourself, shank?" Frypan leans forward on his knees. "That girl over there brought you back from the dead. She saw the potential in you and made it work. Without you, we would've never been able to save Minho, we would've never stopped WCKD - hell, we probably wouldn't even have made it here, man. Get a grip. You ain't that same sissy that spent his time buggin' out around the Glade, terrified of change. You're a hero and a rebell who risked his life for change."

Gally looks at his friend, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"And the only way that you're shucking this up, is if you sit you shank-ass here and do nothing." Frypan continues, letting the statement hang in the air for several moments.

Gally nods, churning the words over in his head.

"I'm right. Am I right, or am I right?" Frypan grins.

Gally snorts, shaking his head slightly. "You're right."

"'Course I shuckin' am." Frypan grins, patting his long-time friend's back. "Now, are you gonna sit here, wasting your breath yappin' my ear off - or are you gonna go get your girl?"

Gally struggles to hide the smile playing on his lips.

His girl.

He likes the sound of that.

"I'm gonna get my girl."

Whilst Gally gets his heart to heart (lecture) from Frypan, you've taken to cleaning up cups and desperately trying to stop drunk people from falling over. It's not a pleasant way to spend your evening, but it takes your mind off your boredom and constant speculation about your relationship with Gally.

"Hey, Boss." The familiar voice pulls you away from your thoughts, landing on the broad boy.

"I told you you don't have to call me Boss anymore, Gally." You roll your eyes slightly, continuing to pick up glasses.

"Yeah, sorry, force of habit." Gally rocks on his heels, anxiously looking at you.

"...You good?"

"Uh, yeah - uh, can we talk?" You raise an eyebrow at his words, a bubble starting to form in the pit of your stomach. "Like.. in private?"

"Sure. 'Course. Uh, wanna walk along the beach?"

"Yeah." He smiles slightly. "Sounds good."

You put the glasses you've collected down, nodding for him to follow you as you both head towards the waves, starting to wander as the waves just miss lapping up your feet.

Gally doesn't look at you for a while. His eyes fixed on the endless sand ahead of him; it's a heavy silence.

You don't push him. Sure, you spent months pushing him to his full potential. But when it came to talking, it was better to let Gally take his time.

After about ten minutes of walking, he finally takes a deep breath. "So, uh... I spoke to Fry.."

"Oh, yeah? What did he have to say this time?"

"He basically called me a useless slinthead." He chuckles dryly, glancing at you.

"Slinthead? That's like a dickhead, right?" He grins slightly; you're still getting used to the dumb slang of the Glade - it really doesn't help that every group of Maze escapees has their own set of personal curse words.

"Yeah, basically." He chuckles.

"...why'd he call you a dickhead? Sorry- slinthead."

He can't help but shake his head at you, that smile still on his face. "Well, uh, I've been a massive diaper-klunkin' sissy, basically."

You blink. What the fuck does that even mean?

He laughs at your confusion before composing himself, stopping to look at you, which makes you stop, too. You face him, brows furrowed slightly as nervousness starts to feel heavy through your inside.

"...remember before the Last City fell? When you kissed me?"

You freeze, embarrassment heating your face as you'd began to start cringing at the memory when you fall asleep. "Honestly, I thought you'd forgotten that." You attempt to joke to lighten some of the tension.

He scoffs. "Yeah... I've been a bit of an idiot." He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... I was worried about ruining things between us, yanno? I'm so used to messy everything up and-"

"You don't mess everything up." You interject, immediately prepared to defend him against himself.

"Yeah - I know; Frypan already gave me the lecture." He grimaces slightly, almost like he's cringing at himself. "But... I like you. Like, I really shuckin' like you. And... we're safe here. I wanna stop being such a pussy and just..."

It takes a second to sink in what he's saying, your skin feels warm and tingly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. "...just?"

"...I just wanna ask you if... you'd... like to be my girlfriend?" His confidence falters with every word, voice raising in pitch, scrunching his face as he finishes his question in embarrassment. "That sounded shuckin' awkward." He sighs. "Listen-"

You don't listen, because he has no time to speak. Adrenaline takes over as you step towards him, hand coming to cup his cheek as you press your lips against his once again.

The kiss is short and sweet as you pull away, meeting his half-lidded eyes and wide grin. "Take that as a yes?"

"Yes, Gally, I'd love to be your girlfriend. Took you fuckin' long enough."

He snorts. "Yeah, yeah." He leans back in, kissing you again, this time deeper and with more passion, his fingers creeping around the back of your head and into your hair.

"Shuck yeah!" Both of you pull away from each other, seeing Frypan shouting from half way down the beach. "Told you she's your girl!"

You look at Gally. "The fuck is he on about?"

"...Don't worry about it."

So, I'm back.

Again.

And back with a part 2, nonetheless. Sorry for vanishing, lads, I've had some wicked lack of motivation and I feel like a bit of a dick about it.

Yanno... since it's been literal months.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed :))

[thr0wnawayy]

Hime and Ikkaku: The Shaken (Side Story)

4 months after the broadcast

Hime and Ikkaku were distant cousins, both in the familial and literal sense, in the aftermath of the Liberation War, all they had was eachother.

Hime's parents had perished during what was known as "The Blackout Period", Where heroes quit in droves despite the majority of casualties being civilian and the streets lay in ruin for months.

Hime barely managed to survive between the various CRC factions running wild and killing the "impure" to public protests being eviscerated by unseen assailants, life wasn't hell for Hime.

It was war.

As an islander Ikkau had avoided most of the calamity, until that fateful evening when dark swirling portals opened above his island home.

The villains destroyed everything in their brainwashed haze, not caring for casualties or themselves.

Ikkaku still remembers how one of the villains lost an arm and still kept going, as if he'd die if he stopped.

Only when the adrenaline wore off did the poor man's screams echo across eternity.

Everything Ikkaku knew had been destroyed in a matter of minutes, they left everything behind for the mainland.

The two met outside a government building in Osaka.

Ikkaku's parents were trying to get residency (they'd been "negotiating" for hours with the commission agent) and that was boring so Ikkaku stayed on the stone steps outside.

That's when Hime showed up. Far too rugged for a girl her age. Her hair was a tangled grimy mess, her purple gown torn and scuffed with the color fading in some places, matching her graying hair and dulled eyes.

She noticed Ikkau, the boy that was far too unenergetic for someone so young. Desperation had hardened her, but still somewhere deep down, she felt for the boy.

So she stepped forth. In the way a part of her, the stupidest goddamned part of her, wished others had for her.

The two noticed eachother and slowly began to make conversation.

They spoke of old memories and clear blue skies.

Of the dark, warm nights where the cool breeze blowing in your face almost made you think you could fly, perhaps to somewhere better than here.

Eventually Ikkaku's parents had settled their spat and found their son chatting, with another child no less. After months spent witnessing their son lose his spark, seeing him be so carefree was a welcome sight.

It was then that Ikkaku's father made a joke.

"You know honey, if I didn't know any better I'd think she was your clone."

There was a moment where time seemed to freeze. His mother locked eyes with Hime's, her mouth opened but no words came forth.

There was a pause as Hime stared, her eyes growing wide with emotion, tears threatening to spill out.

"M-momma?" her voice cracked. She all but plowed into Ikkaku's Mom's legs, her small frame shook with heavy sobs.

With the exception of his mom reaching down to console Hime, no one moved for a long time.

By the time the four of them got to the hotel it was time for dinner.

But Ikkaku had something else in mind, he waited for his parents to go to their usual meeting spot when they didn't want him hearing something, the bathroom.

Ikkaku could make out a few words of his parents conversation as he pressed an ear to the bathroom door.

"-My sister -" "-Never close-" "-lost contact-"

"-take her in?-"

"-We won't leave her, she's family."

His mother seemed to be reassured by that, a relived sigh could be heard.

Ikkaku ran back to the den portion of the hotel, Where Hime was finishing up eating her cheeseburger. Her ratty hair masked her eyes and Ikkau noted for the first time, just how tired she looked.

Ikkaku carefully brushed the hair out of her eyes, she looked up to him as he gave her his most determined grin.

"You won't have to worry any longer, we've got your back and if anyone tries something I'll poke em with my horn!." Ikkaku vowed, his head held as high with confidence.

Although Hime didn't smile, she nodded, offering the spot next to her. Right now that was all Ikkaku could ask for, he'd be there for her no matter what.

By the time his parents had finished their conversation, the two children had longed since dozed off, huddled together like pigs in a blanket.

The two adults smiled and tiptoed out of the room, assured that no matter what, even as the nation quietly fell apart.

They would always have eachother.

[blue-thief]

Ok. Thoughts on the Itoshi Sibs / their parallels with Isagi?

HELLO this took forever for me to answer because summer school and the sadness. as you know.

also i went too crazy with tying blue lock into my fixation with japanese nationalism so it got way too complex and i got scared but now i'm just gonna make that its own post (<- said the same thing about bsd. that analysis about bsd's connection with japanese nationalism has been sitting in my docs for a year now i think)

(smh this is what happens when the japanese imperial army almost wipes out your entire bloodline /gen /srs)

anyway. all that waiting to say that rin is... just some guy to me

usually a fw anime boys named rin. esp if they're the sworn rival of the plain protagonist. not necessarily this one though

i have no clue why he doesn't scratch my brain properly. he just doesn't. i need to spend a good three hours staring at the ceiling at night to figure that out

when you first sent me this i didn't really care for sae much either. now i do

that's how long this has been sitting in my drafts 😃😃

(i've written and scrapped thousands of words for this ask sob sob)

(this answer wasn't even formatted this way originally)

i've probably told you the story of how sae grew on me before but like

i don't plan out my fics right

i do play out random scenes in my head to test out if i like them or not

(shivers because updating my fic is another thing that is taking forever.......)

and i was just fucking around with random jokes kaiser and sae could say to each other

then i imagined sae smiling

and i was like "what the fuck... why is that so endearing........"

that was the turning point but it really was a lot of sitting and contemplating sae's character honestly

to really understand him and why he'd be friends with kaiser

and sae is kinda just like me frfr

that guy can't do anything other than soccer/football. he has nothing going on beyond that

and yeah. yeah... i get that.......

it's the reason why i like a bunch of other bllk characters but it's most pronounced with sae yk

(SORRY MR. SNUFFY)

and like. just his inability to be a normal fucking person 😭😭 too real

anyway those are my general itoshi brothers thoughts

now for the parallels part.

(this is the part that killed me and i wanna go more in-depth. but i'm saving that for another post. because holy shit my original idea was so fucking ambitious)

i had other thoughts and god i wish i wrote that stuff down

but the major thing i want to get into here is dependence

isagi is independent. soo independent it's kinda crazy

this was outlined most during the second selection with bachira where he had to learn to play by himself

meanwhile there's rin who seems independent on the surface

however, rin has always been dependent on sae in one way or another

when they were younger, rin was dependent on sae to take care of and guide him

rin also depended heavily on sae on the field

now that they are older, sae's attempt to shake rin off has just made rin's dependence on sae even more intense, just in a different way

rin's only motivation to play soccer/football had been to "crush" sae

...but now he's met isagi

and his obsession has found a new object

with the recent chapters, now we know he places isagi and sae on a similar level in his personal hierarchy, and his desire to destroy sae has bled into rin's feelings toward isagi

while rin has only one rival, the same can't be said for isagi

isagi gains rivals like pokemon, and while they have all played a significant roll in isagi's development as a person and a character, his obsession doesn't consume him. in the PXG vs BM match, he's doesn't fully comprehend the effect he's had on kaiser and rin

and mannn i wish i could find this analysis, but it's gone now

but someone compared isagi's desire to "devour" to rin and nagi's desire to "kill"

I WISH I COULD REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT THEY SAID

but from what i remember, "devouring" someone is temporarily defeating them, but both parties ultimately improve so there's room for them to meet again and help each other improve even more

however, "killing" someone is defeating them completely so they're never able to play/improve ever again

which outlines the fact that while isagi can be a little bitch on the field, he wants his rivals to improve alongside him, and in the end, he wants the best for people (in terms of soccer/football)

which is why he never became overly-dependent on bachira and why he treats midfielders as actual human beings 😭😭

isagi is independent, but he pushes for the people around him to be just as independent

the itoshi brothers are different though

rin is codependent on sae, and you could say his hatred/obsession with isagi is a different type of codependency

but that thing about treating midfielders as human beings...

uh. that doesn't really apply to rin

sae is somewhat similar with how he "tamed" shidou but it's not THAT imbalanced lmao

there's also how the three of them are on different places of the striker-midfielder spectrum

in-universe and within the fandom, rin is perceived as japan's ultimate striker. his raw shooting power + metavision makes him perfect for this position.

however sae, another metavision user, is the perfect midfielder

then there's isagi who's tried emulating rin's play style at first but is ultimately most similar to sae, leading people to say that isagi is better suited to be a midfielder rather than a striker

while rin represents what the ultimate japanese striker is, something isagi is trying to reach, sae's path is one that isagi could easily fall down instead

many people have theorized that sae became a midfielder to improve rin's chances at becoming a better striker. sae may be considered to have a strong ego, but if this turns out to be true, that might not be the case lmao

errm. idk how to end this off. sorry for the wait sob sob

[vante1920pm]

──;; 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ★☆

★ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: I was listening to Heather by Conan Gray while writing this :(

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

☆ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: lo'ak/gn!omatikaya!reader

☆ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: jealousy, i'm in love w/ tsireya, ooc, not proof read, you're kinda a bitch in this one

pt. 2 is here

You were Lo'aks best friend since childhood. You did everything together. Pulled pranks on Neteyam, played hide and seek, had sleepovers. You even followed the Sullys to the Metkayina.

You could always rely on him and he on you. It didn't take you long to develop a crush on him, too. It was already written in the stars.

You sometimes even thought he reciprocated your feelings and just waited for the best time to finally confess to him.

Well, that was before he met her. Tsireya.

She was everything you wished to be. Beautiful, kindhearted, smart, strong and much more. You really envied her, since she, now, got all his attention and time.

You only could watch them, with sad eyes. His arms on her shoulder, staring lovingly into her beautiful eyes.

All your hopes were destroyed the day he set eyes on her. You wished he never met her. Maybe, just maybe, you would have a chance with him. You could be with him.

You should've taken the chance when you had it, but you were too scared of a rejection that you now, not only lost your first love, but also your best friend. You didn't even notice that you drifted apart, but you knew it all began with her.

You remember the compliments he made you or the trips he took you on. Stargazing or watching the sunset together, you leaning on his shoulder and falling asleep together. All this made you think you could have a future with this boy. But, now it's all gone.

────

"Hey, Lo'ak!"

You threw your arms in the air, gesturing him to come to you. Instead of a smile, you were greeted with a frown on his face. You were confused, because you didn't know what was going on, but instead of an explanation, Lo'ak just turned away from you and left.

You saw him walking towards Tsireya and your heart sunk. What was going on with him? Were he not allowed to have friends now or what?

You tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach and just made your way towards the sea, sitting down on the sand.

────

Hours passed, as you only watched the creatures in the water and thought about Lo'ak. Maybe he was just in a bad mood.

But was Tsireya the only one that could make him feel better? He should've come to you. You were his best friend, not she.

As you were stuck in your thoughts, you didn't notice the fast steps that came walking towards your direction.

"Y/N!"

You jumped and looked at the person who yelled your name. It was Lo'ak. He still seemed mad, you hands sweated, waiting for the awkward confrontation. Did you do something wrong?

"I want you to stay away from Tsireya, it's enough!"

To say you were shocked was an understatement. What was he even talking about?

It was true, maybe you weren't always really nice to the girl but that was only because you were so jealous of her, envied her. Your feelings got the worst of you in these moments when she was around. Making little remarks when she was telling you something, or ignoring her attempts on befriending you. You just couldn't control yourself, you never tried to hurt her on purpose.

"I- Lo'ak! I don't even understand what you mea-"

"You know exactly what I mean!"

He hissed, pure venom in his voice. You stood up, facing him and trying to justify yourself.

"I don't want to hear any of it! I don't know what's going on with you at the moment, but I know that I don't like it."

"I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, you know me! I wouldn't do something like this!"

The boy stared at me for a few moments, thinking about something you didn't know. You never knew what he thought about, something that always fascinated you.

"But, do I really know you?"

You looked down, hurt. You knew it was true, you changed and not for the better.

"Lo'ak.."

Lo'ak sighed, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.

You backed off from him, still processing the whole situation. Your hands shaked and your voice unstable.

Lo'ak calmed a bit down but had a look of disappointment on his face. His beautifu, perfect face.

He stepped a bit closer, taking your hands in his. His gaze softened and you watched his face closely. You weren't sure what his expression meant but hoped for the best.

"Y'know, Y/N. You were always my best friend, but now I don't even recognize you. Jealousy doesn't look good on you."

Your heart sunk once again at the "you were". You never thought you would lose your first love like this, but here we are.

"I know of the feelings you have for me-"

"What? When? How?"

Lo'ak squeezed your hands slightly and placed his look to the ground. He said, that he always knew. Everyone knew but he just couldn't return your feelings and always hoped you wouldn't confess to him, because he didn't want to hurt you.

"I see, then I hope you'll be happy with her."

You said, facing the ground because you couldn't look at Lo'ak without starting to cry. You wanted to dig a hole and die in there. The embarrassment and humiliation was too much.

Lo'ak gave you one last look, before he let go of your hands and turned around, walking away. With Tsireya joining his side. You didn't even realize she was there the whole time, now only focusing on the hot tears that streamed down your face.

Your hands were now cold, longed for his touch again but you knew, that wouldn't happen again.

You watched them, walking together into their future, in which you wouldn't exist.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

When did your friendship fell apart?

© 2022 VANTE_1920PM

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Jonelias week day 6! Setting: time travel // Prompt: Old memories

Elias sends him flowers. Hardly the apology he thinks it is, if this is an apology at all, which Jon can't be sure of. It makes him feel uneasy, not to be able to grasp at any knowledge he wants whenever he needs or craves it. He's been having headaches ever since he woke up in his flat, with very little power left beyond the wisp of compulsion. He wishes he didn't miss it.

He wishes he still had it.

All the same, that wouldn't help with El-- Jonah. He couldn't know him at the end of the world, and he's not sure he could ever know him truly here either. Ever since that first week of looking like a mad man, Jon has tried to be more careful, even if it hasn't yet stopped hurting to see Martin's eyes so soft and yet so young, so unaware of everything they've had and that was destroyed, or Tim's growing wariness that isn't quite genuine dislike yet.

Not!Sasha is not worth talking about; Jon merely wishes he was powerful enough to destroy it all over again.

And Elias -- Jonah --... Well, Jon was under the assumption that he was avoiding him. And now, after weeks of brief conversations by emails -- only ever work related, the way they'd... God, the way they'd never been... before... Jon gets this.

Flowers.

"Do you think this won't make me want to kill you a second time any less?" Jon asks out loud in his flat, staring at his own eyes in the mirror. He could swear that for a brief moment they turn grey but he blinks and nothing but silence answers him. He presses his lips together, and tells himself it doesn't sting.

Jonah has to remember. He has to, because Jon remembers his face, that first week, when their eyes had first crossed. A mixture of awe, and pride, and fear. Gone in a heartbeat, of course, but Jon had seen it, he had, and it means Jonah has to remember. How, when Martin doesn't? How, when he was dead? It doesn't even matter to Jon anymore. He only wants -- he only needs --

He puts the flowers into an old vase inherited by his grandmother, waits for almost an hour and then, at last, he gives in, and calls Elias.

"Dekker only knew how to emprison the Not!Them, but surely there's a way to kill it without merely knowing it to death?" he asks without preambule the moment the call connects.

"Pardon?" Elias says, with the perfect tone of mild confusion that would put most actors to shame, and Jon glowers at the phone.

"Don't do that," he snaps despite himself. "You sent me flowers, you asshole."

"A gesture of good will," Elias tells him. "You've been rather tense ever since you came back to work --"

"I can't do this," Jon cuts him off, staring off at the vase. "I'm not going to do this. You want to hear it? Fine. I won't try to kill you again. Does that make you feel better? And no, I don't accept flowers as an adequate sorry for ruining your life and the world for my own very brief gain and enjoyment, but for god's sake, I need something -- someone -- to be real with me. Right now. Just. Be real with me, Jonah. Please."

"You understand your volatile mood is exactly the reason I can't trust that you won't try to kill me again, don't you?" Jonah asks, and Jon lets out a shaky breath of relief, shamefully realizing his eyes are filling with tears. "Or, god forbid, succeed at it once more."

"You haven't made me a complete monster yet, here," Jon manages to say.

"And yet at times I feel foolish enough to want to bring you right back to godhood all the same," Jonah sighs. "If only for how magnificent you were, at the end."

"Shut up," Jon mutters.

"I thought you wanted us to talk properly." It's like Jon can hear his smile, on the other end of London, and it shouldn't feel good, it shouldn't, but -- "Let's have lunch," Jonah offers. "Get reacquainted with one another. How does that sound, Jon?"

[stxrrynxghts]

"Oh, surely you wish to marry him, Rukmini."

No. Rukmini did not wish to marry Shishir, the idiot friend of her even more idiotic brother.

She didn't like Shishir. She didn't like the way he stared at her, as if he were imagining her naked. She didn't like the way he touched other girls, even when they clearly disliked his touch.

Rukmini was repulsed by him.

And then Krishna entered her life.

He was in her college, her senior. He was a handsome man, tall and muscular, with a complexion darker than hers, brown curls and a dimpled smile.

Needless to say, she had fallen for him.

She hadn't lost her heart to him, of course. Rukmini discovered that it had always been his, and he had just given it to her for safe keeping.

He was charming and he was kind. He would hold her hands in his, and smile at her, as he would take her down to the college mess for lunch. He would stare into her eyes as if she were his whole world as he brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braid.

He was her everything.

And yet, Rukmini was promised to Shishir. Unacceptable. Sometimes she felt she was cheating on him. But then, they hadn't been engaged. She wasn't even in a relationship with him, so it wasn't cheating, right?

And then, she was pulled out of college, to marry Shishir. She wasn't allowed to complete her education. Then they found about her love for Krishna. And here she was, two months later, being decked up, to get engaged to the man she hated from the bottom of her heart.

She had left Krishna without any explanation. It was for his own good, yes. Shishir had connections with certain gangs. If he wanted, he could get Krishna killed. Rukmini could bear his hatred, but she couldn't bear his death.

Every time she remembered the day she had left him, she would cry for hours. Two years of love and care had been destroyed in a moment.

She met him in the park they always met in. He had looked at her, with a strange calm in his eyes, as he clasped her hands, and brought them to his lips.

And like the cruel demon she was, Rukmini wrenched her hands away, saying how she couldn't meet him anymore, and that she didn't love him. There was hurt in his eyes, but Krishna didn't stop her, didn't say anything, didn't follow her as she left.

She was brought back to reality, as Shishir's family arrived at their doorstep. Her friends ran to see the groom, and she was left alone, the poster of Rishi Kapoor staring at her.

A tear rolled down her eye, as she stared at her reflection. She looked very pretty, indeed. Breathtaking, honestly.

No.

Rukmini would not spend her life crying.

She would not bend in front of someone else's will.

She would live her life the way she wished to live it.

She would marry the man she wished to, she would do the job she wished to.

She would watch the films she wanted, eat the food she liked, travel the world as her heart pleased.

She would be her own master, and not her brother's slave.

She picked up the telephone and dialled a number.

"Hello?" An unfamiliar voice resonated from the other side.

"Hello. This is Rukmini. Please tell Krishna that I am going to run away from home two weeks from now, and if he will accept me despite all I have done, I will elope with him. Thank you."

She cut the call, feeling proud of herself.

It felt good to make her own decisions.

[shadowqueenjude]

I am writing Feytamsand, so I thought I’d post this snippet for @polyacotarweek ! This is a continuation of my AU where when Rhysand dies in ACOWAR, the High Lord magic transfers to Nesta, and Rhysand has to contend with being powerless and titleless. Thanks to @achaotichuman who helped me with ideas for this part <3 (this is for day 1)

Needless to say, Rhysand was still in shock hours later.

Hybern was split into seven pieces. Each court in Prythian would help govern a section of Hybern and ensure everything returned to normal. Rhysand’s face burned with humiliation as Nesta swept past him, majestic in a silver gown, not even a glance at him. Once the center of attention, he now garnered as many looks as a servant. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to bellow in frustration.

He had lost everything- everything- to that snake, who saw through all his bullshit somehow where even Feyre did not. Then again, Nesta and Elain were the educated ones, weren’t they? It made sense that Nesta would be the cunning one, not Feyre.

How could he endure? How could he live in the Night Court, knowing what he had lost, and to whom? Audacious, vicious Nesta, who Rhysand despised with all his heart and yet couldn’t help but dream of day in and day out. Along with a certain blonde back in Spring. He shut that out. You would think having a mate who had accepted the bond would stop these intrusive thoughts, but no. If anything, they only haunted him further.

It seemed he could never escape him. Even his mate was once his bride.

And his mate was also Nesta’s sister. God, he needed to stop thinking about her. How he wished to punish her for stealing his court. How he wished she’d destroy him instead.

God he wished his brain would shut the fuck up. “It’s not a big deal,” Feyre muttered. His mate-his fierce, beautiful mate- who knew nothing of the monster he was, who he’s somehow convinced to love him as he was, wretched and all. Because she didn’t know him. How evil he was. He’d used her like a toy, then manipulated her into believing it was for her own good. Nesta’s every glare was a reminder of how terrible he was. She made him think. She made him remember.

She drove him crazy.

Feyre, Mor, and Azriel surrounded him, assuring him they loved him no matter what, that he was their High Lord always, blah blah blah.

“Stop lying to me,” Rhysand bellowed. “You do not serve me anymore. I am nothing. You shall serve the new High Lady, should she deem it. I am powerless.”

“But you should-“ Azriel began.

Rhysand snarled at him. “You’re the one she’s least likely to keep around. You’re completely fucking useless.” Azriel rarely showed emotion, but Rhysand could’ve sworn his shadows swirled around him agitatedly. Rhysand didn’t give a shit.

He had just lost everything. He had the right to be angry. His whole life, he had been preparing for this. His whole life, he had been doing this. Maybe he wasn’t the best at his job, but it was all he knew. Now, he was useless in his own court. A waste of space.

Waste. Waste. Waste.

Rhysand shut out the voice. “Let’s see what our new ruler shall do,” he said bitterly.

Nesta walked out of the High Lord meeting some time later, looking radiant and queenly and everything Feyre never was and never would be. And Rhys felt like shit for even thinking it.

Elain and Lucien walked beside her, looking remarkably cozy despite Nesta’s vehement objections.

“Let’s go home,” Nesta said. She didn’t seem as smug as Rhysand had expected. He wished she was, so that he could sneer at her. Don’t act like you’re superior, he wanted to scream. You’re just as bad as me.

Nesta continued to ignore them, staring at Cassian instead. Rhysand tried not to be hurt at Cassian blatantly ignoring him and choosing to beam at Nesta instead. Cassian was his first. And now Nesta was taking him away from him. By the Cauldron, did he hate her.

Returning home was awkward, to say the least. Out of instinct, Rhysand walked towards the throne when Nesta gave him a look promising death, and Rhysand backed off. Right. An ordinary citizen. Rhysand burned with humiliation again. Nesta reclined onto the throne, crossing one leg over the other. She looked like she was born to sit there. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the Mother was just biding her time, letting him rule until Night’s true leader was born and ready to rule.

The thought didn’t sit well with him. Especially since Nesta was the first High Lady chosen in centuries.

“First order of business,” Nesta drawled, surveying the former Inner Circle. “Mor, pack your bags and get out of here. I have no use of you.” Mor glowered at Nesta and stomped out of the room.

“Azriel too. You’re the worst spy I’ve ever seen. Didn’t anyone tell you spies aren’t supposed to be well-known everywhere?” Azriel genuinely looked like he might cry, and Rhysand didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified that a 23 year old formerly human woman was the one reducing him to tears.

“Amren, you have no powers anymore, but because I like you, you can stick around.” Amren grinned and saluted her. “Rhysand, as much as I’d like to chuck you into the Court of Nightmares, you’re my sister’s husband, so I am offering the House of Wind to you and my sister. However, you shall have no place in my court.”

Rhysand grit his teeth. It was charity. Nesta clearly wanted to be around him as little as he wanted to be around her, yet she offered this for her sister’s sake. Might as well spare them both.

“I want nothing from you, and you want nothing from me. I think I shall save both of us some time and say that I’m determined to leave the Night Court.”

Feyre’s head whipped around to his. “Excuse me?” “You’re welcome to stay here, Feyre, if you want to dump your loser husband to whatever court he slithers off to.”

Feyre shook her head. “No…no of course I will go. I suppose he is right, we have no place here anymore.”

Nesta shook her head. “You will always have a place here, sister.”

“Wait. What about me?” Cassian asked, spreading his hands. Nesta surveyed him coolly, and Cassian audibly gulped at her unrelenting focus. “You can stay, I suppose. Make yourself useful as a bodyguard, or… what was your job?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Commander of the Illyrian army.”

“Yes yes, you can keep doing that. Now, to get a new spymaster…”

Elain delicately cleared her throat. “Yes, you’re right Elain, we’ll talk about that later.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was just…what about Lucien?”

Lucien had been standing there, uncharacteristically silent, but now everyone turned to him. “What? I know Nesta’s keeping me around,” Lucien said. “Oh?” Azriel snapped, whirling back into the room, shadows swirling like a dark tornado. “What makes you so sure?”

Lucien smirked. “I’m indispensable. No one else here has any decent connections with any of the other courts. Yet here I am, with great connections to all.”

“Yes, Azriel, I’m keeping Lucien. Now quit whining and leave quietly, please,” Nesta said tiredly. Azriel angrily wiped away a tear as he walked out.

“Come on, Feyre, let’s get out of here,” Rhysand murmured to Feyre. She nodded, and together they strode out of the courtroom, watching as the Inner Circle that had stood for centuries shattered into pieces.

“Might I ask where you intend on taking us?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips as she sent a simmering glare his way. When she did that, she looked so much like Nesta. Rhysand shut that out.

“I thought it was obvious. This is one place we are unneeded, but there’s another place where we are. Needed, that is.”

Feyre blinked. “You can’t be talking about-“

“What? His last words to you were, ‘be happy.’ I doubt he’s going to be an ass if you go over there now.”

Feyre shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re actually suggesting this.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah! Stay here!” Feyre threw up her hands. “You’re ridiculous.” She practically ran out of the room.

Rhysand slumped onto his bed. This was really happening. He knew he should just be happy he was alive, but he’d almost rather be dead. The humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the High Lords, especially Beron, was something he wouldn’t soon forget. And his life, his purpose, was gone. Reduced to little more than a commoner. He couldn’t even shapeshift his wings anymore; they were gone. Just another boring High Fae.

The tears came before he could stop them. He was glad Feyre wasn’t here to see. Glad Feyre hadn’t gone into his mind and seen how he wished he hadn’t been brought back. As much as he appreciated Feyre somehow convincing all the other High Lords to bring him back…he had been brought back to nothing.

Nesta came to wish Feyre a good journey. “You will be ok?” Feyre asked her. Nesta rolled her shoulders. Nerves. Rhysand had been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn’t even stop to think about how much pressure was on Nesta’s shoulders. “I think so. I have Lucien and Elain to help me. Will need to recruit a few others; your crew was rather incompetent. Sorry,” she added when Feyre winced. “But it’s true. Especially that Mor.” Nesta made a face of disgust. “Entitled blonde bimbo.”

When Nesta left, Feyre turned to Rhysand. “Are you ready for this?” she enquired, tilting her head curiously. “I should be asking you that question,” Rhysand muttered, shame flooding his veins. Nesta’s presence had again brought it up. Feyre snorted. “I’ve made my peace with him. You’re the one who still has a problem with him.”

A sign that in spite of Feyre’s physical transformation, she was still human. Subject to growth and change. Not like the Fae, who could hold grudges for centuries. Not at all like himself, in fact.

He could never forget Tamlin tearing his father to shreds in front of his eyes. Even if he had despised his father. Tamlin’s skin had glowed with a green aura of power, his claws so long and sharp he probably could’ve gutted Rhys with one swipe. Tamlin’s presence was so powerful that Rhysand had frozen in terror. He didn’t even notice the violet aura around himself.

“Leave,” he’d growled. His voice was lower and raspier than it had been before. “Before I kill you too.”

Rhysand had never understood how you could be so terrified yet so drawn to someone at the same time until that moment. He wanted to stare into Tamlin’s eyes forever, burning like freshly forged emeralds as they were. But Rhysand’s magic reacted where his body could not and winnowed him away from that place.

Clearly visceral magic had consequences, because Rhysand landed on the snowy, windy peak of an Illyrian mountain. He grunted as he fought against the wind resistance to pull out the clump of ice that had lodged itself into his hair. He spat out the half melted slushy water that had gone into his mouth when he fell face-flat onto the snow. Yet the cold of the physical atmosphere couldn’t compare to the cold of his heart.

Centuries onward, and Rhysand still didn’t know how to act around Tamlin. They had never gone beyond friendship; yet, Tamlin had once kissed him when he was drunk off faerie wine, which had led to a lot more. The next day, Tamlin had written it off as mild lapse of judgement. That’s what Rhys was to him; a fucking lapse of judgement.

It was why he had used Feyre under the mountain. He knew Tamlin cared for her. He wanted to piss him off, make him jealous. He wanted to remind him of what they could’ve had.

Perhaps they should stay here in Night, after all. Perhaps they-

But no. Rhysand had no use here. Nesta had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of allowing him to make any decisions in this court. And how long would it be until all the faeries who had despised him when he ruled came to kill him? He had no powers to protect himself now. Feyre was strong, but she could not hold off a riot should it come to their door.

No, they were better off in Spring. No riots coming his way there, at least.

Feyre said nothing to him as they entered Spring Court grounds. In better times, wards would keep out any High Lords from other courts from entering without express permission from the High Lord himself. But, he was no High Lord anymore, and Feyre with her magic of all seven courts, could enter any place.

Rhysand stared at the Spring Court manor, which had definitely seen better days. Sighing, he knocked on the door. A servant with bubblegum pink hair with skin resembling chlorophyll opened the door, gasping when she saw who it was.

“High Lord!” she called. “It is the High Lo-er, former High Lord of Night and the Cursebreaker.”

“Leave them to me, Amelia,” a calm voice said. The servant quickly scurried away. A huge hulking figure stood before them not a moment later.

Rhysand was accustomed to Cassian’s enormous body, so Tamlin’s size did not intimidate him…although he wished that simmering glare was aimed at someone else. “Rhysand. Feyre. What are you doing here?”

“We were kicked out of Night,” Rhysand said smoothly. Feyre sent him a look. “Ignore him, Tamlin. Actually, Rhysand decided to reject my sister’s offer of a beautiful home and go for a change in scenery.”

Tamlin snorted. “Of course he did. Ego can’t handle being bested by a human woman, Rhys?” Rhys. A nickname saved for those close to him. Rhysand ignored the pang of his heart. “I know the people will be coming after me now that I am no longer in power, plus I have no use there anymore. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Sure.” Tamlin grabbed Rhysand’s hand and dragged him inside. Feyre yelped in protest. “What are you doing, Tamlin? Leave him alone!” Tamlin ignored her, dragging him by the heels of his shoes. “TAMLIN! I SAID LET HIM GO!” Feyre’s skin lit up as she utilized Beron’s drop of fire, her eyes a stunning azure flame, and Rhysand stared at his mate in awe. “Wow,” he breathed. “No,” was Tamlin’s only response as he flung open the door to a room that showed evidence of once being an art gallery and shoved Rhysand against the walls. Rhysand reigned in his wince at the claws Tamlin pressed against his jugular.

“TAMLIN! I SAID LET. HIM. GO!” Feyre shrieked, stomping up to him. “You burn me, and he dies,” Tamlin said simply. Then he turned to Rhysand and snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here, really? Haven’t you ruined my life enough? I told Feyre to be happy, not that I want her anywhere near me. Especially not when she comes with you.”

Rhysand chuckled as well as he could while Tamlin’s claws still pressed into his throat, his other hand keeping him pinned to the wall. “This position seems awfully familiar,” Rhysand managed to sneer, in spite of the fear thrumming through his body. “It’s like nothing changed, hmm, Tamlin?”

“What do you mean, nothing has changed?” Feyre demanded. “You mean when you used to spar?”

It was Tamlin’s turn to smile. “You never told her?” Rhysand felt his skin go cold. Shit shit shit shit shit-

“Of course not. What a hit to your ego that would’ve been. That I rejected you, yet I fully intended on marrying a human girl, and humans are so far beneath you, right? Funny how you only took an interest in her after you realized I had interest in her. Jealous much, Rhysand?”

His skin burned with humiliation. “Please,” he croaked.

Tamlin’s smile turned cruel, animalistic. “Please what?” he said in a deceptively gentle voice.

“Please don’t make me go back to Night. The people despise me, they’ll kill me within the week.”

“And why not? Since I’m such a monster, and you’ve intruded on my territory, I should deal with you as a High Lord deals with all invaders.”

Those claws still brushed against his skin, threatening to torment him. Rhysand found his breaths evaded him. “Please,” he choked out.

Abruptly, those claws withdrew from him as well as the hand pinning him to the wall, and Rhysand’s knees nearly buckled. Tamlin’s grin widened. “Beg, and I’ll consider not sending you back to Night.” Oh this bastard was throwing his words right back in his face. But he had no choice. Slowly, Rhysand dropped to his knees. Utter humiliation-almost as bad as what he had suffered when Nesta had become High Lady. “Lower,” Tamlin crooned, pointing a finger at the ground. Rhysand’s mind screamed, but he bowed, his hair brushing the floor. “Lower.” Rhysand pressed his forehead to the floor, suddenly thinking death at the hands of the Night Court faeries would be better than this. At least that would be a swift end.

Perhaps Tamlin sensed the despair in his thoughts, for he pulled Rhysand up by his collar and patted his shoulder. “I would never turn away those in need of refuge,” Tamlin said somberly, and he walked away, leaving Feyre and Rhysand alone.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝔹𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ not a request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Happy Birthday to my bby Mafufu <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

Affiliation with @virtualbookstore

<I remember her mentioning she really likes apples>

That's where it all started. Just this one text made you wake up at 3am to bake something for your girlfriend's birthday.

The thought of baking literal fruit kind of scared you so you decides to set for something simpler than a cake! It took you a while to find a recipe because let's be honest... you're NOT asking Mafuyu's mom for help, you'd rather spend some additional hour yourself on finding just right recipe.

It's finally 8am and you just finished decorating final bath of cookies. You ended up making around 3, 3rd one being the biggest. First one was just a test, second was a small teaser before final cookies and their ones were final!

You packed cookies into light purple box, hid it in your bag and rushed to the park nearby Miyamasuzaka Academy so that you could give Mafuyu gift, without her getting into any troubles.

You were just looking around for purple headed girl just to be startled by voice from behind you.

"I'm here."

"ACK! Oh, Mafuyu! Hi!"

You swear you got so scared, you almost punched her... ON HER BIRTHDAY! It's good you actually remember her voice by heart... both voices of hers.

"Why did you wanted me to sneak out on a break?"

"Oh it's just a second I promise! I only wanted to..."

You took out the box you prepared earlier and offered it to her carefully, not wanting your hard work to suddenly get destroyed.

"I only wanted to wish you Happy Birthday! I hope this year will treat you well~"

She carefully picked up box from your hands as if it was made from porcelain that could break any second. She finally opened it in front of you as she knew you probably wanted to know her reaction.

"Thank you, it's..."

She was stunned. Most would think in that moment that she saw something horrifying, something she didn't liked. But you knew her well enough to see it was quite the opposite! If she didn't liked it, she'd already told you her criticism, but she just stared at it with slightly parted lips.

"It's...?"

You tried nudging her a bit, curious what she'll say.

"It's... it seems warm. As in... my chest."

She took out one of the cookies and took a small bite for taste testing. She may've not realized it herself but you could see her gaze and shoulders relaxing, it was obvious she enjoyed the effort you put into her gift.

"I'm glad I could make this day a bit warmer for you then!"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @prsk-krow @modyuki @badwhole @bl4cktourmaline - come get your aquarium lover!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Another Lie || CL16 {3}

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst WC: 1.1k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

The hours were already creeping into the afternoon when you woke to the soft sounds of the piano in the living room. The keys had gone unused for months, since Charles left the prized possession behind when he moved out. You should have taken it as a sign that he was always planning to come back.

Slipping out of the bed, you wrapped a silk robe around your body and quietly followed the music that drifted down the hall. His back was to you as the smooth expanse warmed by the sunlight that bathed the open room, not a single scratch to be seen between the constellation of beauty spots that dotted across his lightly tanned shoulders. 

Last night had ended gently, with Charles' body curled up behind yours and his fingertips softly tracing the curves of your body. He had kissed your shoulder blade as his hand eased your leg over his and your back arched as you welcomed more of his touch.

Charles’ sigh had teased your ear when he buried himself in you and held you close. There had been no rush to his slow strokes. He hadn’t been chasing release from whatever it was he had been feeling. He had been completely present in the moment, wanting it to last as long as possible in case it didn’t happen like that again.

Before you reached him he shifted along the bench to make room for you. You silently slipped onto the seat, feeling his warmth spread through the silk as he continued the song you didn’t recognise.

“Like it?” he asked as the last note faded out.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you rested your head on his shoulder. “What’s it called? I don’t remember hearing it before.”

“It’s new,” he said with a smile before kissing your forehead. “Doesn’t have a name yet.”

Your head shot up in surprise. “You wrote it?”

“For us.” His smile faded as he looked back at the keys and pressed a few in different variations. “I just don’t know how it ends.”

“You’ll figure it out.” You rose from the bench and made your way to the kitchen as he closed the piano lid before following. A small part of you wished he had remained at the piano since you had missed the lazy Sundays he would spend playing for you. Those hours spent on the balcony with a hot drink while watching the birds gliding over the water were some you savoured most of all.

Whatever white flag had flown overnight was slowly being lowered as he watched you from the breakfast bar. He cracked his knuckles impatiently before changing the order of his rings and sighing as you still said nothing, keeping yourself busy as you made two coffees.

“So,” he started as you placed his favourite mug in front of him, his hand catching your waist before you could head back to the fridge and start breakfast. “Dinner tonight.”

“It’s not your birthday anymore, there’s no more wishes.”

“I want you there.” He pulled you onto his lap. “As my girlfriend.”

“I get you don’t want to upset your mother but I can’t keep pretending everything is fi-” He silenced you with a kiss and your hands started to slide over his chest before you caught yourself and pulled away. “Cha, stop doing that.”

“It’s always been you for me, always. And I know I’ve treated you like shit but give me a chance to show you I can change, that I can make it up to you. Please?”

His eyes held the same hopeful innocence look that hadn’t changed in all the years you had known him and your shoulders dropped the longer you stared into them. “Please?”

“One more chance, I’m serious, Charles.”

He caught your chin and tipped it back as he stared right back, his lips pressed in a hard line. “And I’m serious, no more drugs.”

“If you keep your promise then I’ll keep mine.” You leaned into his touch and he guided your lips to his, savouring the relieved sigh he exhaled before they sealed the promise.

One month. 

That was all it took for the freshly repaired cracks in the relationship to be destroyed once again. 

You didn’t even feel hurt as you stood in the bedroom, opening your suitcase with shaking hands, there was nothing left to feel. He had lied. It wasn’t a surprise, but you wished it was, at least then you could have told yourself you had believed him when he said forever.

Your phone hadn’t stopped vibrating with his calls that you ignored. Every time his name showed up on the screen you saw the censored pictures on the news, the article heading enough to tell you everything you needed to know. What happens in Vegas…doesn’t always stay in Vegas. 

You didn’t know who the woman was with the blurred out face, but it didn’t matter. If it wasn’t her, it would have been someone else.

Your vision blurred and you startled as you touched the trail of tears running down your cheeks. Maybe you weren’t as numb as you thought, maybe this was shock settling in. Maybe you had believed him.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you growled as you wiped them away and zipped the overflowing bag shut.

Declining the call that came in, you made a call of your own and your throat closed as a sleepy voice answered.

“Sweetie, do you know what time it is?”

“Ma,” you choked on a sob as she immediately started to wake your father. “I’m coming home.”

“I thought Monaco was your home?”

You shook your head, displacing more tears and started to wheel the luggage to the door. “No, there’s nothing left here for me anymore.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said softly and you heard the kettle start to boil in the background.

“Me too, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m assuming this is to do with Charles.”

You didn’t bother to correct her on the pronunciation this time. “Not at the moment. I’ll have my flight details emailed to you when I get to the airport.”

“Okay, darling, we’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, ma.”

There were no words you could put on a piece of paper that could explain to him that there were no more chances. You placed your phone on the table with the keys for the apartment and nodded to yourself, that would be enough.

This was his city and remaining here only had one ending. But you were done lying to yourself and you were done listening to his lies no matter how sweet they sounded. You were going to keep your promise, no more drugs. No more Charles. You were going clean and removing yourself from the temptation.

The door sealed shut behind you as you whispered your final farewell to the memories that had been made in the home. But it wasn’t your home any longer, just like you weren’t his.

“Goodbye, Charles.”

Click here for part four.

[thedeadparrot]

untitled time travel ficlet (wout & mathieu)

Written for the @wtfanworkclassification Stage 21: write a fanwork in one hour challenge. Probably reads like the beginning of a much longer thing, because that was the original plot bunny, but I am not sure I can write more of this without hurting my own feelings.

tw: Wout's Vuelta injury is a big part of this, but not described in any detail

Wout's knee hurts when he wakes up. It's the same dull throb that he's had for a few days now. His doctors say it should improve over time. He just wishes it would be faster.

He's already written off the rest of the season. No point in showing up to Euros or Worlds after a few weeks or even a full month without rigorous training. And then beyond that, he'll see.

He manages to hobble down the stairs, mostly by clinging to the railing the whole way. He has tolerated a lot of pain in his life, and he can tell the difference between good pain and bad pain. This is very much in the "bad" category. But he can't do anything else but endure it.

In fact, he's so lost in his own misery, he doesn't even realize he has a visitor when he stumbles his way towards the kitchen.

"Um, hi?" a voice asks.

Wout jumps back, nearly dropping his carton of milk in surprise. He spins on his heel, which causes a stab of pain to shoot up his thigh. He can practically feel it in his teeth. He squints.

Mathieu stands there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. But this isn't the same Mathieu Wout last saw at the Olympics, honed into peak shape and ready to destroy the much smaller Olympic peloton. No, this is a much younger version of him. His hair is buzzed down. His face is still a little round with baby fat. Wout can't remember Mathieu ever looking young to him before. They were always close enough in age that Mathieu had only ever registered as 'normal.' This version of him barely looks older than a child, like some of the kids coming out of the development team.

Mathieu blinks at him. "Oh, uh. I don't know what I'm doing here, but I'm sorry for invading your house."

Wout stares at him. Mathieu doesn't recognize him, apparently. He supposes that's fair for someone who has time traveled to the future without warning. "What year is it for you?" Wout asks.

Mathieu says, "Twenty-thirteen."

Wout sighs. Eleven years ago. Jesus Christ, he feels old, and he's only turned thirty. He takes another step towards the refrigerator. He made some overnight oats at the beginning of the week, and it's been sustaining him in the mornings before his painkillers kick in. His knee gives another twinge as he does so, and the wince must be obvious, because Mathieu rushes over to steady his elbow. Wout already wasn't feeling particularly covered in glory this morning, but having to be assisted by the eighteen year old version of his rival really adds another cherry on top of the shit sundae.

Mathieu asks, "So I guess it's not twenty-thirteen anymore?" He looks at Wout with round, confused eyes. Somehow, it just makes him look even younger.

"Nope," Wout says. He finds a chair at the kitchen table and drops himself into it. He wants this shit year and this shit season to be over. Then again, he thought that about last year, and somehow fate found a way to make this year worse. "It's twenty-twenty-four."

Mathieu's brow furrows. "Oh," he says. "Did I get a concussion? Do I have amnesia?"

The throbbing in Wout's knee has started to subside. The drugs are kicking in. Good. He stands back up. "No, I think this is just good old fashioned time travel."

Mathieu says, "How do you know that? Are you an expert on time travel or something?" He hovers awkwardly at Wout's side, like he's unsure if he should offer to help again.

"No, I just know you're not supposed to be here right now," Wout finally makes it to the refrigerator and gets out his jar of oats. If he were a good host, he would offer Mathieu something to drink. He's not feeling like a good host at the moment.

"Psychic?" Mathieu guesses next. "Something to do with my aura?" His eyes flick around himself, like maybe he can also see his aura, too.

"I know you. The older you. The younger version of you, too, I guess." Wout shuffles back to the table with his oats and his spoon and sits back down in the chair. He did not need this weirdness on top of everything else.

Mathieu squints at him. "Really? I know you?" His gaze bores in on Wout's face, trying to solve the puzzle.

Wout can tell the exact moment the realization dawns on him, because his jaw drops and his eyes widen. It would probably be a funny picture if someone had a camera on them right now. "Wout?" he asks.

"Yup," Wout says dryly. "Hi, Mathieu. Welcome to the future."

---

Of course after this, Mathieu develops a giant crush on older Wout because Wout Got Hot and then maybe Wout blows younger Mathieu's mind a bit and then Wout comes to terms with the passing of time and the fragility of his own body or something.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 28

>:D

mastapost

The Panama Canal was one of the greatest feats of 20th Century engineering. Originally, ships that wished to cross from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean, or vice versa, were forced to make the long and arduous journey around South America, a trip that would take 20,000 kilometres, which would also mean our story would be much, much longer (or at least require more time skips).

It was not as simple as digging a ditch. Panama is a beautiful, but very rugged country, with hilly and mountainous terrain that halted the French in their tracks. That, and the copious mosquitoes. Landslides and rain beat back attempts to dig the canal in the 19th Century. But the dream did not end.

How did the Americans do it? All they needed was a bit of lateral thinking. Instead of digging the entire canal and attempting to conquer the mountains and hills, engineers built a dam to flood an artificial lake, leaving a 15km stretch of unflooded land. This is where they built the remaining canal. In order to raise ships into the canal’s lever, they build a system of locks. Each lock would funnel water into the one behind it, raising the ship until the water level was even on both sides, and so on.

The Canal was vital in the war effort in World War 2, and it was a target of the Japanese I-400 programme, until Okinawa fell, and it was decided that destroying the locks would have had no effect on the war.

This is where the story takes Danny and Damian.

“Land ho!” Danny cried out at the first patch of land. At last, after however many thousands of miles travelling (Danny had lost count) they were here.

“We are not sailors.” Damian grumbled. Maybe he was getting excited too. Danny could feel the way the kid’s fin’s thumped on Danny’s scales, like a puppy wagging its tail.

“Right, we’re just borrowing one of man kind’s most impressive engineering accomplishments for sailing.”

Damian huffed. “As sea creatures infamous for attacking sailors. Be glad we are not in the olden days, or our presence would have caused national, or international panic.”

Danny felt the urge to riff on the kid’s comment, but he remembered the stinging silence from yesterday. He decided not to push boundaries this early back into their kind-of make-up. “As it is I’m sure the authorities don’t mind that much. Probably don’t even believe in sirens. I think they’d just be angry that we didn’t pay the fee.”

With the canal in sight, Danny zoomed into the bay in minutes. The bay narrowed into a waterway leading inland underneath a huge bridge. Danny gasped at the size and scale of the thing. The boys continued up the bay. They dodged ship propellers, dove underneath hulking hulls. The water tinged with the smell of barnacles and metal. Nobody was out on the shoreline looking for sirens, which was a big plus, but Danny still kept a tight handle on his invisibility whenever they got close to the surface.

Soon, they reached the first lock.

“We gonna jump over or what?”

Damian trilled. “That would be an easy way to get spotted.”

“I can make us invisible, duh.”

“They would notice the splashes. We have not seen the GiW in some time, but I would prefer not to give them any ideas. We do not know who could be watching.”

With that, Danny found himself icing his body to the hull of some random cargo freighter. The ship approached the locks. They waited for painstaking minutes, watching the water level rise inch by inch. Once it reached the midway point up the next lock, the gates opened. Then the ship slowly inched forward. Then the water level inched upward again.

“This is gonna take for-freaking-ever.”

“Swimming around South America would have taken forever.”

“Uuggghhh.”

It would’ve been nice if there were some pretty landscapes to stare at for the next however many hours this would take. Sadly, their surroundings were all smooth concrete underwater, void of life and energy. Above water, it was the same, save for some small patches of grass and dirt lined the edges of the locks. Workers and vehicles milled about with their tasks on barren grey roads. The shipyard buzzed like persistent mosquitoes. Whirring machinery, shouted orders and gasping engines filled the air. He even felt a literal mosquito land on his nose when he surfaced to check. He was invisible! What the fuck!

So Danny dipped back underwater, hopefully drowning the little blood sucker. He didn’t want to know what a mosquito could do with his blood.

“What is the situation?” Damian asked.

“Boring. And normal, I guess. The stench is killing me though. God damn.”

Damian’s ear fins quirked. “Do sirens worship Christ?”.

“Uhh, not sure. I’m totally atheist though. Must be why the Fentons call me godless sometimes.”

The next lock finally finished opening. The ship continued inching painfully forward. The hum of its engine echoed back and forth in the ditch.

“Gahhh! Please. Move. Faster!” He banged the hull.

“Please stop complaining. You are contributing to the noise.”

Danny went to make another complaint, only for Damian to nip him in the ear.

“Yowch! What was that for!”

Damian went for the other ear.

That was when Danny sniffed a familiar scent. He slapped his hand over Damian’s mouth. “Wait. Something’s up.”

Damian froze. “What?”

The boys scanned the lock. They were alone in there, without a doubt. Danny’s lateral line only sensed Damian with him, and the scent of another sea creature would have been a beacon in the stale water.

Danny broke off from the ship. He melted his ice, just to be safe. The boy carried Damian above the surface invisibly.

“You see anything?”

“Just employees. And equipment.”

“Let’s look behind us.”

The water level had just about filled the up to the top of the gate behind them. There was little risk of being left behind by the next, seeing as Danny’s swimming speed would let them catch up with the boat in seconds. It took little effort for the boy to scale up the walls and peek overhead.

He was treated to a vast overhead view of the waterway. Danny hummed. All he could see was more machines dotting the side of the canal underneath tree cover, and beyond, the vast blue sea.

Damian squeezed his arm like a vice. “We have potential trouble.”

The older boy scrambled. “What? Where?”

“Down there.” Damian pushed the back of his head down.

Danny’s heartrate spiked. Just approaching the lock system was a familiar white boat. Nerves buzzed underneath his skin, like insects crawling into his scales. “I don’t understand. They have no reason to think we’d be here.”

“Perhaps they are just passing by. It could be a coincidence. Will they detect us?”

“Probably not. Radars to detect are expensive as hell, and only the Fentons know how to make them. They’d have to use sonar, and that can only happen if they’re in the same water as us.”

The boys dipped back into the water. Damian clenched his white shoulder. “We will be past these locks by the time they open for that boat.”

Danny nodded quickly. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”

They returned to waiting.

His fins flipped back and forth in place. Back and forth. He counted the inches. He cheered every new inch the water level took. Why did it take so long just to move some freaking water?! His fins sped up, becoming a blur. They stirred up eddy currents and swirls. At some point he even felt eddies from Damian’s fins too.

Danny took a deep breath. Fear was the mind killer, or whatever they said. Even if his back scales felt like knives were raking over them, the rational part of his mind tried to insist it was all fine. They were probably just moving some assets to the Atlantic. A million and one different ships used this passage.

But it wasn’t right. His nose was good in this form, but not that good. That boat was over fifty meters away in a completely different body of water.

“Damian. There’s more to this. There’s gotta be.”

“Your nerves are contagious. Keep a handle on them.” Damian grumbled.

“I’m serious. I couldn’t have smelled that boat. It’s like a football field away on a different lock. It’s impossible.”

The swirls of water from the small siren’s fins ceased. Danny couldn’t see him, but he felt the weight distribution change a little, like Damian had just lifted his head. “This warrants further investigation.”

The boys resurfaced again. Danny climbed his way up the walls of the lock on the side. They peered over the edge, keeping their noses open. “I don’t see anything.”

Maybe he was overthinking it from stress…

Just then, Damian tugged his sail. “The other side!” He hissed.

Danny turned around. At the edge of the shipyard, his vision clipped onto two distinct white suits talking to some important look guy in a black suit and hard hat. The black suit guy pulled out a walkie talkie. Suddenly, Danny realised the water level had been still for some time.

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Damian, I don’t think they’re just passing by.”

“It cannot be. What reason would they have to suspect we would be here?”

“I don’t know.” Danny clenched his fists around the concrete wall they had been sticking to. “But this is getting bad.”

More men appeared on both sides now, carrying harpoons, hydroplasm guns, and water testing equipment. Quiet adrenaline fired into his fins. A warbling growl rumbled in his throat.

“What if we can swim ahead? You have the speed to outrun them.” Damian’s voice trembled unevenly. His hands shook.

“Damian, the water’s stopped raising. They’ve locked down the lock. If I jump, they’ll be on me in a second.”

“We cannot sit here and wait for them.”

“I know.”

Danny wasn’t doing much better. If he were in human form, his hands would be soaked in sweat by now. His head whirled. The agents seemed to be in every direction. The water still wasn’t moving. The gate was still shut tight. Danny could probably squeeze his body through some kind of gap, but Damian? He didn’t want to grind the kid’s bones into pulp.

“What if we fight them?”

“You don’t have any of your weapons, and I’ve barely had anything to eat.” No food meant no healing, and little energy to toss ice beams willy-nilly.

“Do we have no other option?”

He cursed the stupid freaking GiW. At least his parents had their moments. Nothing good ever happened when the goons in wetsuits showed up. The last time he and Damian saw them was in freaking Amity Bay! His head spun trying to figure out what had given them away. What could get them out of this situation?

There was one other option. The option Danny had desperately hoped would never have to be considered. But it wasn’t just Danny’s safety now. At least his parents had the decency not to dissect Damian (at least during their stay on the SAV). The GiW would be much less merciful.

Danny’s heart rate spiked. Do or die, then. Sink or swim. He gathered up every ounce of courage that still survived his parents.

“We do.”

“Do it now.”

Danny squared up his shoulders, acutely aware of how the scales on his arms touched those on his armpits. How the water touched his back with no clothes in the way. “Do you trust me?”

Damian hesitated. He could smell the kid’s reservation in the water. He counted the steps the GiW agents took, as if in slow motion. “I have no other person to rely on.”

“We won’t be able to cross Panama. We’ll have to go back the direction we came.” Guilt jumped into the party of stressors stomping on his nervous system.

Damian warbled, like a wounded animal. “I know.”

They were so fucking close. They’d just barely gotten into Panama, and it’s all been ruined and he didn’t even know why.

“Hang on to me. And whatever you do, be quiet.”

Danny placed one arm on the top surface of the lock. He used it to pull himself up and over the edge, pushing with his second arm. Slowly he pulled his entire body over the edge of the wall. Danny began wiping drops of water off his body. He could do it while still being completely wet, but it hurt like a bitch and took ages.

Slowly, invisibly, his scales receded into skin. His tail split open. Its bones reshaped into legs. His tailfin hardened into feet. Danny stood up, still clutching Damian to his chest. The boy gasped at the sudden increase in elevation. And despite being invisible, he could practically feel the boy’s judgement baring down on him.

The GiW agents were closing in.

Danny stuck to the dirt and grass. The asphalt would have fried his bare feet off. Not a pleasant sensation. A pair of agents approached the canal, guns in hand. Danny crept along the side, tiptoeing carefully so as to avoid making a sound and drawing attention.

As Danny slipped away, the pair of agents came up to where he’d just been standing. Thank god.

There was an issue though. The locks were obviously built uphill. That meant going along the canal would bring him through the treacherously steep terrain. Not a good look for a scrawny boy with no shoes who needed to be silent. One slip and the entire force would come down upon him.

Damian squeezed his hand. There had to be a way somehow.

Danny swallowed a thick lump. He formed a layer of ice. Despite it only being a few millimetres, it felt clunky and horrible to walk in, and would definitely make a sound, but it would have to do.

Just carefully. One foot over the other. Let the foot come down gently, like a bee’s landing. Danny walked out into the asphalt, just within earshot of the agents at the edge of the canal.

“Got anything?” The one crouching over it said. He was so tempted to shoot an ice beam and knock him into the water.

“Not yet. It could be hiding from the sensor. We’ll give it another five minutes.”

“It better be close. Sun’s killing me out here.”

One of the nice things about sirens is that they were quite sensitive to heat. Thanks to some nifty evolution, it meant that Danny’s invisibility extended into the infrared and ultraviolet range. That was the only reason he wasn’t getting sunburned out the wazoo, and the only reason Damian hadn’t dried out yet. The air was still very, very warm, but he didn’t need to worry about the radiation from the sun itself.

Danny managed to get out of earshot of those agents. His concentration was split between keeping this ice on his feet solid, and on keeping Damian from dying of heatstroke. The boy remained silent, as requested. Danny’s eyes snapped from one side of his vision to the other, hyper aware of his space, and of the dozen or so agents scattered around the perimeter.

Let it be known that he was no ninja. Probably the only saving grace he had was the fact that they were expecting an invisible fish in the water, and not a kid walking on land. One of the agents barked an order. The agents split into groups of two. The pairs scattered, probably making for the other parts of the canal. That meant two of them were coming his way. Danny’s breath hitched. Sweat dripped down his brow. He iced it over.

Damian’s fins hung low too. Their sharp tips brushed against his belly. He couldn’t stay out here long. He needed water and quick. The boy chirped quietly underneath Danny’s hand.

He ambled to the right of the matching pair. Best to get out of their way. For a bunch of guys in fancy suits, they walked quickly. But Danny couldn’t. His makeshift shoes would be too loud.

He was barely able to get out of their way, barely able to avoid brushing shoulders with the men who wanted him a lab rat. Relief cooled his system like his ice.

Then one of them stopped.

“Wait, G.” He turned around. Turned toward Danny. Hairs stood on end. Knees rattled. “Agent H!”

Danny was seconds away from bolting. Only Damian’s tight grip was able to ground him from doing something stupid.

The man pulled a bottle of sunscreen from his suit. “Agent H! You forgot your mandated sunblock!”

With the GiW agent breaking into a light jog, Danny had seconds to react. He threw his body to the side just as the agent rushed through. The motion pushed his upper body just an inch too far off base. Danny’s eyes widened. He flung his arms wildly, but he could not stop the descent.

He shifted gears. The boy twisted his body so it faced the ground. Damian clung tighter, his claws digging into Danny’s chest. He shoved his hands forward. No time to ice them over. Danny planted his fingers on the ground. Sunbaked pebbles seared his fingers. His tongue bled as he bit down the urge to cry out.

His scream was only muffled into a groan. The footsteps of the agent stopped.

“What?” The man whispered.

Danny became a statue. The man’s gaze crawled over his back like an ant colony. Danny’s pulse stomped around in his ears. In his burning fingers. Each millisecond a war between the urge to cry out, the emergency signals of heat and pain, and the adrenaline that he could not let out. Just hunched over, still.

“Agent F! I’m turning into sun-dried tomatoes here!”

At last, at long last, the aforementioned Agent F took off. “Sorry! Just got distracted by some mosquito buzzing.”

Fuck. That was close. Too close.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Panama Canal.

What was that menace doing, heading for Panama Canal?

Maddie Fenton’s phone lay off to the side of the console. The new stream chattered. She paused from her work (really just staring at the radar) to refresh the news sites in English. Then whatever Spanish sites, translated by her browser. Nothing. A week ago she would have gone in guns blazing, ready to take out the pelagic punks and stop them from carrying out their dastardly plot.

With their engines busted, that plan wasn’t looking very good. After six hours of repairs, she and Jack had only managed to achieve a fraction of their original top speed. Enough to get them to Panama eventually, but not any time soon. They still had more repairs scheduled. It was only due to Jazz’s intervention that they sat down and took a break.

She wanted to work. She wanted to throw herself into metal and nuts and bolts. Anything to keep her mind from that face.

For years she had made it her mission to bring the sirens to justice for all they had done to her family and others. The few times she got up close to a siren they were vicious, snarling predators. She expected the same stubborn defiance from Phantom.

His resistance was token, at best. She could tell how scared he was even as he put up a tough face. Then he broke down, sobbing and incoherent. It was fake. It was all an act. It had to be. Phantom was stalling for time. He was manipulating her from the start. It had to be. It had to be.

How could it be?

She pulled off her gloves. She stared at the quivering hands, the hands that were a moment away from pulling the trigger. She was so sure she would have done it. He had to have known. He was an awful liar. Tried to misdirect and feign ignorance, and gave himself away every time. Who did he think he was fooling? And yet she could not steady her hands.

Maybe that was his con all along. Not even try to be convincing. Just babble whatever nonsense to lead them along like a string of helpless ducklings until help arrived.

Phantom had never worked with anyone else before. Not from his own kind, at least.

Maddie sipped a cold cup of tea. Maybe he had been migrating, and these were his original pod? If he were with his original pod, then there would be a lot more noise in Panama. The canals were narrow. Phantom was on the smaller side, but even two adults would have been noticed, right?

Did they even exist at all?! She had rebooted and reconfigured the radar, spending hours only for it to fail to detect any of Phantom’s pod. It was like they showed up for one moment, then vanished into thin water the next.

It wasn’t enough. The scientist in her demanded more evidence. Her hypotheses felt flimsy even to her, like there was something that was glaringly missing.

It all went back to that expression. That haunted anguish. Those streaming tears. The face that tore her vision away and replaced it with years of comfort. Years of holding Danny close. To that day when Danny showed up back home six months ago, the day a miracle came to her.

His face was the same back then. Maddie had rushed to hug the son she’d thought she’d lost. However, her baby boy flinched back, like she was going to strike him.

It broke her heart then.

“Mom?” Her daughter leaned into the door way.

“Jazz, I told you to take it easy.”

Jazz came inside, and sat down on the chair beside her. “I am taking it easy. Just getting some fresh air.”

She leaned to the side, her eyes discerning like they’d always been.

“Mom, are you ok?”

Dammit. Was it that obvious? Maddie shook her head. “You know me too well, Jazz.”

She pulled her daughter in. She held her and let herself be grateful that at least she was still here. That there was still hope, somehow. But that hope now clouded over with uncertainty.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

It shouldn’t be that way. Maddie was the mother here. It was her who was supposed to be comforting Jazz, but it was the other way around again.

“I just don’t know. Jazz. I thought I knew everything I needed to get the job done, but…”

But now she didn’t. Jazz nodded silently, letting her continue.

Maddie held her tighter. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Sweetie, I’m not sure anymore. Jazz, I can’t get it of my head. The way he looked at us. The way he didn’t. And I’ve been thinking about it for hours and I can’t make heads or tails on it. None of my theories can make up any kind of framework that could explain what happened.”

“Maybe it’s time to find a new framework?”

Maddie pulled back in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“Find new evidence. If the current evidence contradicts established theories, then hunt for new evidence that could explain the discrepancies. And then establish a new more comprehensive theory.”

That… made a lot of sense. It was at times like these she marvelled at the brilliance of her daughter. But there was just one issue.

“But your father and I still haven’t finished repairs yet.”

“That’s ok, Mads!”

Her husband and Bruce leaned in to the bridge as well. Bruce Wayne’s head still sported a large bandage around it, but the man was looking much better for wear.

Jack continued. “It was obvious we weren’t as prepared as we could be. Otherwise the fishie little fiend wouldn’t have given us the slip. With the SAV busted, I say we take Jazzie’s advice and go on recon mode.”

Determination shined from Bruce’s squared shoulders. “Jack’s right. We can take the jet skis and catch up to Phantom easily. Then we can observe him ourselves or deploy a drone or two.”

That was surprisingly sensible. They needed more information. Then they could cross out the possibilities and the what ifs, and narrow down the truth.

More than anything, Maddie needed the truth.

Damian was beginning to get uncomfortable. The mucus coating his scales meant that they remained moist. However, he still lost water due to respiration. Not to mention the sweltering heat. Although he did not suffer the burning sunlight due to Danny’s invisibility, the humid air also contributed to his discomfort. As a fish out of water, Damian could tell he could not last much longer.

But his physical discomfort could only distract from the real questions in his mind for so long. Why did Danny hide this ability from him for so long? What was he so scared of? In hindsight it was logical that a siren with the ability to turn humans into their species could also turn themselves into humans. Damian felt the soft, human skin of Danny’s chest against his own scales. His cheeks just so happened to be laying where the teenager’s gills used to be. Now they were smooth. Damian numbly counted Danny’s ribs, which jutted out.

Why did he expect Damian to trust him when he still continued to hide things from him?

Danny walked into a clearing. He carried Damian far past the shipping yard that they had crawled out of, and into a building. It appeared to be some kind of administrative building. Damian nudged him with his chin. Where was he taking them? He walked through the glass sliding doors behind a member of staff. Cool air conditioning chilled Damian’s scales. Danny bee lined for the bathroom, finding it empty. He iced the door shut.

Damian found himself placed into the (thankfully clean) sink. Cool running water washed over his body, bringing much needed relief. Damian purred quietly underneath the cool tap. For a moment, the room contained only the sound of running water, and Danny’s heavy breathing.

Danny’s invisibility deactivated. Damian watched pallid skin appear out of thin air. Stickly legs shivering. The newly human teenager leaned against the war, panting. His chest had no gills, as he’d expected, and his skin was completely opaque. Black hair appeared where there was white. Eerie aquamarine was replaced with dull blue. A familiar face rendered bare of scales or fins was revealed. A very, very familiar face.

And instantly, everything clicked into place for Damian.

[oogalaboogalabich]

More Durgetash filth for you :) w/ canon durge.

Enver is feeling dominant tonight, more than that, he needs to rid himself of some pent up rage and you are all too happy to oblige him.

He has been wailing on you fairly hard. Fierce and merciless while you arent even bound, tempting danger more than you usually dare. However, your caution seems unwarranted for once.

You are completely blissed out in the sauce though and he cant get the reaction out of you he wants. He wants you to fight back. But that isnt going to happen today. For whatever reason, youre so relaxed under his brutality you fear you may actually drift off into sleep, despite the very very real beating youre getting.

Hes exhausted himself and youre just smiling up at him and bleeding. Its utterly infuriating. Entirely enchanting.

Gortashs good arm is shaking from exhertion and he looks cross as he does pleased.

"I was hoping for a little more fight from you, bhaalspawn."

"Feels too good" your chest is heaving with your ragged breath, your voice seeping from your throat like gravel and chocolate. "Dont want to scream..." Almost soothing enough to ease his ire. He wanted you to cry out today. needed it. Its so rare for enver to be in the mood for this. you feel a twinge of guilt, however small it is. But your still floating in a world off in your own right now, only half present.

"An exchange then." He tosses the tawse to the side and taps a crop under your chin a moment later, lifting it. "What is it you want, beast? How am i to wrench a scream from that pretty blue tongue?"

Your grin resembles more of a snarl, what for him pulling you out of your reverie. He asked you a question. You try to recall, but seconds ago may as well be hours.

"I asked you...*tap* what *tap* you *tap* want."

You stare up at him, and drink in his features. You do your best to ignore the red hot whispers of blood and death as they swirl and circle in from the corners of your mind, no longer silenced by the haze of Envers lash.

His lips have always been your favorite feature of his. Something forbidden to you for fear of destroying his greatest weapon in your teeth. Thin above with a lower lip that creates a meaty little pout whenever hes not scowling or smiling outright.

Your teeth are too sharp for him. Always. A healing spell could fix the damage, but it is his one prevailing fear. The loss of his voice, the use of his talented tongue, his ability to command.

An intolerable sacrifice he would never give freely. But he doesnt offer freely. Not tonight.

You speak before you mean to.

"A kiss."

Envers eyes visibly darken at that, if thats even possible.

"A kiss..." His smirk is one of incredulous surprise. His tone mocking, sardonic. He rolls his eyes, but looks so beyond pleased with this answer that it concerns you. you dont understand why, and you dont dare question him now...not until you have your answer at least.

"Please..." you dont speak this time. It comes out as little more than a rumble in your chest. As soft as it is, you sound positively feral, even by your own judgement. "Just one....gods PLEASE Enver."

Envers eyes have gone wide, his breath following a quicker rhythem than before. He knew he wanted this, despite his fears, he wants it as much as you.

The silence lasts far too long.

"Hold out your sword arm..."

"Env-" your jaw aches from the sting of the crop across it. You try to reign in your grin, to hide the teeth that enver would see...would remember and then deny you your wish. But your scailed lips peel back anyway, and your tongue lolls past them as your claws dig groves in the stone floor.

You lift your arm.

"Palm up...." you obey without question this time. He traces the crop in circles around the center of your palm. "An eye for an eye...as always with you isnt it?"

You draw in a breath that shudders with you.

"A weapon..." his tongue wets the corner of his lower lip. "...for a weapon."

You had never once begged him before. Not. once. Demanded, yes. Sarcastically denied any interest? Of course. Spent hours and hours on his knees in submission? Oh absolutely.

But this....this was better than he could have hoped for. A bhallspawn, the purest flesh of his gods mortal enemy.

Offering his own unholy hand in sacrifice for the kiss of a Tyrant.

Ten blows. Ten beautiful savage, flesh tearing strikes of twisted iron to your palm.

Each one alone is not enough, but by the time he reaches number seven, you can feel the very marrow in your bones beginning to bruise.

The eighth has you roaring at him like the animal he loves to reduce you to.

The nineth is aknowledgeable agony, something so deep even you cannot deny that little pleasure can be had from it. And you wonder if any kiss is worth this until you see the look on his face. Youve finally given him what he wanted. Its better than he could have imagined, hearing not a cry or a scream, but the gutteral roar of his dragonborn pet.

The tenth....gods but the tenth blow takes so long to come. You kneel there, shaking, anxious...eager even, despite the knowledge that the final blow will be far worse than any before.

And it is. Its saring white hot and blinding as the kiss that follows before you even realize youve been hit. You feel his gauntlets cutting under your jaw as he presses his lips to yours. You dont expect anything more than that. Enver has never once allowed even this. Too intimate.

You are both already so dangerously close to blasphemy every time you even look at each other.

But then you feel it, his tongue, gliding in past wicked teeth and coaxing yours to join it. You dare not move your jaw except to open it further at his behest, letting him do as he pleases. You feel it caress and flick freely with the enthusiasm and lack of skill one would expect from someone who doesnt normally allow themselves such indignity, especially as messy as this. You want to bite. Hells you must. Not. Bite. But gods hes got your tongue between those lips and-

And hes gone. You whine at the loss and care little that you must sound disgustingly pitiful. open your eyes to see him standing, smirking above you. His hair sticks to his cheeks and forehead, dripping with sweat same as what of his chest you are privilaged to see through the laces of his shirt. His gauntlets must be sweltering for him.

Indeed you can see moisture dripping from his wrists from under the golden cuffs. Its a wonder he was able to grip the crop so tightly.

He rakes a hand through his hair and slicks it back. Something you only ever see when on your knees...or when you have him on his.

He tosses the crop to the floor, unceremonious and callous as ever.

"Clean yourself up..." and meet him in the boudoir. the silent half of the command is present enough in the strained nature of his exit.

You dare only move when the door closes behind him, leaving you alone in his office.

You groan and collapse, rolling onto your back as a chuckle escapes you. You lift your hand to inspect it.

Your hide is only mildly bruised. The discoloration negligible.

but the damage beneath sings to you, makes your throat thrum in thick, plucking clicks of your vocal chords that resemble a purr.

You give your fingers an experimental flex, and suck in a hiss of air when your palm sends agony all the way up to your elbow.

Every flick of your blade for the next tenday, every sacrifice to Bhaal would be tainted by the taste of Banes chosen. The memory of the reward given for your tribute. Your sacrifice, mild as it is.

A sliver of dread slips into the back of your mind, and yet....you smile.

"Forgive me, Father..."

Worth it. So worth it.